Lyrics Булат Окуджава - Мне русские милы из давней прозы
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Мне русские милы из давней прозы
и в пушкинских стихах.
Мне по сердцу их лень, и смех, и слезы,
и горечь на устах. Когда они сидят на кухне старой
во власти странных дум,
их горький рок, подзвученный гитарой,
насмешлив и угрюм. Когда толпа внизу кричит и стонет,
что -- гордый ум и честь?
Их мало так, что ничего не стоит
по пальцам перечесть. Мне по сердцу их вера и терпенье,
неверие и раж...
Кто знал, что будет страшным пробужденье
и за окном пейзаж? Что ж, век иной. Развеяны все мифы.
Повержены умы.
Куда ни посмотреть -- все "скифы, скифы, скифы...
Их тьмы, и тьмы, и тьмы". И с грустью озираю землю эту,
где злоба и пальба,
мне кажется, что русских вовсе нету,
а вместо них -- толпа. Я знаю этот мир не понаслышке:
я из него пророс,
и за его утраты и излишки
с меня сегодня спрос.
I'm Russian lovers of old prose
and in the Pushkin verses.
To my heart is their laziness, and laughter, and tears,
and bitterness on the lips. When they are sitting in the kitchen of the old
in the power of strange thoughts,
their bitter rock, sounded by a guitar,
mocking and sullen. When the crowd below screams and groans,
what is a proud mind and honor?
They are so little that nothing is worth
on the fingers to re-read. To my heart is their faith and patience,
unbelief and rage ...
Who knew that there would be a terrible awakening
and beyond the window the landscape? Well, another century. Dispersed all the myths.
The minds are lost.
Wherever you look - all the Scythians, Scythians, Scythians ...
Their darkness, and darkness, and darkness. "And with sadness I look around this land,
where anger and firing,
it seems to me that there are no Russians at all,
and instead of them - the crowd. I know this world firsthand:
I sprouted from it,
and for his loss and surplus
with me today demand.
and in the Pushkin verses.
To my heart is their laziness, and laughter, and tears,
and bitterness on the lips. When they are sitting in the kitchen of the old
in the power of strange thoughts,
their bitter rock, sounded by a guitar,
mocking and sullen. When the crowd below screams and groans,
what is a proud mind and honor?
They are so little that nothing is worth
on the fingers to re-read. To my heart is their faith and patience,
unbelief and rage ...
Who knew that there would be a terrible awakening
and beyond the window the landscape? Well, another century. Dispersed all the myths.
The minds are lost.
Wherever you look - all the Scythians, Scythians, Scythians ...
Their darkness, and darkness, and darkness. "And with sadness I look around this land,
where anger and firing,
it seems to me that there are no Russians at all,
and instead of them - the crowd. I know this world firsthand:
I sprouted from it,
and for his loss and surplus
with me today demand.