The meaning of the lyrics of the song ""Song about Poets" or "A Little Song about Poets"" (Pesenka o poetah) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

He who ended his life tragically is a true poet,

And if at the right time, then to the fullest.

At the age of twenty-six, one stepped under the gun,

Another climbed into the noose at the Angleterre.

And at thirty-three, like Christ… He was a poet, he said,

“Thou shalt not kill!” You kill—I’ll find you anywhere, he said,

But—nails into his hands, so he wouldn’t create,

So he wouldn’t write or think about anything.

From me, at the age of 37, the hops fly off in a moment,

Even now, it feels like a chill.

Pushkin set up his duel for this age,

And Mayakovsky put his temple to the barrel.

Let's dwell on the age of 37. God is cunning,

He poses the question point-blank: either-or.

Both Byron and Rimbaud fell at this milestone,

And the current ones somehow slipped through.

The duel did not take place or was postponed,

And at thirty-three, they were crucified, but not severely.

And at thirty-seven—not blood, what's blood—even gray hair

Has stained the temples, but not so profusely.

Too weak to shoot yourself? The soul has long gone to the heels, you say?

Patience, psychopaths and hysterics!

Poets walk on the blade of a knife with their heels

And cut their bare souls to the bone.

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

Shorten the poet!—the conclusion is clear.

And a knife into him—but he is happy to hang on the edge,

Slaughtered for being dangerous.

I pity you, adherents of fatal dates and numbers!

You yearn like concubines in a harem.

The lifespan has increased, and perhaps the ends

Of poets have been postponed!

Кто кончил жизнь трагически - тот истинный поэт

А если в точный срок - так в полной мере

На цифре двадцать шесть один шагнул под пистолет

Другой же - в петлю слазил в "Англетере"

А в тридцать три Христу... Он был поэт, он говорил

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

Но - гвозди ему в руки, чтоб чего не сотворил

Чтоб не писал и ни о чем не 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 тридцать три распяли, но не сильно

А в тридцать семь - 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!

Vladimir Vysotsky's song "A Little Song About Poets" ironically plays on the myth of the "curse of 37" – the age at which many famous poets died (Pushkin, Lermontov, Mayakovsky, etc.), a myth popular among the creative intelligentsia.

With biting irony, Vysotsky lists the tragic fates of poets who died at various ages, emphasizing that death at the peak of fame, especially a violent one, gives a poet a special aura of "authenticity." He mocks the romanticization of early death, bringing it to the point of absurdity: "Whoever ended his life tragically is a true poet."

The author sarcastically remarks that even Christ "was a poet" because he "said, 'Thou shalt not kill!'" This phrase, taken out of context, serves to enhance the irony and create an image of a "persecuted" poet suffering for his beliefs.

Next, Vysotsky moves on to the "fatal" number 37, mentioning Pushkin's duel and death and Mayakovsky's suicide. He wonders: "The question is put bluntly: either-or / Byron and Rimbaud fell at this milestone / But the current ones somehow slipped through." This phrase contains a reproach to his contemporaries who, according to the lyrical hero, are not "poetic" enough since they manage to avoid a tragic fate.

The finale of the song is full of bitterness and disappointment. The poet compares himself to a "long-necked" creature that needs to be "shortened" so that it ceases to be dangerous. He sympathizes with those who are waiting for a tragic denouement, ironically remarking that "the lifespan has increased," which means that the death of poets has been "postponed for a while."