Vladimir vysotsky – my hamlet

Just briefly, I’ll explain myself in verse,
To tell you everything – I do not have the might.
I was conceived, the proper way, in curse, –
In sweat and tenseness of the wedding night.

I knew, when separating from the earth –
The higher, the more harsh we got.
I walked towards the throne that I deserved
And acted like an heir in line of blood.

I knew that everything would be just as I ruled.
And I was never at a loss and never down.
My mates of sword and those I knew from school
Were loyal, like their fathers to the crown.

I never gave my speech a bit of thought.
Into the wind, I threw my words with pleasance –
Like to a leader, trust to me was brought
By noble and high-ranking adolescents.

We made the guards feel restless in the night,
From us, like from a pox, the time grew worse.
I slept on leather; ate right off the knife –
With stirrups disciplined my wicked horse.

“Long live the King!” – I had foreseen this cry,
The destiny has branded me at birth.
Around chased harnesses, I would get high,
I’d disregard abuse of books and words.

I’d smile with my lips while being pestered.
My mystic stare, which used to burn in fury,
I’ve learned to hide, raised by a happy jester.
And now the jester’s dead: “Amen!” Poor Yurik.

And yet I disapproved of any sharing –
Of gains, rewards and privileges one has.
Then, suddenly for life I’ve started caring
And rode around the newly sprouted grass,

I lost the thrill for hunting – lost its aim,
I started to despise greyhounds and beagles.
I sped my horse away from wounded game,
And whipped the huntsmen and the beaters

I watched our games with every single night
Turn more and more into disgrace of

time.
And by the flowing rivers, I would hide
And wash myself from staining filth and slime.

I started to perceive, while growing duller,
I even missed my household’s affair.
Towards the people of this era I grew colder,
I hid myself in books and lost all care.

My brain, for wisdom greedy like a spider,
Grasped everything: the immobility and motion.
But what is wit when one cannot apply it?
When all around there’s an opposing notion?

With friends I tore the tread and I was free –
The thread of Ariadne was but a scheme.
I pondered on the words “to be or not to be,”
A problem with no answer as it seemed.

The sea of grief was splashing in diffusion.
We stood against it; we were sieving grain,
And filtering the blurry resolution
To a dilemma, which appeared inane.

I heard my father’s call when clamor stopped,
Walked forth, – while lurking doubts loomed.
The weight of heavy thoughts would pull me up
And wings of flesh would drag me to my tomb.

Into a weak alloy, I’ve melted with each day,
And barely cool, it started to diffuse.
Like others, I’ve spilled blood and just like they
I was incapable my vengeance to refuse.

The rising before death – was my collapse!
Ophilia! My dear, I won’t decay…
With killing, I have made myself, perhaps,
An equal to the one with whom I lay.

I’m Hamlet, I despised injustice and abuse!
I did not give a damn about the crown!
But in their eyes, I hungered fame and I’m accused
Of sending rivals to the throne into the ground.

The striking splash appears as an illusion
And death through birth emerges from a side.
And we’re still asking the deceitful solution
Not finding the question to abide.