The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Dash to Freedom" (Pobeg na ryivok) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

It was a brazen escape, a foolish, daytime dash,

Vologodsky leading the charge, headfirst into the snow.

Two figures leaping, their breaths puffing in unison,

Right under the convoy's noses, waist-deep in the white.

Ranks were formed in impeccable order,

And "Druzhba", the old saw, wailed its siren song,

Three barrels, from watchtowers now alert,

Sent their leaden blessings down upon us.

We lay flat, faces buried in the snow,

While behind us, two demonic dogs gave chase.

Nine grams of hot lead, how cramped it must be in those barrels!

We twisted and turned in their sights, like figures on a burning wheel.

Our goal, our only hope - the riverbank ahead,

But from above, from those towers, our fate was sealed.

We danced in their crosshairs, twitching puppets on a string -

A comical display, if it wasn't so damn real.

I longed to see who shared this desperate flight,

Who dared to tempt fate, to gamble with his life by my side!

A flicker of recognition as I regained my senses,

"What's your name?" I rasped, "And what are you in for?"

Too late. Bullets, black punctuation marks, silenced him,

A cross etched in lead - nape, waist, both shoulders ablaze.

I ran, my mind a single track - will I make it?

The heat of the moment, a fleeting numbness against the fear.

I circled back to him, the fool, "Why'd you stop?"

But he lay on his side, brains splattered on the pristine snow.

A shiver shot through me, drying the sweat on my back:

That three-liner hits hard, clean, just like in the real war.

I clung to the rocks, my knuckles bone white,

When dogs are near, you don't run, you stand your ground!

They lapped the earth, their tongues like crimson stains,

Dispersing only after tasting the remnants of his mind.

I rose, the world a blinding white canvas,

And saw my executioners waiting patiently.

They nudged the corpse, "Dead, the bastard! No use anymore,

Fifty kopecks for a capture, but death pays nothing at all."

Single file we walked, a procession before the brigade,

Then back to the guardhouse, brushing the snow from our coats.

They returned to the zone, their reward awaiting,

And I, to a new sentence, a fresh hell for daring to hope.

I resisted at first, but what's the use against a pack?

An entire platoon took turns, their arms growing weary twice over.

Empty threats of the afterlife, both worlds wielded the same club:

They beat me there, they beat me here, the pain a constant companion.

Pride, I stuffed it deep inside, hidden beneath my layers,

I've seen proud men reduced to licking boots, their dignity lost.

I went to the infirmary, seeking solace for my wounds,

But some scars refuse to heal, a constant reminder etched in flesh.

We should have made for the river, he was strong, my fallen comrade,

Together we could have fought, at least made it harder for them, for the dogs!

But every story has its end. The beast ran into the hunter's trap,

And the hunter, with a single blow, carved half a face from the escapee.

… Everything's locked down tight, pipes sealed, taps shut off,

Only the wails and whimpers of the night remain.

What's the point of it all? To rub salt into open wounds:

Let them remember, let them hurt, that's the only way they'll learn.

Let them remember, let them hurt, that's the only way they'll learn!

Let them remember, let them hurt, that's the only way they'll learn!

Был побег на рывок - наглый, глупый, дневной,-

Вологодского - с ног и - вперед головой.

И запрыгали двое, в такт сопя на бегу,

На виду у конвоя да по пояс в снегу.

Положен строй в порядке образцовом,

И взвыла "Дружба" - старая пила,

И осенили знаменьем свинцовым

С очухавшихся вышек три ствола.

Все лежали плашмя, в снег уткнули носы,

А за нами двумя - бесноватые псы.

Девять граммов горячие, как вам тесно в стволах!

Мы на мушках корячились, словно как на колах.

Нам - добежать до берега, до цели,-

Но свыше - с вышек - все предрешено:

Там у стрелков мы дергались в прицеле -

Умора просто, до чего смешно.

Вот бы мне посмотреть, с кем отправился в путь,

С кем рискнул помереть, с кем затеял рискнуть!

Где-то виделись будто, чуть очухался я,

Прохрипел: "Как зовут-то? И - какая статья?"

Но поздно: зачеркнули его пули -

Крестом - в затылок, пояс, два плеча,-

А я бежал и думал: добегу ли?-

И даже не заметил сгоряча.

Я - к нему, чудаку: Почему, мол, отстал?

Ну, а он - на боку и мозги распластал.

Пробрало! - телогрейка аж просохла на мне:

Лихо бьет трехлинейка - прямо, как на войне!

Как за грудки, держался я за камни:

Когда собаки близко - не беги!

Псы покропили землю языками -

И разбрелись, слизав его мозги.

Приподнялся и я, белый свет стервеня,-

И гляжу - кумовья поджидают меня.

Пнули труп: "Сдох, скотина! Нету проку с него:

За поимку полтина, а за смерть - ничего".

И мы прошли гуськом перед бригадой,

Потом - за вахту, отряхнувши снег:

Они обратно в зону - за наградой,

А я - за новым сроком за побег.

Я сначала грубил, а потом перестал.

Целый взвод меня бил - аж два раза устал.

Зря пугают тем светом, оба света с дубьем:

Врежут там - я на этом, врежут здесь - я на том.

Я гордость под исподнее упрятал -

Видал, как пятки лижут гордецы,-

Пошел лизать я раны в лизолятор,-

Не зализал - и вот они, рубцы.

Надо б нам - вдоль реки, он был тоже не слаб,

Чтобы им - не с руки, а собакам - не с лап!..

Вот и сказке конец. Зверь бежал на ловца,

Снес - как срезал - ловец беглецу пол-лица.

...Все взято в трубы, перекрыты краны,-

Ночами только воют и скулят,

Что надо? Надо сыпать соль на раны:

Чтоб лучше помнить - пусть они болят!

Чтоб лучше помнить - пусть они болят!

Чтоб лучше помнить - пусть они болят!

Vladimir Vysotsky's poem "Escape on the Run" tells the tragic story of two prisoners who decide on a desperate escape from the camp.

The text is filled with drama and realistic details that convey the atmosphere of hopelessness and cruelty. The author uses simple, even rough language characteristic of the prison environment, which enhances the emotional impact on the reader.

The meaning of the work is multifaceted. On the surface is the story of a failed escape that ended in the death of one of the fugitives. But behind this outer canvas lies a deep subtext.

Vysotsky shows the inhumanity of a system that breaks people's lives. The guards, presented as soulless machines ("the old "Friendship" saw howled"), do not see individuals in the prisoners, perceiving them as targets. The death of a fugitive is just a cause for annoyance ("There is no use for him: For catching a fifty kopeck, but for death - nothing").

The lyrical hero, despite the horror he has experienced, does not lose his thirst for freedom. He bitterly ironizes over himself and his fate ("They scare me in vain with that world, both worlds are with a club: They will hurt there - I'm on this one, they will hurt here - I'm on that one"), hides pride "under the underwear" in order to survive in inhuman conditions.

The finale of the poem sounds like a challenge to fate, a call to fight: "To remember better - let them hurt!". Wounds, both physical and mental, should serve as a reminder of what has been experienced, temper the will to resist.