Okudzhava :
другие произведения.
Bulat Okudzhava. Collection of Songs with Tabs
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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
Комментарии: 1, последний от 30/12/2010.
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Okudzhava
(
vagalec@rambler.ru
)
Размещен: 06/11/2007, изменен: 17/02/2009. 62k.
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Аннотация:
Bulat Okudzhava. Collection of Songs with Tabs. Translated by from the Russian and compiled by Alec Vagapov
COLLECTION OF POEMS FROM
Bulat Okudzhava
1946-1964
* * *
Hm
Unyielding, raged and free,
Em
burn, fire, burn on, please...
F#7
Decembers tend to be
Hm
replaced by Januaries.
Hm
We've anything at all:
H7 Em
smiles, joys and everything,
F#7
one common moon for all,
Hm
one summer and one spring.
We'd live and go to grass
then, come what may, we will
for all the wrongs of ours
stand trial by ordeal.
We do not care, since
we know: when life is gone
for all of our sins
the reconing is one.
Unyielding, raged and free,
burn, fire, burn on, please...
Decembers have to be
replaced by Januaries.
1946
THE SONG
OF THE OLD STREET-ORGAN PLAYER
F#
My good old naughty organ,
C#
The sound you make is sweet.
F#
My good old naughty organ,
F#
I wonder where you lead.
B D#m
I'm plodding hardly able
D#7 G#m
to move ahead an inch..
D#m
How can I reach my aim when
B D#m
the shoes I'm wearing pinch?
I'm working, I'm freelancing.
A steady job it is!
I wish my sweat would last me
for my remaining years.
I have a great assignment
of paying for my slips,
if only I could smile when
I get it in the ribs.
1957
THE SONG OF THE TRAMPLING JACKBOOTS
Am E7 Am
Now do hear the sound of trampling boots?
A7 Dm
And do you see the birds fly off like mad
Am/E
and women stare scrutinizing routes?
E7
I think you know what they are staring at.
Now do hear the sound of drum-beat bass?
The soldiers have to say their good-byes...
The squadron leaves to vanish in the haze...
The past appears clearly in the eyes.
What happens to your soldier's fortitude
when you return to your old neighbourhood?
It's women's trick who steal it from your chest
and keep it like a birdie in the nest.
What happens to your women, man of war,
when you come home and open the front door?
They welcome you and kindly let you in
but in the house there's a smell of sin.
The past is gone -- who cares about that!
We look into the future, for the light!
And in the fields the carrion-crows are fat,
the roaring war pursues us like a plight.
Again you hear the sound of trampling boots
and see the frenzied birds fly off like mad,
and women stare scrutinising routes...
It's our napes that they are staring at.
1957
THE LAST TROLLEY BUS
Em
When I'm in trouble and totally done
G D7 G
and when all my hope I abandon
E7 Am Em
I get on the blue trolley bus on the run,
B7
the last one,
Em
at random.
Am Em
I get on the blue trolley bus on the run,
B7
he last one,
Em
at random.
Night trolley, roll on sliding down the street,
around the boulevards keep moving
to pick up all those who are wrecked and in need
of rescue
from ruin.
Night trolley bus will you please open your doors !
On wretched cold nights, I can instance,
your sailors would come, as a matter of course,
to render
assistance.
So many a time they have lent me a hand
to help me get out of grievance...
Imagine, there is so much kindness behind
this silence
and stillness.
Last trolley rolls round the greenery belt
and Moscow, like river, dies down...
the hammering blood in my temples I felt
calms down
calms down.
1957
THE BLUE AIR-BALLOON
Dm Gm A7 Dm
Little girl's crying: her air-balloon is gone.
Gm A7 Dm
People console her, the balloon flies on.
Gm A7 Dm
A young maid's crying: no boy-friend as yet.
. Gm A7 Dm
People console her, the balloon flies on.
A woman is crying: her husband has left.
People console her, the balloon flies on.
An old woman's crying: life's been so short.
The balloon has come back, a blue balloon it is.
***
To O.B.
Am E7 Am
I need someone to worship and admire.
C G7 C
Just think, a simple ordinary ant
Dm Am/E
got suddenly possessed with the desire
E7 Am
to bow the knee in fascination, charmed !
The ant lost quietness and peace of mind,
life seemed so tedious to him. Meanwhile,
he made itself an idol of a kind,
a goddess in his own image and style.
And on the seventh day, at a sudden moment,
she sprang up, in a flash, from midnight lights,
without any sign and any omen...
dressed in a coat, she made a perfect sight.
Forgetting joys and sorrows, bad sensations,
he opened wide the doors to let her in
and kissed her weather-beaten hands, in adoration,
'n the little old shoes that she was wearing.
Their shadows were swaying in the doorway.
They quietly conversed, without saying a word,
like gods, they were beautiful, adoring,
like people, they were wistful and disturbed.
1959
THE ARTISTS
Am E7 Am
Artists, dip you badges brushes in the visage
Am E7 Am
of the bustling Moscow yards and sunrise glaze.
Dm E7 Am
so that brushes might resemble autumn leafage, |
H7 E7 Am |
whirling leaves that fall to mark November days. | Repeated
Dip your brushes by the city's old tradition,
dip them in the paint of light blue colour tint,
do the painting with devotion and ambition
like we do the walking down Tverskaya street.
Let the pavement stir up as if coming round !
Let what hasn't started yet begin right off !
Keep on painting, it will pass to your account...
We don't care
if it hasn't quite come off.
You depict our lives and fates like fair judges,
paint our summer, our winter, our spring...
never mind that we are outsiders,
you just paint,
and I'll expound everything.
1959
THE PAPER SOLDIER
Am
Once there lived a soldier-boy,
E
quite brave, one can't be braver,
but he was merely a toy
Am
for he was made of paper.
He wished to alter everything,
and be the whole world's helper,
but he was puppet on a string,
a soldier made of paper.
He'd bravely go through fire and smoke,
he'd die for you. No vapour.
But he was just a laughing-stock,
a soldier made of paper.
You would mistrust him and deny