Beloved Country
Heart is filled up

16 songs of A. Romanov
on words of Esenin

Beloved Country
Heart is filled up

Booklet (rus):

Комментарий А. Агажанова (rus)

Эту работу следует рассматривать как продукт коллективного творчества. Я начинал ее как стандартную аранжировочную, мне были даны напетые автором песни (все примерно в одном темпе и стиле, с многократно повторенными куплетами) на стихи Есенина.   Далее...

Край любимый сердцу снится.
16 песен Романова на стихи Есенина.

Kомментарий А. Агажанова:

        Эту работу следует рассматривать как продукт коллективного творчества. Я начинал ее как стандартную аранжировочную, мне были даны напетые автором песни (все примерно в одном темпе и стиле, с многократно повторенными куплетами) на стихи Есенина. Но постепенно я увидел возможность появления необычного сочинения, сдружился с автором, симпатичнейшим Александром Никитовичем Романовым и оценил его необычный дар, прежде всего - в его уникальном выразительном пении. Быстро стало очевидно, что записывать песни надо именно с его вокалом. Это-то и стало самой необычной и трудной частью проекта - только за счет сочетания действительно уникальной педагогической работы с непрофессионалом (не знающим ни метра, ни нот) со столь же уникальной работой моего друга Андрея Демиденко в качестве не просто звукорежиссера или монтажера, а гораздо гораздо более, смогла появиться эта работа, которую я считаю действительно в чем-то уникальной.
         Такого рода работы интересны тем, что при взаимодействии и всегда достаточно сложном процессе понимания друг друга и неизбежном "растаскивании" произведения в разные стороны двумя весьма различно настроенными авторами происходит как бы умножение их способностей. Я поставил задачу слепить некую форму (как в каждой отдельной песне, так и на диске в целом) и добиться разнообразия, не меняя авторского вокала (при этом приходилось зачастую угадывать в мелодиях как высоту, так и ритм, и до какой-то степени даже корректировать их).
         Результат этой работы представляю вам на суд.

  • 1. Over there beyond Fields of yellow …
  •   text

    Over there beyond fields of yellow
    There are villages stretching ahead.
    There's a wood and the sunset of mellow
    And a fence with a nettle thread.

    And a fence with a nettle thread.
    Is the turquoise dust of the sky,
     And the wind rings the grass, wet and gentle,
    As it comes from the lakes nearby.

    It is not for the song of the valley
    That I love this greenery spill,
    Like a crane I'm in love with the alley
    And the convent on top of the hill.

    When the azure gets misty and blooming,
    And the sunset hangs over the bridge
    I can see you, my wandering woman,
    Go to bow to the cross and beseech.

    Chaste is life in the convent village,
    Public prayer absorbs you all,
    Pray before our Saviour's image,
    Preach to God for my fallen soul.

  • 2. See you later, Friend mine,
     see you later
  •   text

    See you later, friend mine, see you later.
    Darling, you are always in my soul.
    Destined in the heaven, our breakup
    Promises reunion down the road.

    Bye with not a hand touch, not a farewell,
    Don’t lament, quit saddening your eyes, –
    In this province, death is nothing rare. Well,
    Nor is living any more untried.

  • 3. It"s sad to look at you, my Love
  •   text

    It's sad to look at you, my love,
    And it's so painful to remember!
    It seems, the only thing we have
    Is tint of willow in September.

    Somebody's lips have outworn
    Your warmth and body trepidation,
    As if the rain was drizzling down
    The soul, that stiffened in congestion.

    Well, let it be! I do not dread.
    I have some other joyous gala.
    There's nothing left for me except
    For brown dust and grizzly colour.
    I've been unable, to my rue,
    To save myself, for smiles or any.
    The roads that have been walked are few
    Mistakes that have been made are many.

    Likewise, we'll go to our doom
    And fade, like callers of the garden.
    In winter flowers never bloom,
    And so we shouldn't grieve about them.

  • 4. Land of mine in dire neglect
  •   text

    Land of mine in dire neglect,
    Country run to waste,
    Fields of hay unmown as yet,
    Monastery, estate.

