Текст песни Userdie, Бродский - Новые стансы к августе

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        I

     Tuesday began September.
     It rained all night.
     All the birds flew away.
     I'm the only one so brave
     that did not even look after them.
     The desert sky is destroyed
     rain gleams.
     I do not need the south.

        II

     Here, buried alive,
     I wander stubble at dusk.
     My boot breaks the field
     thunder raging over me
     but the cut stalks climb up,
     almost not feeling pain.
     And the willow twigs,
     plunging pinkish cape
     to the marsh where the guards are taken down
     muttering, tilting down
     the nest of the cheat

        III

     Knock and squish, blistering, rustling.
     I will not speed up my step.
     You know only a spark
     extinguish carcasses.
     Frozen palm pressed to the thigh
     I wander from the hillock to the hillock,
     without memory, with one kind of sound,
     Sole knock on the stones.
     Leaning towards the dark brook
     I look with fright.

        IV

     Well, let the shadow lie meaningless
     in my eyes and let the dampness soak in
     my beard, and cap - on the sidelines -
     crowning this twilight, reflected
     like that trait that soul
     don't go -
     I do not aspire already
     for a visor, for a button, for a gate,
     for your boot, for your sleeve.
     Only the heart will suddenly be beaten, having found
     that somewhere i miss
     shakes it, hitting me in the chest.

        V

     The water murmurs before me
     and the frost stretches into the tear of the mouth.
     Otherwise, do not say: what can
     be not a face, but a place where a cliff
     happened
     And my laugh is crooked
     and dark gloom is disturbing.
     And crumbles the darkness of the rain gust.
     And my second image is like a man
     runs from the reddish eyelids,
     jumps on the wave
     under the pines, then under the willows,
     interferes with other twins,
     like never get lost to me.

        VI

     Knock and squish, chew a rotten bridge.
     Let the abyss surrounding the churchyard
     suck paint crosses.
     But even that tip of the grass
     swamp does not add blue ...
     Tramp the barns,
     rage among the thick yet foliage,
     invade the roots in the depths!
     And there, in the ground, as here, in my chest
     wake up all the ghosts and the dead
     and let them run, cutting off the corner,
     by stinging to deserted villages
     and waving flown days
     like hats pu'gal!

        VII

     Here in the hills, among the empty skies,
     among the roads leading only to the forest,
     life retreats from itself
     and looks amazed at the forms
     rustling around. And roots
     cling to the boot, snorting,
     and all the lights go out in the village.
     And here I am delirious over nobody's land
     and from non-existence I ask for rent,
     and the wind blows the heat from my hands
     and splashes water over me hollow
     and twists the dirt paths of the ribbon.

        Viii

     Yes, it’s like there really isn’t me
     I'm somewhere off to the side.
     Bristling and climbing up stubble,
     like body hair dead
     and above the nest, in the grass prostrate,
     boils ants romp.
     Nature is cracking down on past
     as usual. But her face at the same time -
     let the sunset light -
     involuntarily made evil.
     And all the five senses - five -
     I start from the forest:
     no lord in the eyes of the veil,
     and I will not turn into a judge.
     And if it's bad
     I still don't cope with myself,
     O God, chop off my palm
     like a Finn for theft.

        Ix

     Friend Pollux, here everything has merged into a spot.
     From my mouth will not break the wall.
     Here I am standing in an open coat,
     and the world flows into the eyes through a sieve,
     through the sieve of misunderstanding.
     I am deaf. I, God, are blind.
     I can not hear the words, and exactly twenty watts