Andrey Vinogradov is a Russian composer and musician with a head full of romance. Robust, orchestral, and slick, his modern folk music, inflected by jazz and ro
On ves sverkaiet i hrustit,
Obledenelyi sad.
Ushedshyi ot menia grustit,
No net puti nazad.
I solntsa blednyi tusklyi lik -
Lish krugloe okno;
Ia taino znaiu, chei dvoinik
Prinik k nemu davno.
Zdes moi pokoi naveki vziat
Predchuvstviem bedy,
Skvoz tonki liod eschio skvoziat
Vcherashnie sledy.
Sklonilsia tusklyi miortvyi lik
K nemomu snu polei,
I zamiraet ostryi krik
Otstalykh zhuravlei.
It all is sparkling and crakling,
The garden covered with ice.
The one who left me is mourning,
But there's no way back.
And the pale dim face of the sun
Is just a round window.
I secretly know whose double
Has long ago pressed against it.
Here my peace is taken away forever,
By the foreboding of evil,
Through the thin ice still show,
Yesterday's tracks.
The dim dead face has bent
To the deathly-still sleep of the fields,
And dies away the piercing scream,
Of the hind-most cranes.