    Every cottage is askew,
    Five there are in all.
    In the setting sun their roofs
    Foam as shadows fall.

    Under shirt-thatch coverings
    Roof-ribs come to view,
    Wind-blown specks of sunlight tinge
    Mould of dove-grey hue.

    Hitting panes unerringly
    Crows past windows weave,
    Like a snowstorm, the bird cherry
    Waves a blossom-sleeve.

     Wasn't your life a fairytale,
    A legend of the past
    To a late wayfarer told
     By the feather-grass?

  • 5. The twirling golden Birch-leaves
  •   text

    (non-rithmical translation)

    The twirling golden birch-leaves
    Upon the pink pond lie
    Like a flock of butterflies, hurtling
    To a distant star to die.

    This evening fascinates me,
    The yellowing vale delights.
    The frolicsome breeze is raising
    The birch skirts shoulder-high.

    The vale's cool, cool my heart is,
    Like sheep is the blue dusk.
    At the gate of the silent garden
    A hell rings, then is hushed.

    How closely now I listen
    To flesh in the mind's grip!
    It would be fine, like willows,
    In pink waters to dip.

    And with a moon-mouth, smiling
    At a new rick, hay to chew...
    Quiet joy, nothing desiring, Loving everything, where are you?

  • 6. Letter to a Woman
  •   text

    Yes, you remember,
    You certainly remember
    The way I listened
    Standing at the wall
    As you walked to and fro about the chamber
    Reproving me
    With bitter words and all.

     You said
    That it was time we’d parted,
    And that my reckless life,
    For you, was an ordeal,
    And it was time a new life you had started
    While I was fated
    To go rolling downhill.

    My love!
    You didn’t care for me, no doubt.
    You weren’t aware of the fact that I
    Was like a ruined horse, amidst the crowd,
    Spurred by a dashing rider, flashing by.

    You didn’t know
    That I was all a-smoke,
    And in my life, turned wholly upside-down ,
    I was in misery, downhearted, broke,
    Because I didn’t see which way we were bound.

    When face to face
    We cannot see the face.
    We should step back for better observation.
    For when the ocean boils and wails
    The ship is in a sorry situation.

    Forgive me please,
    I know that you have changed.
    You live with an intelligent,
    Good husband;
    You don’t need all this fuss and all this pledge,
    And you don’t need me either, such a hazard.

    Live as you do
    Lead by your lucky star
    Under the tent of fern, if there’s any.
    My best regards,
    You’re always on my mind, you are,
    Yours, faithfully,

    S e r g e y Y e s e n i n

  • 7. I'm back at Home. My dear Land
  •   text

    I'm back at home. My dear land
    Is pensive, spreading all around!
    The twilight waves its snow-white hand
    To greet me from beyond the mound.

     The grizzle of the gloomy day
    Is floating by over my home, and
    The evening fills me with dismay
    Like insurmountable torment.

    Above the church, over the dome,
    The sunset shade has fallen down.
    My dear friends, I'm back at home,
    And won't be seeing you around.

    The years have flown like a whirl,
    And where are you, my friends, I wonder?
    All I can hear is the purl
    Of water by the mill-house yonder.

    And often, sitting by the hearth,
    To sound of sedge crack, or whatever,
    I pray to steaming mother earth
    For those who're gone and lost for ever.

  • 8. You have been used by someone else
  •   text

    You have been used by someone else
    But there is something good at bottom:
    Your glassy hair casting spells,
    Your weary eyes tired out in autumn.

    The autumn age! Well, for my part,
    I like it more than youth, I know it,
    You're now much better to the heart
    And fascination of a poet.

    I never tell a lie at heart,
    And to the call of ostentation
    I'll say without hesitation:
    Farewell to squabble, booze and that.

     It's time to stop this rugged trick,
    I've been so stubborn. That's the limit!
    My heart has had a kind of drink
    That sobers up the blood and spirit.

    September knocks upon my pane
    With willow branches showing crimson,
    I have to be prepared again
    For the arrival of the season.

    I now put up with many things,
    Without loss, or stress or bounds.
    My Russian land has changed, it seems,
    So are the houses 'nd burial grounds.

