The meaning of the lyrics of the song "A Tashkent fruit seller's letter from the Central Market" (Pismo torgovca taschkentskimi fruktami s Centralnogo) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

Peace be upon you, Jora and Arkady Vainer!

Though we are secretly acquainted,

We know your code by heart, it's not feigned.

Seven elders from the Hindu Kush land

Are writing to you, a devoted band,

Because seven magazines, we understand,

Have brought your stories to our sand.

During the cotton harvest time, you see

(By the way, cotton's like silk, certainly),

Our magazine, "Star of the East," set free

Seven pages to feature you, gloriously.

The eldest elder, in his "ZIM," did roam

All over Moscow, seeking your tome,

But in no shop could your books be found,

Not a single one, it did astound.

Two elder brothers, in a desperate plight,

Pulled out their beard hair, day and night,

But despite their influence and might,

Your books were nowhere in sight.

For the "Era of Mercy" you portray,

I gave an officer, just the other day,

Two melons sweet and a kilo of grenades,

Your writing, such heartfelt accolades!

And at the end of each episode we see,

(I swear by my hair, so gray and free),

We'll give eight melons, willingly,

For every installment, enthusiastically.

To avoid any delays or strife,

(Do you fancy kofta-buzbash, dear life?),

Send your wives to the Central Market,

For half a chapter, a lamb, we'll barter.

Perhaps this seems a bit too crass,

But for your songs about prison and impasse

(Let Vysotsky sing them, with his flair),

We'll pay double, beyond compare.

They say your manuscripts can't be found,

Not even in Paris, renowned...

But what's there to buy with francs, I say?

Just the same old grapes, anyway.

Today we read your words with zest,

Each paragraph, a sweat-inducing test,

Brothers, we consider you, at your best,

An extraordinary kind, amongst all the rest.

Our great-grandson, at the main base he serves,

Where money holds no sway, it only unnerves.

If you ever wish to indulge your curves,

Come visit every day, our table reserves.

I wished to offer a hefty sum,

In a foreign tongue, to overcome...

Oh, if only Niyazi were still alive,

With his connections, we could thrive!

Though Europe and Asia, their ties they weave,

Those connections, alas, they can't retrieve.

You've been to KAMAZ, it's true,

But fruits are scarce, it's a shame, boo hoo.

So come to the Hindu Kush, we implore,

Our hospitality, forevermore!

Жора и Аркадий Вайнер!

Вам салям алейкум, пусть

Мы знакомы с вами втайне, —

Кодекс знаем наизусть.

Пишут вам семь аксакалов

Гиндукушеской земли,

Потому что семь журналов

Вас на нас перевели.

А во время сбора хлопка

(Кстати, хлопок нынче — шёлк)

Наш журнал "Звезда Востока"

Семь страниц для вас нашёл.

Всю Москву изъездил в "ЗИМе"

Самый главный аксакал —

Ни в едином магазине

Ваши книги не сыскал.

Вырвали два старших брата

Все волосья в бороде —

Нету, хоть и много блата,

В "Книжной лавке" и везде.

Я за "Милосердья эру" —

Вот за что спасибо вам! —

Дал две дыни офицеру

И гранатов килограмм.

А в конце телевиденья —

Клятва волосом седым! —

Будем дать за продолженье

Каждый серий восемь дынь.

Чтобы не было заминок

(Любите кюфта-бюзбаш?),

Шлите жён Центральный рынок,

Полглавы — барашка ваш.

Может, это слишком плотски,

Но за песни про тюрьмы

(Пусть споёт артист Высоцкий)

Два раз больше платим мы.

Не отыщешь ваши гранки

И в Париже, говорят...

Впрочем, что купить на франки?

Тот же самый виноград.

Мы сегодня вас читаем,

Как абзац — кидает в пот.

Братья, мы вас за — считаем —

Удивительный народ.

Наш праправнук на главбазе,

Там, где деньги — дребедень.

Есть хотите? В этом разе

Приходите каждый день.

А хотелось, чтоб в инъязе...

Я готовил крупный куш.

Но... Если был бы жив Ниязи...

Ну а так — какие связи? —

Связи есть Европ и Азий,

Только эти связи чушь.

Вы ведь были на КАМАЗе:

Фрукты нет. А в этом разе

Приезжайте Гиндукуш!

Vladimir Vysotsky's poem "A Letter from a Tashkent Fruit Vendor at the Central Market" uses satire and grotesque to ridicule the scarcity and "blat" (connections-based favors) that plagued the USSR. Underneath the oriental flavor and naiveté of the letter lies a sharp criticism of Soviet reality.

The "seven aksakals" are a collective image of ordinary people suffering from shortages. The books by the Vainer brothers, popular detective authors, are a metaphor for any scarce commodity. They are impossible to obtain, even using "blat" ("mnogo blata," meaning a lot of connections).

The author ironically describes the ways to obtain what you want in conditions of scarcity: bribes ("gave two melons to an officer"), nepotism ("there are connections in Europe and Asia, // But these connections are nonsense"). Even money loses its value ("Where money is just a trifle").

The phrase "Let the artist Vysotsky sing it" is the author's self-irony. Vysotsky's songs, which often touched on forbidden themes, were also a kind of deficit and were distributed underground.

The fruit vendor's letter is a bitter sarcasm about life in a society where material goods mean more than culture and spiritual values.