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Night whispers over my head like a vampire’s black coat,
We walk right past – these games are not for us.
Let someone else get lost in the dark and the smoke,
We are free and clean, we just walk right past.
I could laugh till my ears ring, I really don’t mind,
Just while the sky is bright, just before the night
The ace of spades falls again from the old, worn cards,
And the count starts again – who’s the fool in the game.
A broken ship knows: life’s a river, you sail hard,
Cut through the wild wind, leave the quiet shore’s name.
Night whispers over my head like a vampire’s black coat,
We walk right past – these games are not for us.
And as long as the thin thread in our chest doesn’t break,
We can sing songs to the sun and forget the night.
I could laugh till my ears ring, I really don’t mind,
Just while the sky is bright, just before the night
DeepSeek translation of by Edmund Shklyarsky poem
Пикник
Ночь
Ночь шуршит над головой как вампира черный плащ,
Мы проходим стороной – эти игры не для нас.
Пусть в объятьях темноты бьется кто-нибудь другой,
Мы свободны и чисты, мы проходим стороной.
Вот и я до боли в ушах посмеяться не прочь
Лишь пока светло в небесах, лишь пока не наступит ночь
Вновь пиковый выпал туз из колоды старых карт,
И опять идет подсчет, кто остался в дураках.
Знает сломанный корабль: жизнь-река и надо плыть,
Буйный ветер рассекать, тихий берег позабыть.
Ночь шуршит над головой как вампира черный плащ,
Мы проходим стороной, эти игры не для нас.
А пока у нас в груди тонкая не рвется нить,
Можно солнцу гимны петь и о ночи позабыть.
Вот и я до боли в ушах посмеяться не прочь
Лишь пока светло в небесах, лишь пока не наступит ночь
An emotionally powerful scene of an imagined conversation between one of the film’s characters and his father, who died in WW II. “- You owe me many explanations. I need to consult with you. You are the only person with whom I wanted to speak seriously, very seriously… How should I live, father? – How old are you? – Twenty-three. – And I am twenty-one… Farewell! I leave the Motherland to you, it’s yours now. Do not forget me! I wish you happiness…”
I’m taking a course on the history of cinema right now, and one plot from a French film history caught my attention: a woman lets her child become the face in a soap advertisment. The child dies, and then the woman travels to the city, where her child’s face stares at her from advertising posters everywhere.
I was also thinking about karma as a kind of barrier for revolutions in India and beyond. According to local beliefs (Hinduism and Buddhism), the next Buddha will be born into a family of Brahmins (the religious elite of society) same as all the previous Buddhas were born in rich families. This is because being born into a wealthy family is seen as a reward for good karma from previous lives. So people born into, say, untouchable families (who are forbidden to enter temples) quietly carry their karma without trying to protest. There were protests against the British in India, but something like untouchables rising up in a revolution against Brahmins – that practically never happened.
I’m also thinking that even Buddha Gautama (the last Buddha) was not with the working class… he never worked a single day himself. First he was a prince, and later a starving wanderer who even ate spoiled food.
Still, credit where it’s due: Buddha Gautama said that a person’s actions determine their karma, not their caste origin.
