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
Poryzheli kholmy. Znoiem vyzheny,
I tak blizko obryvy khrebtov,
Podnebesnykh skalistykh khrebtov.
Na stene nashei glinistoi khizhiny
Uzh ne pakhnet venok iz tsvetov,
Iz zavetnykh zasokhshikh tsvetov.
More vsio eschio v bleske teriaetsia,
Tonet v solnechnoi svetloi pyli:
Chto zh tak gorestno parus skloniaetsia,
Belyi parus v daliokoi dali?
Ty menia pozabudesh vdali.
The hills have turned reddish. Burnt by heat.
And the precipices of mountain ridges are so close,
The precipices of the sky-high rocky ridges.
On the wall of our clay hut,
The wreath of flowers is not smelling any more,
The wreath of cherished dried flowers.
The sea is still disappearing in brilliance,
Still sinking in the sunny light dust:
Then, why is the sail bending so mournfully,
The white sail in the distant distance?
You'd forget me far off.