     I look around, seeing through,
    And here and there and everywhere
    The only one for whom I care,
    Are you, my friend, and sister, too.

    You are the only one whom I,
    Perfecting drawbacks of a sinner,
    Will sing about roads, - oh my!-
    The parting life of misdemeanour.

  • 9. Azure Space is aflame up above
  •   text

    Azure space is aflame up above,
    I've forgotten my home destination...
    For the first time I'm singing of love,
    For the first time I give up contention.

    I was all like a desolate grove
    Loving women and heavily drinking.
    I don't drink any more and don't love
    Like I did, living fast and unthinking.

    All I want is to look at the vast
    Of your gold-brown eyes, and, - oh, bother! -
    How I wish that, disliking your past,
    You would not like to go to another!

    Gentle step, graceful waist that you have!
    Oh if only you wer' able to tumble
    How a bully can really love,
    And how he can be timid and humble!

    All those pubs I would never attend,
    And my poems would all be forgotten,
    If you let me take hold of your hand
    And your hair, the colour of autumn.

    I would follow you ever, my dove,
    Be it distant or close destination...
    For the first time I'm singing of love,
    For the first time I give up contention.

  • 10. Beloved Country! Heart is filled up
  •   text

    Beloved country! Heart is filled up
    With a dream about sun-stacks,
    Merged in water. I would like far
    In the greens to be mislaid.

    By the path and boundary
    Mignonettes, clover is growing
    As a chasuble; the willows
    As the nuns in beads are knocking.

    Bog is smoking in clouds,
    Burnt out as the heaven's yoke.
    In my heart I've hided silence
    For someone - a secret thought.

    All I meet and all accept I,
    I'm glad to dig out soul.
    I have come to native country
    Quickly then to leave it, though...

  • 11. Night knits it's black Eyebrows
  •   text

    sorry, translation will come soon...

    Вечер черные брови насопил.
    Чьи-то кони стоят у двора.
    Не вчера ли я молодость пропил?
    Разлюбил ли тебя не вчера?

    Не храпи запоздалая тройка!
    Наша жизнь пронеслась без следа.
    Может завтра больничная койка
    Упокоит меня навсегда.

    Может завтра совсем по-другому
    Я уйду, исцеленный навек,
    Слушать песни дождей и черемух,
    Чем здоровый живет человек.

    Позабуду я черные силы,
    Что терзали меня, губя.
    Облик ласковый! Облик милый!
    Лишь одну не забуду тебя.

    Пусть я буду любить другую,
    Но и с нею, любимой другой,
    Расскажу про тебя дорогую,
    Что когда-то я звал дорогой.

    Расскажу, как текла былая
    Наша жизнь, что былой не была.
    Голова ль, ты моя удалая,
    До чего ж ты меня довела.

  • 12. Son of a Bitch
  •   text

    sorry, translation will come soon...

    Снова выплыли годы из мрака,
    И звенят, как ромашковый луг.
    Мне припомнилась нынче собака,
    Что была моей юности друг.

    Наша юность моя отзвенела,
    Как подгнивший под окнами клен,
    Но припомнил я девушку в белом,
    Для которой был пес почтальон.

    Не у всякого есть свой близкий,
    Но она мне как песня была,
    Потому что мои записки
    Из ошейника пса не брала.

    Никогда она их не читала,
    И ей почерк мой был незнаком,
    Но о чем-то подолгу мечтала
    У калитки над синим прудом.

    Я страдал… Я хотел ответа…
    Не дождался…уехал…
    И вот Через годы известным поэтом
    Снова я у родимых ворот.

    Та собака давно околела,
    Но в ту ж масть, что с отливом в синь
    С лаем ливисто ошалелым
    Меня встрел молодой ее сын.

     Мать честная! И как же схожи!
    Снова ожила боль души.
    С этой болью я будто моложе,
    И хоть снова записки пиши.

    Рад послушать я песню былую,
    Но не лай ты! Не лай! Не лай!
    Хочешь пес, я тебя поцелую
    За пробуженный в сердце май.

