Lyrics Арсений Тарковский - Степь
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The lyrics of the song are provided for your reference Арсений Тарковский - Степь, and also a translation of a song with a video or clip.
Земля сама себя глотает
И, тычась в небо головой,
Провалы памяти латает
То человеком, то травой.
Трава - под конскою подковой,
Душа - в коробке костяной,
И только слово, только слово
В степи маячит под луной.
А степь лежит, как Ниневия,
И на курганах валуны
Спят, как цари сторожевые,
Опившись оловом луны.
Последним умирает слово.
Но небо движется, пока
Сверло воды проходит снова
Сквозь жесткий щит материка.
Дохнет репейника ресница,
Сверкнет кузнечика седло,
Как радуга, степная птица
Расчешет сонное крыло.
И в сизом молоке по плечи
Из рая выйдет в степь Адам
И дар прямой разумной речи
Вернет и птицам и камням,
Любовный бред самосознанья
Вдохнет, как душу, в корни трав,
Трепещущие их названья
Еще во сне пересоздав.
1961
The earth is swallowing itself
And, pointing my head at the sky,
Memory lapses patches up
Either by man or by grass.
The grass is under a horse's shoe,
The soul is in a bone box,
And only a word, only a word
In the steppe looms under the moon.
And the steppe lies like Nineveh,
And there are boulders on the mounds
They sleep like watchdog kings,
Drunk on the tin of the moon.
The word dies last.
But the sky is moving bye
The water drill goes through again
Through the hard shield of the continent.
The burdock eyelash dies,
The grasshopper's saddle will sparkle,
Like a rainbow, a steppe bird
Comb your sleepy wing.
And up to your shoulders in blue milk
Adam will come out of paradise into the steppe
And the gift of direct, intelligent speech
Will return to both birds and stones,
Love delirium of self-consciousness
Inhales like a soul into the roots of herbs,
Their trembling names
Having recreated it in a dream.
1961
And, pointing my head at the sky,
Memory lapses patches up
Either by man or by grass.
The grass is under a horse's shoe,
The soul is in a bone box,
And only a word, only a word
In the steppe looms under the moon.
And the steppe lies like Nineveh,
And there are boulders on the mounds
They sleep like watchdog kings,
Drunk on the tin of the moon.
The word dies last.
But the sky is moving bye
The water drill goes through again
Through the hard shield of the continent.
The burdock eyelash dies,
The grasshopper's saddle will sparkle,
Like a rainbow, a steppe bird
Comb your sleepy wing.
And up to your shoulders in blue milk
Adam will come out of paradise into the steppe
And the gift of direct, intelligent speech
Will return to both birds and stones,
Love delirium of self-consciousness
Inhales like a soul into the roots of herbs,
Their trembling names
Having recreated it in a dream.
1961