The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Microphone's Song" (Pesnya mikrofona) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

I've gone deaf from the clapping of hands,

I've gone blind from the singers' bright smiles.

For so many years symphonies have caused me pain,

I've indulged those who mimic bird trills!

Passing through me, time and again,

Pure sound flew into your souls.

Stop! Here's the one I've been hoping for,

The one for whom I've endured all the torment.

How many times have they whispered of the moon through me,

Someone merrily yelled about silence,

One played a saw - sawing at its neck,

And I amplified, amplified, amplified!...

In the lows, his voice is resonant,

In the highs, it resembles a knife.

He'll show what he's capable of,

Well, and I'll show a thing or two as well.

He sings breathlessly, with strain,

He's weary, like a soldier on parade.

I stretch my resilient neck

Towards his face, golden with sweat.

How many times have they whispered of the moon through me,

Someone merrily yelled about silence,

One played a saw - sawing at its neck,

And I amplified, amplified, amplified!...

But suddenly... Man, come to your senses!

What are you singing? Take a break, you're exhausted!

This is syrup, a sugary concoction!

Audience! Tell him to stop!

It's all in vain - miracles don't happen,

I'm swaying, I can barely stand.

He pours bitterness into me like balm

Through his microphone throat.

How many times have they whispered of the moon through me,

Someone merrily yelled about silence,

One played a saw - sawing at its neck,

And I amplified, amplified, amplified!...

Accuse me of anything you want,

But you can't deny the truth.

By profession, I am an amplifier.

I suffered, but I amplified lies.

I groaned - the speakers shrieked,

He squeezed my throat with his hand.

They discarded me, silenced me,

Replaced me with another.

That other one, he'll endure and accept everything.

He's screwed onto my neck.

We're always replaced by others,

So we don't interfere with the deceit.

We lay closely packed in the case:

Me, the stand, and the other microphone,

And they told me, laughing,

How happy he was that I was replaced.

Я оглох от ударов ладоней,

Я ослеп от улыбок певиц,

Сколько лет я страдал от симфоний,

Потакал подражателям птиц!

Сквозь меня многократно просеясь,

Чистый звук в ваши души летел.

Стоп! Вот тот, на кого я надеюсь,

Для кого я все муки стерпел.

Сколько раз в меня шептали про луну,

Кто-то весело орал про тишину,

На пиле один играл - шею спиливал,

А я усиливал, усиливал, усиливал!...

На низах его голос утробен,

На верхах он подобен ножу.

Он покажет, на что он способен,

Ну, и я кое-что покажу.

Он поет задыхаясь, с натугой,

Он устал, как солдат на плацу.

Я тянусь своей шеей упругой

К золотому от пота лицу.

Сколько раз в меня шептали про луну,

Кто-то весело орал про тишину,

На пиле один играл - шею спиливал,

А я усиливал, усиливал, усиливал!...

Только вдруг... Человече, опомнись!

Что поешь? Отдохни, ты устал!

Это патока, сладкая помесь!

Зал! Скажи, чтобы он перестал!

Все напрасно - чудес не бывает,

Я качаюсь, я еле стою.

Он бальзамом мне горечь вливает

В микрофонную глотку мою.

Сколько раз в меня шептали про луну,

Кто-то весело орал про тишину,

На пиле один играл - шею спиливал,

А я усиливал, усиливал, усиливал!...

В чем угодно меня обвините,

Только против себя не пойдешь.

По профессии я - усилитель.

Я страдал, но усиливал ложь.

Застонал я - динамики взвыли,

Он сдавил мое горло рукой.

Отвернули меня, умертвили,

Заменили меня на другой.

Тот, другой, - он все стерпит и примет.

Он навинчен на шею мою.

Нас всегда заменяют другими,

Чтобы мы не мешали вранью.

Мы в чехле очень тесно лежали:

Я, штатив и другой микрофон,

И они мне, смеясь, рассказали,

Как он рад был, что я заменен.

Vladimir Vysotsky's "Song of the Microphone", told from the perspective of a stage microphone, carries a deep metaphorical meaning. The microphone becomes more than just a tool for amplifying sound; it becomes a symbol of truth, forced to broadcast lies and falsehoods.

The song begins with the microphone describing its difficult existence, how it "suffered from symphonies" and "indulged imitators of birds." It is tired of mediocrity, false notes, and meaningless lyrics.

The appearance of a new singer gives the microphone hope. It is ready to endure "torment" for the sake of true talent. However, hope quickly turns to disappointment. The singer turns out to be a fake, singing "sweet treacle." The microphone protests, trying to stop this flow of lies, but no one listens. It is forced to amplify falsehoods that "pour bitterness" into its "microphone throat."

The climax of the song comes when the microphone, unable to bear the lies, "groaned," trying to reach out to the people. But it is replaced by another microphone, "which will endure and accept everything." The final lines of the song express a bitter truth: "We are always replaced by others so that we do not interfere with lies."

Thus, "Song of the Microphone" is not just a song about music; it is an allegory for censorship, the suppression of truth, and the triumph of conformity. The microphone in Vysotsky's song is the voice of conscience, the voice of truth that they are trying to silence.