Андрей Адаричев Андрей Адаричев 
 Москва
Андрей Адаричев. Своя музыка, свои песни. Как сюда попасть

Bulat Okudzhava Collected Songs

COLLECTION OF SONGS FROM Bulat Okudzhava (with tabs) 1946-1965 Translated by Alec Vagapov -- Unyielding, Raged And Free -- The Song Of the Old Street-Organ Player -- The Song Of The Trampling Jackboots -- The Last Trolley Bus -- The Blue Air-Balloon -- You're Not Drunkards, You're Not Vagrants... -- Let's Shout And Rejoice, Admire One Another... -- I Need Someone To Worship and Admire -- The Artists -- The Paper Soldier -- The Song Of the Open Door -- The Old Jacket -- When All At Once the Sound Of Trumpet -- The Song Of Moscow Nights -- Will You Please Be So Kind As To Pull Down the Blinds... -- Look Here, Your Majesty -- Georgian Song -- The Old Students' Song -- The Blue Air-Balloon -- Mozart -- Francois Villon's Prayer -- Let's Shout And Rejoice, Admire One Another. -- Again I've Encountered Hope, - What a Happy Occasion! -- The Musician -- The Omen * * * Hm Unyielding, raged and free, Em burn, fire, burn on, please... F#7 Decembers tend to be Hm replaced by Januaries. Hm We've anything at all: H7 Em smiles, joys and everything, F#7 one common moon for all, Hm one summer and one spring. We'd live and go to grass then, come what may, we will for all the wrongs of ours stand trial by ordeal. We do not care, since we know: when life is gone for all of our sins the reconing is one. Unyielding, raged and free, burn, fire, burn on, please... Decembers have to be replaced by Januaries. 1946 THE SONG OF THE OLD STREET-ORGAN PLAYER F# My good old naughty organ, C# The sound you make is sweet. F# My good old naughty organ, F# I wonder where you lead. B D#m I'm plodding hardly able D#7 G#m to move ahead an inch.. D#m How can I reach my aim when B D#m the shoes I'm wearing pinch? I'm working, I'm freelancing. A steady job it is! I wish my sweat would last me for my remaining years. I have a great assignment of paying for my slips, if only I could smile when I get it in the ribs. 1957 THE SONG OF THE TRAMPLING JACKBOOTS Am E7 Am Now do hear the sound of trampling boots? A7 Dm And do you see the birds fly off like mad Am/E and women stare scrutinizing routes? E7 I think you know what they are staring at. Now do hear the sound of drum-beat bass? The soldiers have to say their good-byes... The squadron leaves to vanish in the haze... The past appears clearly in the eyes. What happens to your soldier's fortitude when you return to your old neighbourhood? It's women's trick who steal it from your chest and keep it like a birdie in the nest. What happens to your women, man of war, when you come home and open the front door? They welcome you and kindly let you in but in the house there's a smell of sin. The past is gone -- who cares about that! We look into the future, for the light! And in the fields the carrion-crows are fat, the roaring war pursues us like a plight. Again you hear the sound of trampling boots and see the frenzied birds fly off like mad, and women stare scrutinising routes... It's our napes that they are staring at. 1957 THE LAST TROLLEY BUS Em When I'm in trouble and totally done G D7 G and when all my hope I abandon E7 Am Em I get on the blue trolley bus on the run, B7 the last one, Em at random. Am Em I get on the blue trolley bus on the run, B7 he last one, Em at random. Night trolley, roll on sliding down the street, around the boulevards keep moving to pick up all those who are wrecked and in need of rescue from ruin. Night trolley bus will you please open your doors ! On wretched cold nights, I can instance, your sailors would come, as a matter of course, to render assistance. So many a time they have lent me a hand to help me get out of grievance... Imagine, there is so much kindness behind this silence and stillness. Last trolley rolls round the greenery belt and Moscow, like river, dies down... the hammering blood in my temples I felt calms down calms down. 1957 THE BLUE AIR-BALLOON Dm Gm A7 Dm Little girl's crying: her air-balloon is gone. Gm A7 Dm People console her, the balloon flies on. Gm A7 Dm A young maid's crying: no boy-friend as yet. . Gm A7 Dm People console her, the balloon flies on. A woman is crying: her husband has left. People console her, the balloon flies on. An old woman's crying: life's been so short. The balloon has come back, a blue balloon it is. * * * Am Dm You're not drunkards, you're not vagrants, G7 C round the table of seven seas, Dm Am sing the praises, sing the praises E7 Am to my woman, if you please! Dm Am sing the praises, sing the praises, E7 Am to my woman, if you please! Look at her as if she were your salvation in sea storms, you compare her, you compare her with a