Текст песни Сергей Садовников - Иосиф Бродский - Прощальная ода

1

     Night kneels before the timber wall .
     Looking for clues in conjunction blind its innumerable .
     Birds of your relatives shout loudly over me.
     Carr ! Chivichi -li , caw ! - Like a melody posthumous .
     Wind kicks trunk in dark shod boots .
     But , leaning forward , beating pine curve .
     Snow covered cables that your camp Kuta
     crashing down , hiding me here .

        2

     Cloud grows up. Grove, the envy of fish
     suddenly dives into it. For growing courage .
     God looks from heaven , like a hut in the suburbs :
     if you can go to it at the bottom of the ravine.
     That's all I have in front of you , like a tree stump out of the snow ,
     throat stretching upwards - a lie , but whitish like a stork -
     white steam breathing , holding up his hand for a laugh
     scream your name , the chorus of birds nailed .

        3

     Where are you ! Come back! Answer me! Where are you. You can not see .
     Everything merges in the snow and white saint.
     Like an angel - wings - you and madness - drained ,
     if their fingers in a light snow pesto .
     No! All melts - you do not happen here .
     Simply just snow, I do not knit tightly.
     Just here comes your way to Madness guests .
     And runs off reverse - memory is always disembodied .

        4

     Where are you ! Come back! Answer me! God, why hide ?
     God, why are you silent? Sinful - I dare not pray .
     God, why snow blanketed the trail of her .
     Where is it - here in the woods? Ile behind mine ?
     Do not turn around, no! Call her useless.
     Night around and extinguishes fires overnight snowstorm .
     Way it has accomplished - he behind , like an abyss :
     view, dived into it, not to doplyvet shores .

        5

     Where is she , God , answer ! That her mouth shut ?
     Whose kiss? And whose hands clothed with her ​​ears ?
     Where this earthly home - cellar, ravine , grave ?
     Or is it I keep silent ? Birds have stolen my cry ?
     No, not true - flies with winter decoration heaven .
     More than mortal path - the path between her and me.
     Lovely birds pushed aside so hoisted over the land ,
     that between my heart and my cry - space.

        6

     Hence, in a thicket in the forest. In the midst of the gloomy forest
     life - in the winter night , echoing Dante step .
     Only flesh I am looking for. And the rest - one.
     Flesh , sent me , like counselors , grief .
     Forest me roaring forest me spinning ,
     roots in Hell is empty, empty on branch outgrowth .
     So down the trunks and you can go down to Hell ,
     but no one there - and no one bring up !

        7

     For it - alive! But no whistle , no echo
     I will not respond in this solid perseverance ,
     crouches to that sweet sleep sinless centuries ,
     and the silence grows in the heart, to the envy of the dead .
     Only two-headed forest - under the fixed look
     axis electing me , my trunk arms squeezed ,
     land interspersed with our love Hell
     spinning in the void, like a spider hanging .

        8

     So standing in the snow , frozen trunk hugging,
     hearing here and there is not a cry crows
     if see you - as if from sleep dumb -
     crave sleep separate these roots from the crown .
     Sleep! Not silence - a dream ! Terrible like steel,
     my death to match - the black under the snow glory -
     cut forest -axis , so that the dead have risen from
     her dreams of love - higher , stronger than waking !

        9

     God winter skies , Father star over the field ,
     Father of forest roads , snowy hills lord ,
     O God , hear the prayer : let me fly over the grief
     above my love, above moaning , screaming.
     Give her to wake up ! No, it's not a passionate speech !
     No, not true saint, with a shared sense of righteousness !
     Give her to wake up song as clear ,
     as thy heaven - clear as the vault of heaven !

        10