The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Song of the Poets" (Pesnya o poetah) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

Who ended life tragically - he is the true poet,

And if at the exact time - then to the fullest.

At the age of 26, one stepped under the pistol,

Another one climbed into the noose in the "Angleterre".

And at thirty-three, like Christ... (He was a poet, he said:

"Thou shalt not kill!" You kill - you'll find me everywhere, he said.)

But - nails into his hands, so that he wouldn't create anything,

So that he wouldn't write and wouldn't think about anything.

At the age of 37, the hops fly off me instantly.

Even now, it's like a chill has blown through:

Pushkin planned a duel for himself under this number

And Mayakovsky put his temple to the barrel.

Let's pause at the number 37. God is insidious -

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

Byron and Rimbaud also lay at this milestone,

And the current ones somehow slipped through.

The duel did not take place or was postponed,

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

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

Didn't stain the temples so abundantly.

Too weak to shoot yourself? Has your soul long gone to your heels?

Patience, psychopaths and hysterics!

Poets walk on the blade of a knife

And cut their bare souls to the bone.

At the end of the word "long-necked" there were three "e"s.

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 for a while!

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 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!

In his song "The Song About Poets", Vladimir Vysotsky reflects on the fate of a poet and the connection between creativity and an early, tragic death, using irony and bitterness. He employs black humor, listing famous cases of poets' deaths at certain ages: 26 (Lermontov, Yesenin), 33 (Christ, whom Vysotsky calls a poet for his sermons), 37 (Pushkin, Mayakovsky).

The author draws attention to the "fatality" of these dates, as if some higher design dictates an early departure for poets. At the same time, Vysotsky does not idealize tragic death but rather ridicules the stereotype of it being an inevitable attribute of a true poet.

He speaks of a "duel" that is "postponed" for contemporary poets, implying that their struggle with themselves, society, and the system takes other forms. Vysotsky uses the metaphor of walking "on the edge of a knife" to show how thin the line is between life and death for a creative person who bares their soul in their verses.

In the final part of the song, the author addresses "the adherents of fatal dates", perhaps those who see a poet's early death as a confirmation of their genius. He ironically remarks that "the lifespan has increased" and "the ends of poets have been postponed for a while." By doing so, Vysotsky asserts that creativity is more important than death, and a true poet is alive as long as their poems are alive.