shore that's very close. We are earthly, don't you tell us Tales of gods, they're are not for us! We just carry on wings of ours what you carry in your arms. You just ought to put your trust in the blue lighthouse on the rock, then the shore, all over sudden, will emerge out of the fog. 1957 *** To O.B. Am E7 Am I need someone to worship and admire. C G7 C Just think, a simple ordinary ant Dm Am/E got suddenly possessed with the desire E7 Am to bow the knee in fascination, charmed ! The ant lost quietness and peace of mind, life seemed so tedious to him. Meanwhile, he made itself an idol of a kind, a goddess in his own image and style. And on the seventh day, at a sudden moment, she sprang up, in a flash, from midnight lights, without any sign and any omen... dressed in a coat, she made a perfect sight. Forgetting joys and sorrows, bad sensations, he opened wide the doors to let her in and kissed her weather-beaten hands, in adoration, 'n the little old shoes that she was wearing. Their shadows were swaying in the doorway. They quietly conversed, without saying a word, like gods, they were beautiful, adoring, like people, they were wistful and disturbed. 1959 THE ARTISTS Am E7 Am Artists, dip you badges brushes in the visage Am E7 Am of the bustling Moscow yards and sunrise glaze. Dm E7 Am so that brushes might resemble autumn leafage, | H7 E7 Am | whirling leaves that fall to mark November days. | Repeated Dip your brushes by the city's old tradition, dip them in the paint of light blue colour tint, do the painting with devotion and ambition like we do the walking down Tverskaya street. Let the pavement stir up as if coming round ! Let what hasn't started yet begin right off ! Keep on painting, it will pass to your account... We don't care if it hasn't quite come off. You depict our lives and fates like fair judges, paint our summer, our winter, our spring... never mind that we are outsiders, you just paint, and I'll expound everything. 1959 THE PAPER SOLDIER Am Once there lived a soldier-boy, E quite brave, one can't be braver, but he was merely a toy Am for he was made of paper. He wished to alter everything, and be the whole world's helper, but he was puppet on a string, a soldier made of paper. He'd bravely go through fire and smoke, he'd die for you. No vapour. But he was just a laughing-stock, a soldier made of paper. You would mistrust him and deny your secrets and your favour. Why should you do it, really, why? `cause he was made of paper. He dreads the fire? Not at all! One day he cut a caper and died for nothing; after all, he was a piece of was paper. 1959 The Song Of Moscow Nights to B. A. Hm F#7 Hm A7 D When all at once the sound of trumpet resounds, yet unclearly heard, Em C#7 F#7 the word impetuously flushes escaping lips like a night bird. Hm Em A7 D And music, like a casual shower, meanders rumbling up above, Em Hm / F# F#7 Hm the little orchestra of wishes conducted by the force of love. Hm Hm/F# F#7 Hm the little orchestra of wishes conducted by the force of love And music, like a casual shower, meanders rumbling up above, the little orchestra of wishes conducted by the force of love. In years of partings, fights and battles when rains of iron, steel and lead came down slashing us like fury so that no lenience we'd expect, and the commanders lost their voices... it came as power from above, the little orchestra of wishes conducted by the force of love. The clarinet's crushed, the trumpet's pierced bassoon's worn like a walking stick, the drum has burst at seams collapsing... the clarinetist's looking chic! The flutist, like a prince, is graceful, agreeable over and above, the little orchestra of wishes conducted by the force of love. 1963 . * * * D#m B D#m Will you please be so kind as to pull down the blinds, and, F# C# F# Nurse, you needn't prepare for me any dope. G#m D#m Here they are, right in front of my bed, keeping silent, B D#m My old creditors: Love and Belief, and great Hope. Now the short age's son has to settle accounts, But the light empty purses drop out of my hand... Please don't worry, Belief, don't be sad, and don't frown For you still have a lot of your debtors around. In a helpless and delicate way, feeling sorry, And touching its hands with my lips, I will say: "Please do not be upset, mother Hope, do not worry, for you still have your sons that are here to stay." Openhanded, to Love empty palms I'll extend, and I will hear its soft penitential voice: "Don't be sad for the memory hasn't yet faded, I have given myself all away for your cause. But no matter whose hands may have ever caressed you, And no matter how ardent your passions have been, People's gossip has trebly paid off all your debts, so You are even with me ... You are upright and clean!" I am lounging, clean, in the fade-in of sunrise, Right before the emergence of forthcoming day... Three benign fair judges, three sisters, three spouses For the last time they trust me till I can repay. 