The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Hamlet" (Gamlet) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

I'll just explain a little in this verse,

For I have no authority to tell it all.

I was conceived, as it should be, in sin,

In sweat and nerves of the first wedding night.

I knew that, as we rise above the ground,

The higher we are, the harsher and more severe.

I walked calmly straight into kings,

And behaved like a crown prince by blood.

I knew that everything would be as I wished,

I was never at a loss or at a disadvantage.

My friends from school and sword

Served me, as their fathers did the crown.

I didn't think about what I was saying,

And threw words to the wind with ease.

They believed me, like a chieftain,

All the high-born children.

The night watchmen were afraid of us

Like smallpox, time was in pain because of us.

I slept on skins, ate meat from a knife,

And tormented an angry horse with arrows.

I knew I would be told: "Rule!"

The mark on my forehead was burned by fate from birth.

And I got drunk among the embossed harnesses,

I was patient with the violence of words and books.

I could smile with my mouth alone,

And my secret gaze, when it's angry and bitter,

I knew how to hide, brought up by a jester.

The jester is dead now: "Amen!" Poor Yorick!

But I refused to share

The rewards, the spoils, the glory, the privileges:

Suddenly I felt sorry for the dead page,

I went around the green shoots.

I forgot the excitement of the hunt,

I came to hate both hounds and borzois.

I turned my horse away from the wounded animal,

And whipped the beaters and the hunters.

I saw that our games with each passing day

Became more and more like atrocities.

In running waters at night, secretly,

I washed myself from the filth of the day.

I was becoming disillusioned, more foolish with each passing day,

I saw through the domestic intrigues.

I didn't like the century, or the people in it,

I didn't like it - and I buried myself in books.

My brain, hungry for knowledge like a spider,

Comprehended everything: stillness and motion.

But there is no point in thoughts and sciences,

When everywhere they are refuted.

The thread with my childhood friends wore thin,

Ariadne's thread turned out to be a scheme.

I struggled with the words "to be or not to be",

As over an unsolvable dilemma.

But forever, forever the sea of troubles rages,

We shoot arrows into it - millet into a sieve,

Sifting out the ghostly answer

From this elaborate question.

Hearing the call of my ancestors through the hushed roar,

I went to the call - doubts crept up from behind.

The burden of heavy thoughts pulled me down,

And the wings of the raft pulled me down, into the grave.

The days forged me into a fragile alloy,

It had barely hardened when it began to disintegrate.

I shed blood, like everyone else - and, like them,

I could not refuse revenge.

And my ascent before death is a failure.

Ophelia! I do not accept decay.

But by killing myself, I have made myself equal

To the one with whom I lie in the same earth.

I am Hamlet, I despised violence,

I spat on the Danish crown.

But in their eyes, I was tearing my throat out for the throne,

And killing my rival for the throne.

But a stroke of genius is like delirium,

In birth, death looks askance.

And we all give the tricky answer,

And we don't find the right question.

Я только малость объясню в стихе

На все я не имею полномочий.

Я был зачат, как нужно, во грехе

В поту и нервах первой брачной ночи

Я знал, что, отрываясь от земли,

Чем выше мы, тем жестче и суровей

Я шел спокойно прямо в короли

И вел себя наследным принцем крови

Я знал - все будет так, как я хочу

Я не бывал внакладе и в уроне

Мои друзья по школе и мечу

Служили мне, как их отцы - короне

Не думал я над тем, что говорю

И с легкостью слова бросал на ветер

Мне верили и так, как главарю

Все высокопоставленные дети

Пугались нас ночные сторожа

Как оспою, болело время нами

Я спал на кожах, мясо ел с ножа

И злую лошадь мучил стременами

Я знал - мне будет сказано: "Царуй!"

Клеймо на лбу мне рок с рожденья выжег

И я пьянел среди чеканных сбруй

Был терпелив к насилью слов и книжек

Я улыбаться мог одним лишь ртом

А тайный взгляд, когда он зол и горек

Умел скрывать, воспитанный шутом,

Шут мертв теперь: "Аминь!" Бедняга Йорик!.

Но отказался я от дележа

Наград, добычи, славы, привилегий:

Вдруг стало жаль мне мертвого пажа

Я объезжал зеленые побеги.

Я позабыл охотничий азарт

Возненавидел и борзых, и гончих

Я от подранка гнал коня назад

И плетью бил загонщиков и ловчих

Я видел - наши игры с каждым днем

Все больше походили на бесчинства,

В проточных водах по ночам, тайком

Я отмывался от дневного свинства

Я прозревал, глупея с каждым днем

Я прозевал домашние интриги

Не нравился мне век, и люди в нем

Не нравились, - и я зарылся в книги

Мой мозг, до знаний жадный, как паук

Все постигал: недвижность и движенье,

Но толка нет от мыслей и наук

Когда повсюду им опроверженье

С друзьями детства перетерлась нить

Нить Ариадны оказалась схемой

Я бился над словами "быть, не быть"

Как над неразрешимою дилеммой

Но вечно, вечно плещет море бед,

В него мы стрелы мечем - в сито просо

Отсеивая призрачный ответ

От вычурного этого вопроса

Зов предков слыша сквозь затихший гул

Пошел на зов, - сомненья крались с тылу

Груз тяжких дум наверх меня тянул

А крылья плоти вниз влекли, в могилу

В непрочный сплав меня спаяли дни

Едва застыв, он начал расползаться

Я пролил кровь, как все, - и, как они

Я не сумел от мести отказаться

А мой подъем пред смертью - есть провал

Офелия! Я тленья не приемлю

Но я себя убийством уравнял

С тем, с кем я лег в одну и ту же землю

Я Гамлет, я насилье презирал

Я наплевал на датскую корону,

Но в их глазах - за трон я глотку рвал

И убивал соперника по трону

Но гениальный всплеск похож на бред

В рожденьи смерть проглядывает косо

А мы все ставим каверзный ответ

И не находим нужного вопроса

In Vladimir Vysotsky's poem "Hamlet," the tragic fate of the prince, his inner torment, and reflections on life, death, revenge, and destiny unfold. However, unlike Shakespeare's play, Hamlet appears here not only as a melancholic thinker but also as a man of action who has experienced a turbulent youth filled with pleasures and entertainment.

The poem begins with a young, self-assured prince surrounded by friends and luxury. He is confident in his future, his right to the throne, without thinking about the consequences of his words and actions. He enjoys life, oblivious to the suffering of others.

However, the death of his father and subsequent events force Hamlet to rethink his life. He begins to see the falsehood and hypocrisy of the world around him, no longer finding joy in his former amusements. Hamlet plunges into reflections on the meaning of life and death, good and evil, revenge and forgiveness.

Unlike Shakespeare's Hamlet, Vysotsky's hero does not hesitate; he takes revenge, but this act does not bring him satisfaction. He realizes that he has become part of a vicious circle of violence, that revenge cannot bring his father back and cannot change the world for the better.

The finale of the poem is imbued with tragedy and hopelessness. Hamlet admits defeat, calling his rebellion a "failure." He never finds the answer to the main question – "to be or not to be?" – and departs from life without realizing his full potential.