The meaning of the lyrics of the song "It wasn't a fling." (To byila ne intrijka) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

It wasn’t just a fling

You were in the palm of my hand

Like a beautiful book

In a rough cover

I was in love like a boy

With a quiet, secret thrill

I leafed through our little romance

With an indecent title

There were tears, there were threats

All the same, all the time

It was mostly prose

And poems were less frequent

Your stormy caresses

And all the other means

It’s scary, like in a fairy tale

Of very early childhood

I secretly hoped

That you hadn’t been read

But you, as in a reading room

Were taken by too many

I won’t live to see the moment

When I belatedly

Pass from hand to hand the book

With an indecent title

То была не интрижка

Ты была на ладошке

Как прекрасная книжка

В грубой суперобложке

Я влюблен был как мальчик

С тихим трепетом тайным

Я листал наш романчик

С неприличным названьем

Были слезы, угрозы

Всё одни и всё те же

В основном была проза

А стихи были реже

Твои бурные ласки

И все прочие средства

Это страшно, как в сказке

Очень раннего детства

Я надеялся втайне

Что тебя не листали

Но тебя, как в читальне

Слишком многие брали

Не дождаться мне мига

Когда я с опозданьем

Сдам с рук на руки книгу

С неприличным названьем

Vladimir Vysotsky's song "It Wasn't Just a Fling" utilizes the metaphor of a book to depict a passionate, yet fleeting and superficial relationship.

The lyrical hero compares his lover to a "beautiful book in a rough cover" – visually appealing, but perhaps concealing simple content behind a flashy exterior. He is enamored "like a boy," with naivety and trepidation, but their "romance" bears an "indecent name," hinting at the frivolous and passionate nature of their connection.

"Tears, threats," recurring quarrels, and reconciliations – all described as prose, the mundane reality of their relationship. Rare "poems" – moments of genuine intimacy and happiness – only occasionally dilute this prose.

"Passionate caresses" and "all other means" evoke childish, almost fairy-tale memories in the hero, implying that this relationship was, in a way, a return to primal instincts, an escape from reality.

However, the book metaphor takes on a bitter connotation when the hero realizes that his lover has been "read" by many. "You, like in a library, were taken by too many" – this line suggests that the woman was insincere, her feelings superficial, and he was just one of many in a string of her affairs.

In the finale, the hero bitterly acknowledges the inevitability of the end: he will be forced to "hand over the book," resigning himself to the fact that their "indecent romance" is over.