1965 Bulat Okudzhava 1967-1986 Translated by Alec Vagapov * * * To P. Luspekayev Am E7 Am Look here, your Majesty, Mrs. Separation, C G C I am feeling cold with you, that's the revelation. Dm Am Letter from the darling, E7 F wait, don't tear it off... Dm Am Out of luck in dying, E7 F I'll have luck in love. Look here, you Majesty, Mrs. Alienation, ardent was your hugging but with no affection. In silky nets you're trying to catch me, now lay off... Out of luck in dying, I'll have luck in love. Look here, your Majesty, dear Mrs. Fortune, you are good to some of us, to others you're a torture. Nine-gram piece of iron for the heart's enough... Out of luck in dying, I'll have luck in love. Look here, your Majesty, dear Mrs. Conquest, I haven't finished singing as you should have noticed. Wretched things, stop lying, don't swear an oath on blood... Out of luck in dying, I'll have luck in love. 1967 * * * GEORGIAN SONG To M. Kvilividze Hm Hm/F# Em (D#/D) I shall bury a grape stone in the warm fertile soil by my house, A7 A7/E D (E/F) F# and I'll kiss the vine twig and gather sweet grapes, my reward, Hm Hm/F# Em (D#/D) and I'll call all my friends to the feast, and love in my heart I will rouse... C7# F# Hm A7 Otherwise, what's the purpose of living in this lasting world? D D/F# Em (D#/D) Dear guests, come to table, I extend you my kind invitation, A7 A7/E D (E/F) F# tell me straight in my face the opinion of me that you hold, Hm Hm/F# Em (D#/D) God almighty will send me forgiveness for my transgression. C#0 F#7 Hm Otherwise, what's the purpose of living in this lasting world? Dressed in purple, my charming Dali for me will be singing, dressed in black, I'll sit bending my head without saying a word, I'll be listening enchanted and I'll die from deep love and sad feeling... Otherwise, what's the purpose of living in this lasting world? When the sunset starts swirling and searching the corners around, May the images float, as if real, again, may them swirl right in front of my eyes: a blue ox, a white eagle, a trout... Otherwise, what's the purpose of living at all in this world? 1967 THE OLD STUDENTS' SONG Am Dm He who will dare our union mar G7 C deserves e the most severe sentence, Am Dm I wouldn't give a grey guitar E7 Am for his damned life and his repentance. C Dm So fervently the age intends G7 C to knock us down with a feather... Am A7 Let's join our hands my dear friends, Dm Let's join our hands my dear friends, G7 C we won't get lost, if we're together. At alien feasts on festive days, amidst the shaky truths and fairness, before we hear the words of praise we will spruce up and preen our feathers. While our stupid plume portends a lasting journey, full of care, let's join our hands my dear friends, let's join our hands, friends, I declare! When the partition day arrives we will not covet bread for gratis and we won't get to paradise, instead, Ophelia will bless us. Before the crucial day descends, before we for the road prepare let's join our hands my dear friends, let's join our hands, friends, I declare! 1967 MOZART To I.B. Am F G7 C Mozart is playing the old little violin, Dm E7 Mozart is playing while his violin sings. Dm G7 C Mozart does not choose, for living, a motherland, Dm E7 Am simply, he plays all his life, as it is. G C Well, never mind, that's the way we are destined, H7 E7 such is our fate: now we feast, now we fight... Am Dm Keep up your diligent efforts, maestro, E7 Am keep meditating and feeling inspired. Somewhere around our last destination, maybe, we'll thank our fate anyway, only I wish that our homeland's transgression wouldn't be turned to an idol some day. Well, never mind, that's the way we are destined, such is our fate: now we feast, now we fight... Don't give up hope, hold it out, maestro, keep meditating and feeling inspired. Short are the years of our blithe adolescence, off they will fly and disperse, in a flash... Camisoles, cuffs, golden shoes, silver laces, snow-white perukes, and a colorful splash. Well, never mind, that's the way we are destined, such is our fate: now we feast, now we fight... Well, let it be, don't pay any attention, maestro, keep meditating and feeling inspired. 