[ad_1]
Ekh Dorogi is a Russian fashionable favourite to today. It was written in 1945. The well-known Russian baritone Dmitry Khvorostovsky ceaselessly carried out it, so Western readers could discover it acquainted. The title means ‘Ahh, the roads’. Translation under.
Pricey buddies,
Over the previous few years one in all my fundamental efforts was to attempt to persuade as many individuals as potential that Russia was getting ready for conflict. I additionally tried to warning in regards to the fully misguided notion that as a result of the Russian individuals feared conflict (they do!) they in some way weren’t prepared for it (they’re!).
I attempted logical, rational arguments. Then I switched to an offended rant.
Now I’m going to attraction to your hearts: simply hearken to this very well-known WWII Russian track, watch these photographs, learn the lyrics (translated by Scott) and simply attempt to really feel along with your coronary heart what conflict means or, higher, what if *feels* to the so-called “mysterious Russian soul”. Then consider the faces of Trump, Mattis, Might, Macron and the remainder of them and attain your personal conclusions.
This isn’t an argument, you’ll both “really feel it” or not. I hope you do.
Hugs and cheers to all,
The Saker
translated by Scott Humor
Ah, the roads, mud and foggy mist,
Angst, and chills, and worries, and tall steppe weeds.
Not a soul is aware of of its destiny,
may your wings be folded within the midst of steppe?
Mud is swirling over boots, alongside roads, alongside fields.
Throughout blaze is raging, pierced by bullets’ rings.
Ah, the roads, mud and foggy mist,
Angst, and chills, and worries, and tall steppe weeds.
Burst of gunshot, raven descends,
Buddy mine lays lifeless on this wilderness.
However the highway retains on going, the mud retains on swirling,
Throughout land is burning, not Russian – international land.
Land of pine timber, solar lights up the daybreak,
Mom on her threshold waits for son’s return.
And alongside never-ending roads, alongside steppes, alongside fields,
We’re being watched and adopted by our moms’ eyes.
Ah, the roads, mud and foggy mist,
Angst, and chills, and worries, and tall steppe weeds.
Snow or wind storms, buddies, let’s behest,
To every one these roads our everlasting quest.
——————————————————
Эх, дороги
Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…
Знать не можешь доли своей,
Может, крылья сложишь посреди степей.
Вьётся пыль под сапогами степями, полями;
А кругом бушует пламя да пули свистят.
Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…
Выстрел грянет, ворон кружит,
Твой дружок в бурьяне неживой лежит.
А дорога дальше мчится, пылится, клубится;
А кругом земля дымится, чужая земля.
Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…
Край сосновый, солнце встаёт,
У крыльца родного мать сыночка ждёт.
И бескрайними путями, степями, полями
Всё глядят вослед за нами родные глаза.
Эх, дороги, пыль да туман,
Холода, тревоги да степной бурьян…
Снег ли ветер, вспомним, друзья,
Нам дороги эти позабыть нельзя.
[ad_2]
Source link
