ALMOST THREE HOURS OF INCREDIBLE ARTISTIC ATMOSPHERE AND PATRIOTIC UNITY OF THE PEOPLES OF THE WORLD — On September 1st, the V.I. Lenin embankment of the city of Yalta hosted the final of the International Music Festival «Road to Yalta».
In the year of memory and glory, artists from all over the world performed the best Soviet musical compositions about the Great Patriotic War in their native languages. The star cast of the jury included Zaur Tutov, Denis Maidanov, Kai Metov, Valery Daineko, Vladimir Berezin, as well as the Minister of Resorts and Tourism of the Republic of Crimea — Vadim Volchenko. The jury was headed by People’s Artist of the RSFSR — Lev Leshchenko.
The gala concert was conducted by the artistic director of the Road to Yalta festival, presenter Ernest Matskyavichyus and actress, singer, Honored Artist of Russia Ekaterina Guseva.
Ватра пуцкета у пећи тој,
на трупцима смола као суза,
у земуници пева хармоника
о твом осмеху и очима.
Жбуње о теби шаптало је
на снежним пољима крај Москве.
Желим сада да ослушнеш ти
с’ каквом чежњом мој глас пева ти.
А ти си сад далеко,
међу нама снега и снега,
до тебе доћи није лако,
а до смрта је пар корака.
Пој хармонико кроз мећаву,
зови драгу ми несуђену.
Није хладно у земуници,
све због те горуће љубави.
Није хладно ни у земуници,
све због те горуће љубави.
Жбуње о теби шаптало је
на снежним пољима крај Москве.
Кад би могла да ослушнеш ти
с’ каквом чежњом мој глас пева ти.
Пој хармонико кроз мећаву,
зови драгу ми несуђену.
Није хладно у земуници,
све због те горуће љубави.
Que noche tan bella y tan estrellada
Se ven agujas en pajar
Salga mi linda mujer fatigada-a
Solo te quiero mirar
Salga mi linda mujer fatigada-a
Solo te quiero mirar.
Nos sentaremos debajo de arboles
¡Soy de los reyes el rey!
Mira, mi corazón, estos resoles,
Hermoso se ven en el jagüey
Mira, mi corazón, estos resoles,
Hermoso se ven en el jagüey
La arboleda está hechizaada-a
Parece que duerme la luna
Y brisa dice a mis oídos
Que eres un sueño real
Y brisa dice a mis oídos
Que eres un sueño real
No tengas miedo mujer preciosa
De pies bonitos mojar
Por este prado lleno de roció
Te voy a casa llevar
Por este prado lleno de roció
Te voy a casa llevar
No te asustes, si tú tengas frio,
Yo te podre abrazar
Este humilde que arde en llamas
Todo te va entregar
Este humilde que arde en llamas
Todo te va a entregar
Ici l’oiseau se tait
L’arbre ne peut pousser
Nous sommes seuls en rangs serrés
A nous enraciner
Le globe enflamme sa trajectoire
Et la fumée nous envahie
Nous avons donc besoin d’une victoire
Une pour tous, rien moins et quel qu’en soit le prix
Une pour tous, rien moins et quel qu’en soit le prix
Un feu mortel menace
Mais il est impuissant
Ne doutons plus en rang dans la nuit passent
Nos paras du dixième régiment
Nos paras du dixième régiment
Dès que le feu s’éteint
Un autre ordre nous vient
Et le facteur deviendra fou
En nous cherchant partout
L’obus rougeoit dans la nuit noire
La mitrailleuse est sans merci
Nous avons donc besoin d’une victoire
Une pour tous, rien moins et quel qu’en soit le prix
Une pour tous, rien moins et quel qu’en soit le prix
Un feu mortel menace
Mais il est impuissant
Ne doutons plus en rang dans la nuit passent
Nos paras du dixième régiment
Nos paras du dixième régiment
De villes en villes mortes
La guerre nous emporte
Au pied des lignes ennemies
Oui frère c’est ainsi
Un jour nous aurons peine à croire
Au souvenir de cette nuit
Mais aujourd’hui il nous faut une victoire
Une pour tous, rien moins et quel qu’en soit le prix
Une pour tous, rien moins et quel qu’en soit le prix
Un feu mortel menace
Mais il est impuissant
Ne doutons plus en rang dans la nuit passent
Nos paras du dixième régiment
Nos paras du dixième régiment
Meli e peri erano in fiore,
E lungo il fiume la nebbia avanzava
Camminava sulla riva Katjusha,
Sulla ripida e alta sponda.
