The meaning of the lyrics of the song "To the 15th anniversary of the Taganka Theatre" (K 15-letiyu Teatra na Taganke) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

Fifteen years is not a date, it's just

A stub, a scrap, a leftover bit.

Fifty's the thing! And twenty-five is cool.

The rest is neither here nor there, you see.

We've made it fifteen years.

Thought we were weak, did you?

And since there's no time limit anymore—

We're free, brother, free!

Fifteen years is time, though not behind bars,

Those beardless then now sport a beard, it's true.

We've lived through fires, big and harsh,

Through Kogan, blasts, and whatnot too.

Fifteen years ago, oh what a sight!

Those who stayed afloat, don't mourn the drowned!

Today, both we and those who hold the might

Could celebrate this milestone, safe and sound.

Life flows, a muddy, brownish stream...

They'll forget us, like a vanished tribe.

Thirteen years back, Paris was our dream,

A sip to keep us from the drunken vibe.

We're ready for new ventures, bold and bright,

But when will they finally understand?

It's time to head to Italy, take flight,

Send "Mother" after the Pope, hand in hand.

"Lucky in cards? Then play!" we shout as one.

There's always a bullet when you reach a wall.

But someone's emptied the chamber, on the run,

And from the deck, the queen of spades did fall.

Lyubimov, Borovsky, Alfred Schnittke—

Buckets of water poured upon your name.

Chilled to the bone, soaked completely?

Dry off, and back to work, it's all the same.

The worthy ones have all received their due,

Amnesty granted, far and wide, it seems.

But we got ours in "Literaturka," true,

Not an order of merit, but arrest, it seems.

One of us was lured, they set the bait,

To a place where trains don't even dare to roam.

But then they hit him with another article, great,

And now he's stuck, unable to go home.

We've learned to be more frugal, it appears,

With our directors, keeping them in check.

Kogan, though not quite Kogananovich, cheers,

But at least he didn't end up as a wreck.

We traded awl for soap, a simple swap,

But the soap brought only shadows to our brow.

Taganka then returned the sharpened awl, clap, clap,

And now it's back to how things were, somehow.

Taganka states, with boldness, "Make your choice!"

A knife at our throats, how can we refuse?

They think they've stolen innocence, their voice...

Let them believe, why try to introduce

The truth? If only we had known back then,

Foreseen the trouble, felt the coming storm!

But still, no matter how we've tried, again and again,

We're still intact, fifteen years since we were born.

Talent abounds! A constellation bright...

And many have recovered from their wounds.

Sixteen next year, reaching adulthood's light,

A passport, maybe even one that astounds.

Life's full of stripes, change is the only way,

And we'll find ourselves on a lucky streak!

We'll soon be eighteen, come what may,

With the right to vote, just like the rest, we seek.

At twenty-five, God willing, we'll assess

The losses we've endured along the way.

A date stamped on our badge, no less,

And then, it's either glory or decay.

New talents will emerge, on stage and screen,

In opera, "Mother" will be played anew...

But fifty years from now, a different scene,

We'll reminisce about this fifteen-year view!

Today's a feast, a shakeup for our souls!

Away with intellect, let loose and unwind!

So let us celebrate, as Easter takes its hold,

And raise a glass to fifteen years of our kind!

Fifteen years is not a date, it's just

A stub, a scrap, a leftover bit.

Fifty's the thing! And twenty-five is cool.

The rest is neither here nor there, you see.

We're living large, untouched by any flame,

Though fire offers no true liberty.

We speak our minds, no need to play the game—

We're free, brother, free!

Пятнадцать лет - не дата, так -

Огрызок, недоедок.

Полтиник - да! И четвертак.

А то - ни так, ни эдак.

Мы выжили пятнадцать лет.

Вы думали слабо, да?

А так как срока выше нет -

Слобода, брат, слобода!

Пятнадцать - это срок, хоть не на нарах,

Кто был безус - тот стал при бороде.

Мы уцелели при больших пожарах,

При Когане, при взрывах и т.д.

Пятнадцать лет назад такое было!.

