Vladimir Vysotsky. A Sad Love Song.

TWO LOVE SONGS.

I. She was so beautiful, so stately and so grand...Translated by George Tokarev.

She was so beautiful, so stately and so grand,
And cleaner than the freshly fallen snow.
But her last letter burns my heart and hand —
A lamentable truth I’ve gotten to know.

I’ve never doubted her devotion nor asked her,
And seen her love was just a mask she wore...
Today I’ve faced a thorough fiasco,
I hope it won’t happen anymore.
Today I’ve faced a thorough fiasco,
I hope it won’t happen anymore.

The pallid sky above me idly shrinks,
I rid myself of tokens of my woe —
Of dazing daisies, whithered naked pinks,
And tears, mingled with the melting snow.

I’ll leave behind distress and devastation,
The wind will wipe my tears if I weep.
My horses tear faster than frustration,
My tracks the snowstorm will never sweep.
My horses tear faster than frustration,
My tracks the snowstorm will never sweep.

II. She was both my bliss and my pain...Translated by George Tokarev.

She was both my bliss and my pain,
And she filled every cell of my brain.
I would see her, when I was asleep,
As an Amazon, riding a steed.

What could the wisdom of the tiresome books mean
As I would wish to kiss her traces on the ground!
What have you lived through, my unearthly, magic queen?
What are you now and to where are you bound?

Our souls were bathing in spring,
Our heads due to fizz used to spin.
When with her, I wasn’t fretted nor grieved,
In misfortune, I’ve never believed.

She now looks as if she feels her near end,
It’s so outlandish that it makes me laugh through tears.
In her opinion, a misfortune does impend,
Her blood is cold and to live she simply fears.

I can’t notice good songs left to sing,
I can’t notice good dreams left to see.
Bluff and falseness are her entourage,
She’s not more than a pretty mirage.

I burn to ashes every trust she ever gave,
I tear costumes of a festive misconception.
I’ll no longer be a ghostly hopes slave,
I’ll no longer pray to idols of deception.
I’ll no longer be a ghostly hopes slave,
I’ll no longer pray to idols of deception.

1968 — 1969.

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