1969 FRANCOIS VILLON'S PRAYER Am Е7 Am While the world is still turning, and while the daylight is broad, C G7 C Oh Lord, pray, please give everyone what he or she hasn't got.. A7 Dm H7 E7 Give the timid a horse to ride, give the wise a bright head, Am Dm E7 Am Give the fortunate money and about me don't forget. While the world is still turning, Lord, You are omnipotent, Let those striving for power wield it to their heart's content. Give a break to the generous, at least for a day or two, Pray, give Cain repentance, and remember me, too. I know You are almighty, and I believe You are wise Like a soldier killed in a battle believes he's in paradise. Like every eared creature believes, oh, my Lord, in You, Like we believe, doing something, not knowing what we do. Oh Lord, oh my sweet Lord, my blue eyed Lord, You're good! While the world is still turning, wondering, why it should, While it has got sufficient fire and time, as You see, Give each a little of something and remember about me! 1969 *** To Yury Trifonov C G G7 C Let's shout and rejoice, admire one another. Am Dm E7 Am About high-flown words we do not need to bother. C G G7 C Let's live in mutual praise, make complimentary comments Am Dm E7 Am For these are, after all, love's great and happy moments. Let's grieve and cry without concealing feelings, whether We're by ourselves or whether we're together. About vicious tongues we do not have to bother For love and sorrow always accompany each other. Let mutual understanding attend us at conferring So that we prevent our old mistakes recurring. Let's get along indulging and pleasing one another For life is very short, there won't be any other. * * * to O. Chukhontsev Am E7 Am Again I've encountered Hope, - what a happy occasion! C G7 C I have been away while it never has changed its location. Dm Am She wears Her fortunate poplin apparel as ever, E7 Am Her eyes, glowing, ardent, are focused on ages ahead. Dm You are our sister, and we are Your brethren for ever, Am E7 Am it's hard to believe life will come to an end. We know, that You never have promised us wonders. When young we envision depicturing what is beyond us; we write our songs, make our lives, and we don't bear grudges, and no one will dare impede us, or get in the way. You are our sister, and we are Your previous judges, we had our fortune which faded away. We wish we could bring Love and Hope into one, -- close together, it certainly would make a wonderful a picture, we gather ! We then wouldn't have any anguish, -- we would just escape it, and only sweet wonderful torments would show on the face. You are our sister, but why were we long separated? The reasons is youth and old age in this case. 1976 THE MUSICIAN To I. Schvarts E7 Am It was not that I was curious, I was flying in the skies. A7 Dm It was not that I was curious, I was flying in the skies. Dm7 E7 Dm7 E7 Not because I found it boring, I just tried to understand: Am H7 E7 Am how on earth such sounds could be ever made by human hand F Dm E7 Am from a simple piece of wood, and from a string, a cord of a kind, F Dm E7 Am from a fantasy, ideas, he was true to, in his mind. One at least must be aware of how to press the fingers right, so that the majestic sounds might not vanish in the night. He must also penetrate us, light a fire, burn our soul... After all, why should he care, why should he spare us at all? Happy is a home where violin puts us wise and bids us best, give us hope and inspiration... We'll take care of the rest.. Happy is an instrument that to the clumsy shoulder's pressed, now I happen to be flying by its magic music blessed. Happy is the one whose path is short, who plays by sleight of hand, the musician that has made out of my soul a burning brand. And a burnt soul, as is known, (there's no doubt about that), is more righteous and more fair, more benign, in point of fact. 1983 THE OMEN Am If a crow flies around, Am then a war is to break out. Dm If we let it whirl in flight, Dm if we let it whirl in flight, E7 Am then we're all to go to fight. To prevent the bloody war we just have to kill the crow. And to kill the vicious crow, and to kill the vicious crow we must charge the guns of war. Once we charge the guns, we will want to go to shoot and kill. Once we open fire and shoot, once we open fire and shoot stupid bullets will make good. For a bullet all is one. It will hit just anyone, friend or foe, -- just anyone, all and every singe one, All and sundry, everyone! Now there isn't anyone, any woman any man, there is nothing, there is none, just a crow, all on its own and no one to shoot it down. 1986 for his insanity and his untiring hand, he strains his voice, he'll certainly top out and come into his own in the end. (from sound recording, 1986)
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Песни Булата Окуджавы на англ. языке ( с аккордами) перевод А. С. Вагапова см. также http://zhurnal.lib.ru/a/as_w/

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20 мая 2014 в 06:39