The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Monument" (Pamyatnik) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

I was tall and slender in my lifetime,

I feared neither a word nor a bullet,

And I didn't fit into the usual frames, -

But ever since I've been considered deceased,

They've painted me ochre and bent me,

Nailing "Achilles" to the pedestal.

I can't shake off the granite flesh

And I can't pull out of the pedestal

This Achilles' heel,

And the iron ribs of the frame

Are gripped dead by a layer of cement, -

Only spasms along the spine.

I boasted of my seven-foot height -

Go ahead and measure me now! -

I didn't know I'd be subject to shrinkage

After death, -

But I'm crammed into the usual frames -

Driven in for a bet,

And my uneven seven-foot height -

Straightened out.

And from me, when I up and died,

They quickly removed the death mask

The efficient members of my family, -

And I don't know who put them up to it, -

But they completely erased from the plaster

My Asian cheekbones.

I never imagined, never dreamed of such a thing,

And I thought I wasn't in danger

Of becoming the deadest of the dead, -

But the surface of the cast gleamed,

And a sepulchral boredom showed through

From my toothless smile.

While alive, I didn't put

My finger in the mouths of the predatory,

Those who approached with the usual measure -

Were wary, -

But after the removal of the death mask -

Right there in the bathroom -

The undertaker approached me with a measure

Of wood...

And then, a year later, -

As the crown of my correction -

A solidly cast monument

In front of a huge gathering of people

Was unveiled to cheerful singing, -

To mine - from magnetic tapes.

The silence around me shattered -

Sounds poured from the loudspeakers,

A spotlight hit from the rooftops, -

My voice, torn by despair,

Modern science

Turned into a pleasant falsetto.

I was speechless, wrapped in a shroud, -

We'll all be there! -

At the same time, I was yelling in a castrato

Into people's ears.

They pulled off the shroud - how shrunken I am -

Go ahead and measure me now! -

Do you really need me like this

After death?!

The steps of the Commander are angry and hollow.

I decided: as in the old days -

Why not walk, ringing on the slabs? -

And the crowds scattered into the alleys,

When I tore off my leg with a groan

And stones crumbled from me.

I collapsed - naked, disfigured, -

But even as I fell - I broke free from my skin,

Reached out with an iron crutch, -

And, when I had already crashed to the ground,

From my shattered larynx I still

Cried out something like: "Alive!"

And the fall both bent me

And broke me,

But my sharp cheekbones protrude

From the metal!

I didn't manage, as was desired -

Hush-hush.

On the contrary, I departed publicly

From the granite.

Я при жизни был рослым и стройным,

Не боялся ни слова, ни пули

И в привычные рамки не лез, -

Но с тех пор, как считаюсь покойным,

Охромили меня и согнули,

К пьедесталу прибив "Ахиллес".

Не стряхнуть мне гранитного мяса

И не вытащить из постамента

Ахиллесову эту пяту,

И железные ребра каркаса

Мертво схвачены слоем цемента, -

Только судороги по хребту.

Я хвалился косою саженью -

Нате смерьте! -

Я не знал, что подвергнусь суженью

После смерти, -

Но в обычные рамки я всажен -

На спор вбили,

А косую неровную сажень -

Распрямили.

И с меня, когда взял я да умер,

Живо маску посмертную сняли

Расторопные члены семьи, -

И не знаю, кто их надоумил, -

Только с гипса вчистую стесали

Азиатские скулы мои.

Мне такое не мнилось, не снилось,

И считал я, что мне не грозило

Оказаться всех мертвых мертвей, -

Но поверхность на слепке лоснилась,

И могильною скукой сквозило

Из беззубой улыбки моей.

Я при жизни не клал тем, кто хищный,

В пасти палец,

Подходившие с меркой обычной -

Опасались, -

Но по снятии маски посмертной -

Тут же в ванной -

Гробовщик подошел ко мне с меркой

Деревянной...

А потом, по прошествии года, -

Как венец моего исправленья -

Крепко сбитый литой монумент

При огромном скопленье народа

Открывали под бодрое пенье, -

Под мое - с намагниченных лент.

Тишина надо мной раскололась -

Из динамиков хлынули звуки,

С крыш ударил направленный свет, -

Мой отчаяньем сорванный голос

Современные средства науки

Превратили в приятный фальцет.

Я немел, в покрывало упрятан, -

Все там будем! -

Я орал в то же время кастратом

В уши людям.

Саван сдернули - как я обужен, -

Нате смерьте! -

Неужели такой я вам нужен

После смерти?!

Командора шаги злы и гулки.

Я решил: как во времени оном -

Не пройтись ли, по плитам звеня?-

И шарахнулись толпы в проулки,

Когда вырвал я ногу со стоном

И осыпались камни с меня.

Накренился я - гол, безобразен, -

Но и падая - вылез из кожи,

Дотянулся железной клюкой, -

И, когда уже грохнулся наземь,

Из разодранных рупоров все же

Прохрипел я похоже: "Живой!"

И паденье меня и согнуло,

И сломало,

Но торчат мои острые скулы

Из металла!

Не сумел я, как было угодно -

Шито-крыто.

Я, напротив, - ушел всенародно

Из гранита.

In this poem, Vladimir Vysotsky uses the metaphor of a monument to reflect the discrepancy between his real life and the posthumous image created by society.

The lyrical hero, already deceased, bitterly observes how his will is distorted and his image is "combed" to fit generally accepted standards. The physical changes in the monument, such as the "rounding" of sharp corners, the smoothing of "Asian cheekbones," symbolize an attempt to hide the sharp edges of Vysotsky's personality, to make his image more acceptable to the masses.

"Iron ribs of the frame" and "a layer of cement" are a metaphor for lack of freedom, the inability to break out of imposed frameworks. The voice, transformed into a "pleasant falsetto," symbolizes the distortion of his work, the deprivation of his rebellious spirit.

The culmination is the scene of the fall of the monument. This is a rebellion against depersonalization, an attempt to regain one's voice and be heard. The cry "Alive!" is an affirmation of the right to one's own individuality, even after death.

The poem is imbued with bitterness and sarcasm. Vysotsky shows how society, trying to perpetuate the memory of a person, often distorts it beyond recognition.