Camminava cantando una canzone
Di un’aquila grigia della steppa,
Di colui che lei amava,
Di colui le cui lettere teneva
O canzone che parli di Katjusha
Vola e arriva fino al suo soldato
Segui il sole fino alla frontiera
E da Katjusha presto tornerà.
Fagli ricordare una semplice ragazza,
Fagli sentire la sua voce cantare
Possa lui proteggere la casa,
Come Katjusha protegge l’amore
We haven’t rested for so long
We’ve had no time for rest
We’ve crawled through half of Europe
Tomorrow, at last, there will be the final battle
Refrain:
A little more, a little longer
The final battle is the most difficult one
But I want to go back home, to Russia
I haven’t seen my mom for so long
But I want to go back home, to Russia
I haven’t seen my mom for so long
We’ve had no peace because of these Germans for four years now
Rivers of blood and sweat for the fourth year
But I’d like to fall in love with a good girl
I’d like to touch my Motherland with my hand
Refrain.
Tomorrow we meet in hand-to-hand combat for the last time
It may be the last time we will serve Russia
We have no fear of dying for her
But we hope we will live through it.
Refrain.
Czemu wszystko nie tak, czemu czegoS mi brak?
Przeciei wiatr swojq dumkq wciqi nuci.
Niebo jasne, i woda ma taki sam smak,
Tyf ko On wczoraj z bitwy nie wr6cif
Wiqc nie dowiem siq ju2 czy mial racjq czy nie,
Gdy zaiarcie tak ze mnq siq kl6cif.
Mnie nad ranem dopiero zaczqfo byd ile,
Gdy On wczoraj po bitwie nie wr6cif.
Nieraz milczaf nie w takt, albo Spiewaf nie w smak,
Gdy jui m6wil — nie miaf wyczucia.
On mi spa6 nie chcial da6, rano pierwszym byf z nas,
No a wczoraj po bitwie nie wr6cif.
To ie pusto mi tak, c6i, nie o tym ta pie$ri,
DziS pojafem jak On byf mi bliski.
Dla mnie tak jakby wiatr zgasit slorice i dzieri,
Kiedy On nie powr6cif z tej bitwy.
Wiosny zapach znad lqk jak z niewoli siq rwie,
Jam z rozpqdu przez ramiq Mu rzucil,
-r, Mlody masz papierosa?” – cisza, przeciei On nie…
Przeciei wczoraj po bitwie nie wr6cif.
Nasi zmarli na krok nie odstEpiE iui nas,
BgdE czuwad nad nami z ukrYcia.
Niebo ziemiq otula, zanurza siq w las,
Drzewa stojq przepiqkne w blqkicie.
Nam w ziemiance we dw6ch miejsca nie byfo brak,
DziS mam pustkq i mY6li gonitwq.
Teraz wszystko mam sam, tylko jakof mi tak
Jakbym sam nie powr6cil z tej bitwy.
From the heroes of the past
Sometimes there are no names left.
Those who took the mortal battle,
They just became ground, grass.
Only the formidable prowess of them
Has settled in the hearts of the living.
This eternal flame bequeathed to us alone
We store in the chest.
Look at my fighters!
The whole world remembers their faces.
That battalion froze in the ranks.
I recognize old friends again.
Though they are not even twenty five
They had to go a hard way.
Those who closed with bayonets, as one,
They took Berlin.
There is no such family in Russia
Wherever their own hero was not remembered.
And the eyes of young soldiers
Look from wilted photos.
This look is like a high court
For the guys that are growing now.
And the boys can neither lie nor deceive,
Nor turn out of the way.
You and I, brother, are from the infantry,
and summers are better than winters.
We’ve settled our score with the war,
grab your trenchcoat, we’re going home!
The war has bent and worn us down,
yet even war has met an end.
Your mother was four years without her son,
grab your trenchcoat, we’re going home!
Our streets are burned to the ground,
still again, again, my comrade,
the lost starlings have come back to them.
Grab your trenchcoat, we’re going home!