Кто всплыл - об утонувших не жалей!

Сегодня мы - и те, кто у кормила, -

Могли б совместно справить юбилей.

Сочится жизнь - коричневая жижа...

Забудут нас, как вымершую чудь,

В тринадцать дали нам глоток Парижа, -

Чтобы запоя не было - чуть-чуть.

Мы вновь готовы к творческим альянсам, -

Когда же это станут понимать?

Необходимо ехать к итальянцам,

Заслать им вслед за папой - нашу "Мать".

"Везет - играй!" - кричим наперебой мы.

Есть для себя патрон, когда тупик.

Но кто-то вытряс пулю из обоймы

И из колоды вынул даму пик.

Любимов наш, Боровский, Альфред Шнитке -

На вас ушаты вылиты воды.

Прохладно вам, промокшие до нитки?

Обсохните - и снова за труды.

Достойным уже розданы медали,

По всем статьям - амнистия окрест.

Нам по статье в "Литературке" дали,

Не орден - чуть не ордер на арест.

Тут одного из наших поманили

Туда, куда не ходят поезда,

Но вновь статью большую применили -

И он теперь не едет никуда.

Директоров мы стали экономить,

Беречь и содержать под колпаком, -

Хоть Коган был неполный Коганович,

Но он не стал неполным Дупаком.

Сперва сменили шило мы на мыло,

Но мыло омрачило нам чело,

Тогда Таганка шило возвратила -

И все теперь идет, куда ни шло.

Даешь, Таганка, сразу: "Или - или!"

С ножом пристали к горлу - как не дать.

Считают, что невинности лишили...

Пусть думают - зачем разубеждать?

А знать бы все наверняка и сразу б,

Заранее предчувствовать беду!

Но все же, сколь ни пробовали на зуб, -

Мы целы на пятнадцатом году.

Талантов - тьма! Созвездие, соцветье...

И многие оправились от ран.

В шестнадцать будет совершеннолетье,

Дадут нам паспорт, может быть, загран.

Все полосами, все должно меняться -

Окажемся и в белой полосе!

Нам очень скоро будет восемнадцать -

Получим право голоса, как все.

Мы в двадцать пять - даст бог - сочтем потери,

Напишут дату на кокарде нам,

А дальше можно только к высшей мере,

А если нет - то к высшим орденам.

Придут другие - в драме и в балете,

И в опере опять поставят "Мать"...

Но в пятьдесят - в другом тысячелетьи -

Мы будем про пятнадцать вспоминать!

У нас сегодня для желудков встряска!

Долой сегодня лишний интеллект!

Так разговляйтесь, потому что Пасха,

И пейте за пятнадцать наших лет!

Пятнадцать лет - не дата, так -

Огрызок, недоедок.

Полтинник - да! И четвертак.

А то - ни так - ни эдак.

А мы живем и не горим,

Хотя в огне нет брода,

Чего хотим, то говорим, -

Слобода, брат, слобода!

In his poem "To the 15th Anniversary of the Taganka Theatre," Vladimir Vysotsky reflects with characteristic irony and melancholy on the journey the theatre has traveled.

Fifteen years, for Vysotsky, is not a significant milestone, but a mere "scrap" compared to more established anniversaries. However, despite all the hardships ("We survived great fires, / Kogan, explosions, etc."), the theatre has survived, preserving its independence and creative freedom ("Freedom, brother, freedom!").

The author recalls losses ("He who has surfaced should not grieve for those who drowned"), alludes to censorship and pressure from the authorities ("At thirteen, they gave us a sip of Paris, / So that there would be no binge - just a little"), but at the same time retains optimism and faith in the future ("Talents - darkness! Constellation, society...").

Vysotsky draws a parallel between the age of the theatre and the stages of a person's life. At 16, the theatre will become "an adult", at 25 it will "count its losses", and at 50, already in the next millennium, it will be remembered.

The poem is imbued with love and devotion to the Taganka Theatre, pride in its independent spirit and creative achievements. Vysotsky believes that the theatre, no matter what, will live and develop.