Аркадий Беловский - Ветер Странствий - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The wind of travel pushes at my back, the foreign land calls me into its embrace.

I'll sadly leave Sheremetyevo, the plane will carry me to Schönefeld.

All the endless chores, all the unnecessary, boring things, will be thrown away.

I was in a hurry to get west, and from there I hurried east.

Planes, train stations, hotels, the clatter of wheels on high-speed trains.

Empty beds warmed me in unfamiliar, foreign cities.

In a string of feverish days, I sought something new in life.

"Jules Gautret" drank with Chechens in Nice, gambled in the casino in Monte Carlo.

I drank pastis and bouillabaisse in Marseille, pleasantly excited and drunk.

And that same night, with some Nubian woman, I took the express train to Perpignan. The Tramuntano, a wild, maddening wind, picked me up and swirled me around.

And the hustle and bustle of European roads carried me and tossed me around.

On a bench in Barcelona's Park Güell, like an elegant, chiseled dagger,

Uselessly clutched in my palm, I tenderly held a white bird.

Fluttered away, spreading its wings on Montjuïc? Montserrat?

I watched, with a hint of melancholy, the theatrical, comical masquerade.

But succumbed to a sense of mirth, to the accompaniment of Spanish guitar strings.

From Seville, I went to Marbella, to the ocean, to Gibraltar.

I vanished at the edge of geography, having drunk a full glass of sherry.

The Levante blew insistently in my back, dragging me from Tarifa to Tangier.

An unfamiliar miracle stepped on my heels, giving me strength.

My heels got stuck in the cobblestones, so dazzling was Paris.

Full of the randomness of a lottery, a city of passion and eternal love.

I jostled like a homeless mime, remaining vis-à-vis myself.

The smell of cigarettes wafted through the air; Amsterdam exhaled something delicious.

I savored the conveyor belt of pleasant impressions from Brussels to Prague.

At the Hofbräuhaus, fresh beer, a gram of the taste of life and joy,

I moved leisurely to Stuttgart, letting the winds blow.

The Unit Dance Club in Karlsruhe was like a potion; it saved me from fatigue in a ottoman.

I was taken to Baden-Baden to cure my hangover in the warm thermal baths in the morning.

I felt younger, more graceful, more energetic, setting off on my further voyage. Konstanz, Zurich, Meisburg, Lake Constance, from a Zeppelin to a sunny beach.

The Alpine foehn, saturated with moisture, breathily whispered in my ear about

Suvorov, with daring courage, inviting me to go to the Eternal City.

The flighty wanderer, driven by impulse, caught a genuine passion.

The Devil's Bridge crossed over a cliff, in the Alps, near the Gotthard Tunnel.

Living pictures of Italian cities at night floated before me,

In Florence and San Marino—where better? I can't say.

Imperial Rome touched my heart; I seemed to be in love with everything.

Remus and Romulus sit beneath the she-wolf, preserving the antiquity of time.

We drank every drop of limoncello, biting our lips in delight.

I gazed rapturously at Capri, across the Gulf of Naples.

Here, the song of Santa Lucia began, and Vesuvius breathed gray ash.

And I longed to return to Sorrento when Caruso's voice trembled.

Having healed all my emotional wounds, I returned more than once.

I understood that we were no longer wanted there, without a family name or kinship.

A capricious guest, I wander the world, accepting a simple concept.

Only where we are not, where the smoke of the fatherland is so sweet, is it good?