The Cold Dicks - 18 - Пушкины лезут в высокое
текст песни
14
0 человек. считает текст песни верным
0 человек считают текст песни неверным
The Cold Dicks - 18 - Пушкины лезут в высокое - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
- Текст
- Перевод
ПУШКИНЫ ЛЕЗУТ В ВЫСОКОЕ.
Пушкины лезут в высокое*,
а я на мели социальной и нравственной,
но не на той, где находился Набоков**,
а на значительно более эфемерной субстанции
комар ко мне не подточился,
а поглотил все лицо целиком,
но я в тот же миг излечился
одним внушительным глотком.
и тихонько стал задумываться
о новой тактике стихосложения
о том, что как ни крути, но пора
поменять предмет вдохновения
заебала вконец маргинальщина
и бутылка портвейна не катит
из друзей все несемейные - умерли
в общем, все! решено точно, хватит!
я хочу инфракрасные перья
наблюдать в живых птицах.
цвет морских каракатиц узнать
пусть хотя бы пока на страницах.
перламутровый узор крыл
летит от корней к глазницам
траектория: тыл а затем к людским лицам.
только глазных яблок спас -
это вовсе сейчас не про нас.
но я хочу воровать
у изобразительного искусства природы
краски и ими писать
непотребство и гадство,
или, может быть, даже какие-то хорошие вещи
я знаю точно: природа излечит,
глина научит, а книга простит…
“молодой человек, Вас не возмутит, если я присяду здесь рядом?” –
обратилась ко мне старуха, смирившая взглядом,
разбушевавшееся воображение,
ведь ее земной вид был достоин отдельного сочинения:
не пожилая женщина, а старушечья кожура
будто смерть ее здесь случайно забыла.
и слова произносила, будто совсем не она,
а остаточная часть души, что на небо почему-то не взмыла.
все это время я сидел на качелях,
но только в прошедшем времени я
а в настоящем: я, старуха, коктейль хуч,
и, конечно же, моих сочинений спасительный обруч,
способный задевать мёртвых людей за живое.
старуха протягивает мне лимон.
“что это такое?” – спрашиваю я, хотя ответ очевиден.
“бери, угощайся” – отвечает она, добавляя
“не стесняйся, внучок, добра от добра
у меня сын умер, а я вот живая,
почему Бог на небо берет молодых,
стариков на земле оставляя?”
и тычет лимоном прямо в ебло…
я пытался возражать, что даже водку редко таким заедаю.
- ну, ладно беру, черт уж с Вами!***
старуха начинает молиться Богам и махать руками,
еще злее небеса вопрошать: что здесь происходит с нами?
материальность мысли, ну, нахуя ты прислала мне эту вот бабку?
лучше бы вместо нее была бы здесь водка Мороша,
которую я пил бы отчаянно в лесу один
до потери сознания, до утренний дрожи…
и проснувшись в грязи,
совершил аллегорическое наблюдение:
птицы похожи на священнослужителей,
не растерявших навыков церковного пения.
значит, снова общение с неведомым
Pushkin climbs high.
Pushkin climbs high*,
And I am on the shallows of social and moral,
but not on the one where Nabokov was **,
and on much more ephemeral substance
The mosquito did not stumble to me,
And he absorbed the whole face whole,
But I was cured at the same moment
One impressive sip.
And quietly began to think
About the new tactics of versification
that whatever one may say, but it's time
Change the subject of inspiration
The marginalism was completely fucked
And the bottle of port does not roll
All non -dimensions of friends - died
Well, that's all! It is decided exactly, enough!
I want infrared feathers
Observe living birds.
the color of sea karakatits to find out
Let at least on the pages.
The mother -of -pearl pattern wing
flies from roots to eye sockets
Trajectory: rear and then to human faces.
Only the eyeballs saved -
This is not about us at all now.
But I want to steal
Fine art of nature
paints and write them
indecency and native,
Or maybe even some good things
I know for sure: nature will cure
Clay will teach, and the book will forgive ...
"Young man, will not be outraged if I sit here nearby?" -
The old woman turned to me, humbled a look,
A raging imagination,
After all, its earthly appearance was worthy of a separate composition:
Not an elderly woman, but an old woman's peel
As if her death accidentally forgot her.
And she said the words, as if not at all,
And the residual part of the soul that for some reason did not soared on the sky.
All this time I was sitting on a swing
But only in the past tense I
And in the present: I, the old woman, the cocktail Khuch,
And, of course, my works are a saving hoop,
capable of touching dead people for living.
The old woman holds out a lemon.
"what it is?" I ask, although the answer is obvious.
“Take it, treat yourself,” she replies, adding
“Don't be shy, granddaughter, good from good
My son is dead, but I'm alive
Why does God take young people to heaven
Leaving the old people on earth? "
And pokes with lemon right on the next ...
I tried to object that even vodka rarely sees this.
- Well, I take it, damn it! ***
The old woman begins to pray to the gods and wave his hands,
To ask even more than heaven: what is happening to us here?
The materiality of thought, well, fuck you sent me this grandmother?
It would be better if there would be a froser vodka here,
which I would drink desperately in the forest alone
to loss of consciousness, to morning trembling ...
And waking up in the mud
He made an allegorical observation:
Birds look like clergymen,
not confused skills of church singing.
So, again, communication with the unknown
Pushkin climbs high*,
And I am on the shallows of social and moral,
but not on the one where Nabokov was **,
and on much more ephemeral substance
The mosquito did not stumble to me,
And he absorbed the whole face whole,
But I was cured at the same moment
One impressive sip.
And quietly began to think
About the new tactics of versification
that whatever one may say, but it's time
Change the subject of inspiration
The marginalism was completely fucked
And the bottle of port does not roll
All non -dimensions of friends - died
Well, that's all! It is decided exactly, enough!
I want infrared feathers
Observe living birds.
the color of sea karakatits to find out
Let at least on the pages.
The mother -of -pearl pattern wing
flies from roots to eye sockets
Trajectory: rear and then to human faces.
Only the eyeballs saved -
This is not about us at all now.
But I want to steal
Fine art of nature
paints and write them
indecency and native,
Or maybe even some good things
I know for sure: nature will cure
Clay will teach, and the book will forgive ...
"Young man, will not be outraged if I sit here nearby?" -
The old woman turned to me, humbled a look,
A raging imagination,
After all, its earthly appearance was worthy of a separate composition:
Not an elderly woman, but an old woman's peel
As if her death accidentally forgot her.
And she said the words, as if not at all,
And the residual part of the soul that for some reason did not soared on the sky.
All this time I was sitting on a swing
But only in the past tense I
And in the present: I, the old woman, the cocktail Khuch,
And, of course, my works are a saving hoop,
capable of touching dead people for living.
The old woman holds out a lemon.
"what it is?" I ask, although the answer is obvious.
“Take it, treat yourself,” she replies, adding
“Don't be shy, granddaughter, good from good
My son is dead, but I'm alive
Why does God take young people to heaven
Leaving the old people on earth? "
And pokes with lemon right on the next ...
I tried to object that even vodka rarely sees this.
- Well, I take it, damn it! ***
The old woman begins to pray to the gods and wave his hands,
To ask even more than heaven: what is happening to us here?
The materiality of thought, well, fuck you sent me this grandmother?
It would be better if there would be a froser vodka here,
which I would drink desperately in the forest alone
to loss of consciousness, to morning trembling ...
And waking up in the mud
He made an allegorical observation:
Birds look like clergymen,
not confused skills of church singing.
So, again, communication with the unknown
Другие песни исполнителя: