The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Bride-show" (Smotrinyi) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

There at the neighbor's, a feast is in full swing,

An important guest, well-fed, I ween,

While the bustling hostess runs off to bring

Supplies from the cellar below, unseen.

Keys rattle in the lock, provisions appear,

The stove is stoked with care and might,

The draft is adjusted, and crystal clear,

The air is filled with warmth and light.

While here with me, it's hardship and strife,

The crops have failed, the cattle fall ill,

The stove smokes from a troublesome life,

And fate seems to mock my every skill.

Their pot of stew with meat galore,

The sound of gnawing bones carries far,

Their daughter, a bride, ready to explore,

A future bright, just like a star.

Matchmaking, it is, with a hundred guests,

Even the skinny groom sings and dances with zest,

While my own chained dogs, with unrest,

Bark through the night, robbing me of rest.

Oh, how quickly the neighbors drink and cheer,

And why not, with such abundance and grace?

The atmosphere is merry, no cause for fear,

A symphony of joy in this happy place.

While here, my wife is heavy with child,

A gaggle of unfed geese clamor and squawk,

It's not just the birds, it's all so wild,

My life feels like a ship run aground on the rocks.

Bedbugs have invaded, I try to evict,

But they return, persistent and bold,

A boil has sprung, causing me to restrict,

My movements, just when I need to be in the fold.

My neighbor sent a token, a friendly plea,

To join the feast, but I declined with a sigh,

He persisted, urging me to agree,

And soon a liter of vodka did arrive.

Amidst the revelry, I whispered low,

To the groom, a secret, soft and sly,

"Your bride weeps above, you should know,"

And like the wind, he hurried by.

The neighbor roared, "I am the law of the land,

He who refuses to eat, shall not drink, it's true,"

And with that, he emptied his glass in his hand,

While all around the merriment grew.

Everyone rose, but a young voice rang clear,

"He who doesn't work, shall not eat, you see,"

"You've mixed it up, father, I fear,"

He corrected with a mischievous glee.

I sat with my worn-out accordion, clutching tight,

My reward for providing the night's delight,

A greasy three-ruble note, a sorry sight,

To chase away the hangover's might.

My neighbor, on his second liter, swayed,

His face flushed, his words a drunken slur,

"Sing for us, you," he commanded, dismayed,

"We shared our drinks, now it's your turn to stir."

Two burly men grabbed me, their grip like a vise,

"Sing, you wretch, or face our wrath," they hissed,

And so I played, a captive of their caprice,

Trapped in their revelry, my own spirit dismissed.

The merriment reached a fever pitch,

As guests stole kisses from the bride-to-be,

I sang of brighter days, within my reach,

"When I was but a humble mail coach driver, you see."

Then came the fish soup, and savory pies,

And somewhere in the chaos, the groom was caught,

A flurry of fists, under watchful eyes,

His punishment delivered, a lesson taught.

They danced and brawled, fueled by spirits high,

Unleashing the chaos that lurked within,

Until all the good cheer had passed them by,

Leaving behind a trail of wreckage and sin.

I groaned in a corner, a creature of despair,

Brooding and muttering, my heart filled with dread,

"Who will share a drink with me, if I dare,

To face the consequences of this night's dread?"

Morning arrived, as it always does,

With the promise of peace and a quiet reprieve,

Leftover bread, a comforting buzz,

And ample time to reflect, and perhaps, grieve.

No lingering anger, no grudges to bear,

Just a dog wagging its tail in the sun's embrace,

A stove adorned with blue tiles, beyond compare,

And the comforting warmth of this familiar space.

But here with me, even under skies so clear,

A storm rages on, a fire in my soul,

I drink from the well, my heart heavy with fear,

As I mend my accordion, and my wife scolds.

Там у соседа - пир горой,

И гость - солидный, налитой,

Ну а хозяйка - хвост трубой -

Идет к подвалам, -

В замок врезаются ключи,

И вынимаются харчи;

И с тягой ладится в печи,

И с поддувалом.

А у меня - сплошные передряги:

То в огороде недород, то скот падет,

То печь чадит от нехорошей тяги,

А то щеку на сторону ведет.