    Поцелую, прижмусь к тебе телом
    И, как друга, введу тебя в дом…
    Да, мне нравилась девушка в белом,
    Но теперь я люблю в голубом.

  • 13. Hewing Cart is singing
  •   text

    sorry, translation will come soon...

    Запели тесаные дроги,
    Бегут равнины и кусты.
    Опять часовни на дороге
    И поминальные кресты.

    Опять я теплой грустью болен
    От овсяного ветерка,
    И на известку колоколен
    Невольно крестится рука.

    О, Русь, малиновое поле
    И синь упавшая в реку,
    Люблю до радости и боли
    Твою озерную тоску.

    Холодной грусти не измерить,
    Ты на туманном берегу,
    Но не любить тебя, не верить -
    Я научиться не могу.

  • 14. I will not be wandering about
  •   text

    I will not be wandering about
    Trampling goosefoot in the bushes any more;
    And I know you'll never come around
    In my dreams, oat-haired, as before.

    You were tender beautiful and fair,
    Berry juice upon your skin, so light.
    You resembled rosy sunset glare,
    And, like snow, you were lustrous, fair and bright.

    Having shed their grain your eyes are fading,
    And your name has melted like the sound of chimes;
    But the folders of your crumpled shawl and veiling
    Have retained the smell of honey from your arms.

    When it's quiet and the sunset smartens,
    Like a kitten, washing up its face.
    I can hear the honeycomb-like patterns
    Chat about you, along with wind and haze.

    Well, the evening tells me you are oderous,
    Like a dream, a flower and sweet song ...
    After all, who has designed your waist, your shoulders
    Apprehending holy secret all along?

    I will not be wandering about
    Trampling goosefoot in the bushes any more;
    And I know you'll never come around
    In my dreams, oat-haired, as before.

  • 15. You don't love me and don't feel Compassion
  •   text

    You don't love me and don't feel compassion
    Don't you think that now I look my best?
    Though you look aside you're thrilled with passion
    As you put your arms upon my chest.

    You are young , so sensitive and zealous,
    I am neither bad nor very good to you.
    Tell me, did you pet a lot of fellows?
    You remember many arms and lips? You do?

    They are gone and haven't touched you any,
    Gone like shadows, leaving you aflame.
    You have sat upon the laps of many,
    You are sitting now on mine, without shame.

    Though your eyes are closed, and you are rather
    Thinking of some one you really trust,
    After all, I do not love you either,
    I am lost in thought about my dear past.

    Don't you call this zeal predestination,
    Hasty tie is thoughtless and no good,
    Like I set up this unplanned connection,
    I will smile when leaving you for good.

    You will go the pathway of your own
    Just to have your days unwisely spent,
    Don't approach the ones not fully grown,
    Don't entice the ones that never burnt.

    When you walk with someone down the alley
    Chatting merrily about love and all
    Maybe, I'll be out, walking round shyly,
    And again, by chance, I'll meet you, poor soul.

    Squaring shoulders, ravishing and winning,
    Bending slightly forward, with an air kiss,
    You will utter quietly: Good evening!
    And I will reply: Good evening, miss.

    Nothing will disturb my heart and spirit,
    Nothing will perturb me giving pain,-
    He who's been in love will not retrieve it,
    He who's burnt will not be lit again.

  • 16. I,m tired of living in my Land
  •   text

    I'm tired of living in my land
    With boring fields and buckwheat fragrant,
    I'll leave my home for ever, and
    Begin the life of thief and vagrant.

    I'll walk through silver curls of life
    In search of miserable dwelling.
    My dearest friend will whet his knife
    On me. The reason? There's no telling.

    The winding yellow road will go
    Across the sunlit field of flowers,
    The girl whose name I cherish so
    Will turn me out of her house.

    I will return back home to live
    And see the others feeling happy,
    I'll hang myself upon my sleeve,
    On a green evening it will happen.

    The silky willows by the fence
    Will bend their tops low down, gently,
    To dogs' barking, by my friends,
    Unwashed, I will be buried plainly.

    The moon will float up in the sky
    Dropping the oars into the water...
    As ever, Russia will get by
    And dance and weep in every quarter.


    Author's (original) singing :


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