The meaning of the lyrics of the song "On Fatal Dates and Numbers" (O fatalnyih datah i cifrah) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

One who died tragically, he's the real poet

And if on time, then - fully so:

At twenty-six one put a gun to his head

Another one - climbed into the noose in "Angleterre"

And at thirty-three to Christ - he was a poet, he said:

"Thou shalt not kill!" You kill - I'll be found everywhere, he said

But - nails in his hands, so he wouldn't do anything

So he wouldn't write and think less

From me at thirty-seven in an instant the hops fly off,

Even now - as if with a chill:

Pushkin set up a duel for himself under this number

And Mayakovsky put his temple to the barrel

Let's pause at thirty-seven! God is cunning

He posed the question bluntly: either - or!

Byron and Rimbaud also fell at this milestone,

And the present ones - somehow slipped through

The duel did not take place or - postponed

And at thirty-three they crucified, but - not much

And at thirty-seven - not blood, but what is blood! - and gray hair

Stained the temples not so profusely

"Too weak to shoot yourselves?! The soul has long gone to the heels!"

Patience, psychos and hysterics!

Poets walk on the blade of a knife

And cut their bare souls to blood!

The word "long-necked" at the end had three "e"s,

Shorten the poet! - the conclusion is clear,

And a knife in him! - but he is happy to hang on the edge

Slaughtered for being dangerous!

I pity you, adherents of fatal dates and numbers,

You languish like concubines in a harem!

The lifespan has increased - and maybe the ends

Of poets have been postponed for a time!

Моим друзьям - поэтам

Кто кончил жизнь трагически, тот - истинный поэт

А если в точный срок, так - в полной мере:

На цифре 26 один шагнул под пистолет

Другой же - в петлю слазил в "Англетере"

А в 33 Христу - он был поэт, он говорил:

"Да ни убий!" Убьешь - везде найду, мол

Но - гвозди ему в руки, чтоб чего не сотворил

Чтоб не писал и чтобы меньше думал

С меня при цифре 37 в момент слетает хмель,

Вот и сейчас - как холодом подуло:

Под эту цифру Пушкин подгадал себе дуэль

И Маяковский лег виском на дуло

Задержимся на цифре 37! Коварен Бог

Ребром вопрос поставил: или - или!

На этом рубеже легли и Байрон, и Рембо,

А нынешние - как-то проскочили

Дуэль не состоялась или - перенесена

А в 33 распяли, но - не сильно

А в 37 - не кровь, да что там кровь! - и седина

Испачкала виски не так обильно

"Слабо стреляться?! В пятки, мол, давно ушла душа!"

Терпенье, психопаты и кликуши!

Поэты ходят пятками по лезвию ножа

И режут в кровь свои босые души!

На слово "длинношеее" в конце пришлось три "е",

Укоротить поэта! - вывод ясен,

И нож в него! - но счастлив он висеть на острие

Зарезанный за то, что был опасен!

Жалею вас, приверженцы фатальных дат и цифр,

Томитесь, как наложницы в гареме!

Срок жизни увеличился - и, может быть, концы

Поэтов отодвинулись на время!

In the poem "On Fatal Dates and Numbers," Vladimir Vysotsky ironically reflects on the phenomenon of the early death of poets and their connection to certain numbers. He lists well-known examples: 26 years - the age of Lermontov's suicide, 33 years - the age of Christ's crucifixion, 37 years - the age of Pushkin's death in a duel. Vysotsky notes that this mystical pattern does not apply to the poets of his time, who "slipped through" the fateful milestone.

The author ridicules those who take numerology and predestination too seriously. He emphasizes that poets are people "with bare souls," vulnerable and sensitive, which makes them fragile.

In the finale, Vysotsky uses the metaphor of a "poet on a knife's edge," illustrating the danger and risks associated with creativity. For him, a poet is a fighter who challenges society and is willing to pay for it. The closing lines about the "ends of poets postponed for a while" can be interpreted in two ways: as hope that contemporary poets will live longer than their predecessors, or as a bitter remark that their time will still come.