Там у соседей мясо в щах -

На всю деревню хруст в хрящах,

И дочь - невеста, вся в прыщах, -

Дозрела, значит.

Смотрины, стало быть, у них -

На сто рублей гостей одних,

И даже тощенький жених

Поет и скачет.

А у меня цепные псы взбесились -

Средь ночи с лая перешли на вой,

И на ногах моих мозоли прохудились

От топотни по комнате пустой.

Ох, у соседей быстро пьют!

А что не пить, когда дают?

А что не петь, когда уют

И не накладно?

А тут, вон, баба на сносях,

Гусей некормленных косяк...

Но дело даже не в гусях, -

А все неладно.

Тут у меня постены появились,

Я их гоню и так и сяк - они опять,

Да в неудобном месте чирей вылез -

Пора пахать, а тут - ни сесть ни встать.

Сосед маленочка прислал -

Он от щедрот меня позвал, -

Ну, я, понятно, отказал,

А он - сначала.

Должно, литровую огрел -

Ну и, конечно, подобрел...

И я пошел - попил, поел, -

Не полегчало.

И посредине этого разгула

Я прошептал на ухо жениху -

И жениха, как будто ветром сдуло, -

Невеста, вон, рыдает наверху.

Сосед орет, что он - народ,

Что основной закон блюдет:

Что - кто не ест, тот и не пьет, -

И выпил, кстати.

Все сразу повскакали с мест,

Но тут малец с поправкой влез:

"Кто не работает - не ест, -

Ты спутал, батя!"

А я сидел с засаленною трешкой,

Чтоб завтра гнать похмелие мое,

В обнимочку с обшарпанной гармошкой -

Меня и пригласили за нее.

Сосед другую литру съел -

И осовел, и опсовел.

Он захотел, чтоб я попел, -

Зря, что ль, поили?!

Меня схватили за бока

Два здоровенных мужика:

"Играй, паскуда, пой, пока

Не удавили!"

Уже дошло веселие до точки,

Невесту гости тискают тайком -

И я запел про светлые денечки,

"Когда служил на почте ямщиком".

Потом у них была уха

И заливные потроха,

Потом поймали жениха

И долго били,

Потом пошли плясать в избе,

Потом дрались не по злобе -

И все хорошее в себе

Доистребили.

А я стонал в углу болотной выпью,

Набычась, а потом и подбочась, -

И думал я: а с кем я завтра выпью

Из тех, с которыми я пью сейчас?!

Наутро там всегда покой,

И хлебный мякиш за щекой,

И без похмелья перепой,

Еды навалом,

Никто не лается в сердцах,

Собачка мается в сенцах,

И печка - в синих изразцах

И с поддувалом.

А у меня - и в ясную погоду

Хмарь на душе, которая горит, -

Хлебаю я колодезную воду,

Чиню гармошку, и жена корит.

The song "Смотрины" ("The Bride-Show") by Vladimir Vysotsky depicts a stark contrast between the seeming well-being of the neighbor and the bitter fate of the lyrical hero.

The neighbor is presented as a successful householder: he has a "feast like a mountain", a daughter of marriageable age, and "a hundred rubles' worth of guests." The abundance of food and drink creates an atmosphere of celebration and merriment. The groom, albeit "skinny," is full of enthusiasm - singing and dancing.

The hero, on the other hand, is plagued by misfortune: "troubles" follow one after another, from crop failure to annoying boils. The image of an empty room, where he paces in despair, emphasizes his loneliness and helplessness in the face of life's adversities.

Despite his refusal, the hero ends up at the neighbor's bride-show, where revelry and unrestrained mirth reign. He involuntarily becomes a participant in this chaotic celebration, accompanying the drunken antics of the guests on his "shabby accordion."

The ending of the song is sad and ironic. The hero, "groaning like a marsh harrier," reflects on the futility of his existence and the questionable company he keeps.

The contrast between the hero and his neighbor emphasizes not only the difference in their material situation but also in their attitude towards life. The neighbor, who personifies earthiness and lack of spirituality, is wasting his life in drunken feasts. The hero, despite all the hardships, retains the ability to feel and reflect on the meaning of life.