Иосиф Бродский - Стихи о зимней кампании 1980-го года
текст песни

"At half -day heat in the Dagestan Valley ..."
M. Yu. Lermontov

I

The speed of the bullet at low temperature
It depends on the properties of the target,
From the desire to warm up in the muscles
torso, in complex bindings of the neck.
Stones lie like the second army.
The shadow is pressed into a loam involuntarily.
The sky is like a crumbling lime.
The plane dissolves in it with a moth.
And a spring from a ripped mattress
The explosion rises. Spraying a funnel,
like a foam, blood, not having time to absorb
In the ground, covered with a solid film.

II

North, shepherd and sower, drives herd
To the sea, south, spreading the cold.
Clear frosty noon in the Valley of Chuchmekistan.
Mechanical elephant, lifting the trunk
In horror in front of a black mouse
mines in the snow, spew out to the throat
approaching a lump, obsessed with thought,
Like Magomet, move a mountain from a place.
Snow lies on tops; Heavenly pantry
He releases a dry excess at noon.
Mountains do not move, transmitting
their immobility to the bodies of the dead.

III

The mournful singing of the Slav
In the evening in Asia. Furious, raw
Human pork
Lies on the floor caravanserai.
The dumbass smolders, the legs are stained;
It smells like a rag, a forgotten bath.
Dreams are the same, like overcoats.
More cartridges than memories,
And in the mouth from many "cheers" sediment.
Glory to those who, without raising their eyes,
went to an abortion in the sixties,
Saving the fatherland from shame!

IV

What is the contents of the buzzing of a drone?
What is the aircraft?
It becomes just as difficult to live
how to build a house from grapes
Or - card ensembles.
Everything is unstable (since it was blown away):
Families, private thoughts, Sakli.
Above the ruins of the aul
night. Walking under yourself with a fuel oil
Iron is crushed. Moon with fear
sink in a boot
He hides in the clouds, like an allah chalm.

V

An idle, no more air inhaled by anyone.
Imported, piled as hit
silence. Growing like a downtime
emptiness. Exist on the stars
life, applause would be heard,
The artilleryman would run out to the ramp, blinking.
Murder is a naive form of death,
tautology, aria parrot,
The work of the hands, as a rule, with an indenture eyebrow
Fly of life catching in his sights
youth familiar with blood
In hand or with a breakdown of an integer.

VI

Pull the blanket, outfit in the trumphy mattress
A hole, a lick and listen to the "uu" sirens.
New glaciation - glaciation
Slaps to the globe. His moraine
The powers, memories, and blouses are crushed.
Muttering, rolling out orbits,
We turn into future mollusks,
no one hears us, as if we are trilled.
Blowing from the corridor, wells, square windows.
Turn the switch, turn into a kalachik.
The spine honors eternity. Not like a curl.
In the morning, do not get up with karakchek.

VII

In the stratosphere, everyone is forgotten, bitch
Fins, looking at the porthole.
"Sharik! Ball! Reception. I am a bug."
Ball below, and on it the equator.
Like a collar. Slopes, fields, ravines
Repeat their whiteness with their whiteness.
The paint of shame went to the flags.
And in the introduced chickens
Also, shuddering from the wake
put an immaculate egg color.
If something turns black, then only letters.
Like traces of a hare who survived the miraculous.