Guitar Poets (Bards)

• Bulat Okudzhava (1924-1997)

• Alexander Galich (1919-1977)

• Vladimir Vysotsky (1938-1980)

Okudzhava: Song of the Arbat

• 1. You flow like a river with your strange name

• And your asphalt transparent like water in a river.

• Oh my Arbat, you are my vocation,

• You are my joy and my misfortune.

• 2. Your pedestrians are not exalted people,

• Their heels pound, they hurry on their way.

• Oh my Arbat, you are my religion,

• Your roadway lies beneath me.

• 3. I will never get over loving you,

• Even loving forty thousand other roadways.

• Oh my Arbat, you are my native land,

• No one could ever come to the end of you.

Okudzhava: Francois Villon’s Prayer

• 1. While the earth is still turning, while the light is still bright,

• Lord, grant Thou to each man that which he lacks:

• To the wise man grant brains, to the coward a steed,

• Grant the lucky man money…And don’t forget about me.

• 2. While the earth is still turning,--Lord, it is in Thy power!--

• Grant the man who wants power to rule to his heart’s

content,

• Grant the generous man a respite, if only to the end of the day,

• To Cain grant repentence…And don’t forget about

me.

• 3. All is in Thy power: I believe in Thy

wisdom,

• As the dead soldier believes he’s living in

heaven,

• As each ear believes Thy silent speeches,

• As we ourselves believe, not knowing what we

do.

• 4. Lord, my God, my green-eyed one!

• While the earth is still turning, amazed it’s still turning,

• While it still has time and fire,

• Grant Thou a little to everyone…And don’t forget about me.

Galich: Clouds

• The clouds float, the clouds,• They slowly float, like in the movies.• While I eat chicken tabaka,• I’ve a half-kilo of cognac.

• The clouds float to Abakan,• They slowly float, the clouds.• They’re warm, must be, the clouds,• While I’m chilled through for all time.

• Like a horseshoe, I’m frozen into the sleigh track,• Into the ice that I poked with a pickaxe!• For I didn’t waste twenty years• Noising through those camps for nothing.

• I still have snow crust in my eyes!• I still have the racket of body searches in my

ears!…

• Hey, serve me up some pineapple• And two hundred grams more of cognac!

• The clouds float, the clouds,• To that nice old place, Kolyma.• And they don’t have to have their own lawyer,• Amnesty is something they don’t need.

• I myself live -- first class!• Twenty years, like a day, exchanged!• In a bar I sit like a lord• And even have some teeth still left!

• The clouds float toward the dawn,• They don’t have pensions or worries…• While on the fourteenth I get a payment• And on the twenty-third another.

• And on these days, just like me,• Half the country sits in the pubs!• And like our memories back to those places• The clouds float, the clouds...

Galich: When I return...

• When I return…• Don’t laugh when I return,• When I run by, not touching the ground, over the

February snow,• Along a hardly noticeable trail--toward warmth

and shelter--• And trembling with happiness, I’ll look around at

your birdcall--• When I return. O, when I return!...

• Listen, listen, don’t laugh,• When I return• And straight from the station, making it fiercely

through customs,• And straight from the station--I’ll tear into the

cheap,• Worthless, black city which I swear at and swear

by• When I return.• O, When I return!..

• When I return,• I’ll go to that one, sole house• Where the sky can’t compete with its blue dome,• Where the odor of incense, like the smell of fresh

bread,• Will hit me in the face and wash over my heart--• When I return.• O, when I return!

• When I return,• Nightingales will sing in February--• That old melody--begun in the past and forgotten.• And I’ll fall down,• Overcome by my victory,• And will shove my head into the harbor of your

lap!• When I return.

• But when will I return?!..

Veronika Dolina (b. 1956)

• I have discovered myself;• I whisper to myself.• Yesterday I was wingless,• But today I will fly• Over a well-known street• And over a slow river• And over an old school• And over mama’s cheek.

• How everything dear was warm,• How it hugged my shoulder.• Yesterday I was wingless• But today I will fly• Over an incautious word,• Over a circling leaf,• And over a trembling• Railroad bridge.

• Is it a force of nature?• Is it the height?• Yesterday I was wingless,• But today I’m not the same.• Someone will show me the ground• From above like a little meadow.• On a hill stands mama waving• A little scarlet flag.

• There was a time of laughter, tears• Are never wasted.• Storms to the left and to the right,• Nearby flocks of clouds.• No matter how they agonized and shouted,• The ones who stayed down on the meadow,• Yesterday I would have been among you,• But today I cannot be.