Vladimir Vysotsky's Translations by Stanley Altshuller
Stanley Altshuller (email@example.com)
On a rugged cliff, the very edge, above the endless chasm
I keep lashing at my horses with my whip clenched in a spasm
But the air is growing thinner, I am gasping, drowning, crying
I can sense with horrid wonder, I am vanishing, I'm dying
Slow your gallop, oh my horses! Slow your gallop I say!
Don't you listen to my stinging whip!
But the horses I was given, stubborn and so unforgiving,
Can't complete the life I'm living, cant conclude the verse I'm singing
Can't complete the life I'm living, at least let me finish singing
I will stop for a blink, I will let horses drink
For a brief second more, I will stand on the brink...
I will perish, as a feather that the hurricane has swallowed,
In a chariot they'll pull me through the snow in blinding gallop
All I ask of you my horses, slow your pace but for a moment
To prolong the final seconds of approach to my last comfort
We have made it. Right on time, God has left us with few choices
But the why are angels singing with such fiendish scolding voices,
Or it that the horse bell ringing in a frenzy drenched with tears,
Or is it I the one who's screaming for my horses to shift gears?