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Нет, бил барабан перед смутным полком, Когда мы вождя хоронили: То зубы царёвы над мёртвым певцом Почётную дробь выводили. Такой уж почёт, что ближайшим друзьям — Нет места. В изглавьи, в изножьи, И справа, и слева — ручищи по швам — Жандармские груди и рожи. Не диво ли — и на тишайшем из лож Пребыть поднадзорным мальчишкой? На что-то, на что-то, на что-то похож Почёт сей, почётно — да слишком! Гляди, мол, страна, как, молве вопреки, Монарх о поэте печётся! Почётно — почётно — почётно — архи- почётно, — почётно — до чёрту! Кого ж это так — точно воры вора Пристреленного — выносили? Изменника? Нет. С проходного двора — Умнейшего мужа России.
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Note on TransliterationsText Authorship:
- by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetayeva (1892 - 1941), no title, written 1931 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich (1906 - 1975), "Нет, бил барабан", op. 143a no. 5, from Шесть стихотворении Марини Цветаевой = Shest' stikhotvorenii Marini Cvetajevoj, no. 5 [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Dann Mitton) , "No, there was a drumbeat", copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Sergey Rybin) , "No, the drum was drumming", copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Non, le tambour bat devant les troupes inquiètes", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: John Versmoren
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 113
No, there was a drumbeat before the restless regiment, When we were burying the leader: Like the tsar's teeth over the dead singer as they were delivering the honour roll. Such an honor, that even for his closest friends There is no room. At his head, at his feet, Both on his right and left – enormous hands at their sides - Only the gendarmes' chests and ugly mugs. Mustn’t we marvel that, even on this most quiet and luxurious of beds He endures being supervised like a juvenile? Something… something… something… it resembles This honour, but honour - too much honour! As if, "Look country: contrary to the rumours, The monarch cares about the poet!" Honour - Honour - Honour - Arch- honour - honour - goddammit! Who was it, as if this was an assassinated thief carried out by thieves? A traitor? No. In the thoroughfare The wisest man in Russia.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2020 by Dann Mitton, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in Russian (Русский) by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetayeva (1892 - 1941), no title, written 1931
This text was added to the website: 2020-05-31
Line count: 20
Word count: 146