Original
Literary translation
§ 1.1
, ,
Ruffling my hair, forever thinned by gray strands,
§ 1.2
,
Writing memoirs over kefir about the underground war,
§ 1.3
,
With a masochist’s thrill, I dismantle the last bridge,
§ 1.4
.
Trying somehow to tell the story of yesterday.
§ 1.5
,
Pointlessly scratching a peace sign onto a brick wall with a key,
§ 1.6
.
To recall the fists of the Lyubery with a certain measure of pride.
§ 1.7
,
Looking at a battered bass guitar in its old, worn-out case,
§ 1.8
.
I feel like getting shitfaced and belting out a couple of old hits.
§ 1.9
, : ...
That's how it goes, brother. Love…
We used to go down into basements,
§ 1.11
,
we played deep underground,
The crossbeam appeared in our dreams,
§ 1.13
.
we drank tea made with an electric immersion heater.
§ 1.14
, ,
We sent an envoy upstairs for wine, bread, and weed,
He would come back,
§ 1.16
: " ".
and say, “It’s May Day again up there.”
§ 1.17
,
And our pale yet healthy appearance kept somebody awake,
§ 1.18
- .
They forced open our doors, and men with shoulder boards entered our underground.
§ 1.19
...
And for some, their artistic careers proved far too short…
§ 1.20
, - .
But we believed the final round would be ours.
§ 1.21
, : ...
That's how it goes, brother. Love…
§ 1.22
- .
But times were changing, until they had changed completely.
§ 1.23
- .
We came up above ground, and scattered in different directions.
§ 1.24
,
And yesterday’s rebel, yesterday’s singer, began making money,
§ 1.25
, .
His cozy apartment has gas, a telephone, and running water.
He regrets nothing,
§ 1.27
he keeps six albums by Гражданская Оборона at home.
(and five albums by Борис Гребенщиков),
§ 1.29
,
And apparently he isn’t a traitor,
he is right in his own way.
§ 1.31
- " " -
Writing memoirs over a cup of coffee, “To My Children: About Yesterday,”
§ 1.32
.
Everyone finds their own kind of pleasure.
§ 1.33
, : ...
That's how it goes, brother. Love…
