Текст песни Светлана Сурганова - сл. Иосифа Бродского - Неужели не я

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Joseph Brodsky
From the outskirts to the center (1962)
Book: Joseph Brodsky. Poems and poems

     Here I again visited
     This area of ​​love, peninsula factories,
     A paradise of workshops and arcade factories,
     Paradise of river steamers,
     I whispered again:
     Here I am again in infant laras.
     I again ran through Malaya Ohta through a thousand arches.

     Before me the river
     Sprawled under the stone-coal smoke,
     Behind the tram
     He thundered on the bridge unscathed,
     And brick fences
     Suddenly gloominess brightened.
     Good afternoon, here we met, poor youth.

     The jazz of the outskirts welcomes us,
     You hear the chimneys of the outskirts,
     Gold dixieland
     In black caps beautiful, adorable,
     Not the soul and not the flesh -
     Someone's shadow over the native gramophone,
     As if your dress was suddenly thrown up by the saxophone.

     In a bright red muffler
     And in a cloak in the doorways, in the front
     You are standing in sight
     On the bridge near the years of irretrievable,
     Clutching a half-glass of lemonade,
     And the expensive pipe of the combine is roaring behind.

     Good afternoon. Well, we have a meeting.
     How you are incorporeal:
     Next new sunset
     Chases away fire cloths.
     You are so poor. So many years,
     But rushed in vain.
     Good afternoon, my youth. My God, how beautiful you are.

     On the frozen hills
     Silently rushes greyhounds,
     Among the red bogs
     There are hooters train,
     On an empty highway,
     Disappearing into the smoke of woodlands,
     Take off a taxi, and the aspen look in the skies.

     This is our winter.
     The modern lantern looks like a dead eye,
     Before me burn
     A thousand dazzling windows.
     I raise my cry,
     So that he could not face houses:
     It's our winter all can not go back.

     Not to death, no,
     We will not find it, we do not find it.
     From birth to the light
     Every day we go somewhere,
     Like someone in the distance
     In new buildings is beautiful.
     We scatter all. Only death gathers us alone.

     Hence, there is no separation.
     There is a huge meeting.
     So someone suddenly called us
     In the dark, hugs her shoulders,
     And full of darkness,
     And full of darkness and peace,
     We all stand over the cold shiny river.

     How easy it is for us to breathe,
     From the fact that like a plant
     In someone else's life
     We become light and shadow
     Or more -
     Because we will lose everything,
     Running away forever, we become death and paradise.

     Here I go again
     In the same bright paradise - from a stop to the left,
     Before me runs,
     Closing his hands, the new Eve,
     Bright red Adam
     In the distance appears in the arches,
     The Neva wind rings plaintively in the hanging harps.

     How fast life is
     In the black and white paradise of new buildings.
     The snake is framed,
     And the sky is silent heroic,
     Ice mountain
     Motionless shines at the fountain,
     The morning snow is waving, and the cars are flying relentlessly.

     Is it really not me,
     Illuminated by three lanterns,
     So many years in the dark
     By fragments ran waste fields,
     And the radiance of heaven
     Did the crane fly?
     Is it really not me? Something has changed forever.

     Someone new reigns,
     Nameless, beautiful, powerful,
     Over the native land burns,
     The light diffuses dark blue,
     And in the eyes of the greyhounds
     Rustle the lights - according to the flower,
     Someone always goes near new houses alone.

     Hence, there is no separation.
     Hence, sp