to cheer up a dear friend...
Dear selket531, I know life has been harsh towards you recently though the rays of hope started to pierce the darkness. I know you like ballet and Baryshnikov is one of your favorite dancers. I recently came across this post, I hope you'll enjoy watching it; I only wish you could understand the words of song, it makes the dance even more meaningful. http://www.adme.ru/video/potryasayuschee-sochetanie-697410/
The words and music written by the very famous Russian bard singer, Vladimir Wysotsky (d. 1980), during his lifetime he always performed his own songs, his deep, smoke laced voice is easily recognizable. I found translation of this song into English on the net:
Wayward horses
There’s a precipice beside me. On the brink of it I’m driving
In a sleigh that’s pulled by horses - I am whipping, I am lashing;
I drink mist and gulp the currents - hard against the wind I’m striving
And enjoy a nasty feeling: “There’s my end where I am dashing!”
Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...
I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...
I will perish: like a feather off the hand I will be blown,
In the sleigh my steeds will drag me on a bleak and cold morning...
Don’t you run so fast, my horses, slow down, make it slow!
To my last resort don’t hurry, please, prolong the final journey!
Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...
I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...
You are never late arriving if you visit the Almighty,
Why, then, are the angels singing with their voices, vexed and frightful?
Or, perhaps, it is the harness bells so deep in sobbing drown,
Or, perhaps, it’s me who’s begging flying horses to slow down?
Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...
I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2001
Edited by Robert Titterton
The words and music written by the very famous Russian bard singer, Vladimir Wysotsky (d. 1980), during his lifetime he always performed his own songs, his deep, smoke laced voice is easily recognizable. I found translation of this song into English on the net:
Wayward horses
There’s a precipice beside me. On the brink of it I’m driving
In a sleigh that’s pulled by horses - I am whipping, I am lashing;
I drink mist and gulp the currents - hard against the wind I’m striving
And enjoy a nasty feeling: “There’s my end where I am dashing!”
Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...
I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...
I will perish: like a feather off the hand I will be blown,
In the sleigh my steeds will drag me on a bleak and cold morning...
Don’t you run so fast, my horses, slow down, make it slow!
To my last resort don’t hurry, please, prolong the final journey!
Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...
I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...
You are never late arriving if you visit the Almighty,
Why, then, are the angels singing with their voices, vexed and frightful?
Or, perhaps, it is the harness bells so deep in sobbing drown,
Or, perhaps, it’s me who’s begging flying horses to slow down?
Don’t you fly so fast, my horses, slow - to a trot not so brisk!
Don’t concede to the whip, to the thong!
But my horses are so wayward, being so hard to please,
Leaving me no time for a life, for a song...
I will let horses drink, I will die in a wink,
So before I might sink Let me sing On the brink...
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2001
Edited by Robert Titterton