Now you’re sleeping with closed eyes
under a plywood star1
Stand up, stand up, brother,
grab your trenchcoat, we’re going home!
What will I say to your relatives?
How could I face your widow?
You can’t pledge in the name of yesterday.
Grab your trenchcoat, we’re going home!
We are all the accidental children of war,
generals and privates alike.
Spring rises again over the snow,
grab your trenchcoat, we’re going home!
Cili eshte nje fillim i atdheut
nje fotografi n’abc
me miq te mire dhe te vertete
te jetosh ne nje oborr fqinj
ose mbase fillon me ato kenge
qe nena na i kendoi ne
me ato gjera qe ne cdo prove
askush smund te na i heqe
Cili eshte nje fillim i atdheut
fillon me stol prane portes sone
me kte peme qe ne fushe rritet
duke u perkulur ne ere
ose mbase fillon me kengen
e pare pranverore t’yllit
dhe me kte rruge te vendit
qe duket si nje e pafund
Cili eshte nje fillim i atdheut
dritare qe shnderisin n’distance
kapake te vjetra t’babit qe gjetem
diku ne dollape
ose mbase fillon me nje tingull
te rrotave ne kamioncine
dhe me nje betim ate n’rini
e keni mbajt n’zemer gjithnji
Cili eshte nje fillim i atdheut.
Sometimes I feel like the soldiers,
Who never returned from the bloodied fields,
Aren’t perished in our earth,
But turned into white cranes
Since those long gone times until today
They fly and give us signs, so we can hear them.
Isn’t this why so frequently and sorrowfully
We fall silent, watching the sky?
A tired flock is flying, flying up in the sky,
Through the fog, at the end of the day.
And among them there’s a small gap,
Perhaps that’s the place for me.
The day will come when together with the cranes
I will float in that same blue-gray mist,
With a bird’s hailing out of the heavens,
Calling on all of you, whom I’ve had left down on earth.
Sometimes I feel like the soldiers,
Who never returned from the bloodied fields,
Aren’t perished in our earth,
But turned into white cranes.
A white stork flies,
above the white Polesye.
The Belarusian motiff
Is in the song of the heather, in the song of the willows.
The earth has accepted all
A care, a caress, and a flame,
The sunset flickers over the earth like a crimson banner.
Chorus:
My youth, is Belarus
The song of the partizans,
The pines and the fog.
The song of the partizans,
A scarlet dawn.
My youth, is Belarus.
Our memory passes
along the forest path of the partizans,
Unable to regrow
These paths were in the people’s destiny.
The pain of these past years
Lives in and fills each heart,
In each of our families
The young children of Khatyn weep.
Chorus.
A white stork flies,
above the Polesye, above the silent Zhnivyo
Somewhere in the wetlands of the marsh,
The remaining thunder burried.
White stork flies,
On and on he flies over his native fields,
The land of our love
He blesses with his big wings.
Chorus.
黑夜短暂，白云安眠，
我们轻轻地握着那手儿，
随着圆舞曲音乐回旋，
炮声停息，小城平安，
我们聆听着圆舞曲音乐，
不时看一眼墙上时间。
虽然你我还不曾相熟，
我家离此地也很遥远，
但我仿佛已到家，
感到亲切而温暖，
在这空的大厅，
我俩跳舞回旋，
你在诉说的话语，
流入我的心田。
我们旋转，我们交谈，
我对跳舞啊荒疏已多年，
请您原谅我步子凌乱，
曙光召唤，又上前线，
告别你们这小小的城市，
我将走过您大门前。
虽然你我还不曾相熟，
我家离此地也很遥远，
但我仿佛已到家，
感到亲切而温暖，
在这空的大厅，
我俩跳舞回旋，
你在诉说的话语，
流入我的心田。
Vasarā ap saules rietu
Garam dārzam gāju es
Jauna, stalta moldāviete
Vīnogas caur dārzu nes
Apstājos un noraudzijos,
Teikt jau gribēju tūlit:
— Iesim mēs pie upes
Rieta blāzmu sagaidīt! —
Piedziedājums:
Kļavas zaļās! Vēju dziesmu lapas dzied,
Mīlu tevi! Mīlas liesma sirdī zied.
Kļavas zaļas! Šalc lapu cirtas,
Vējš lapas tumšzaļās dzied.
Bet šai brīdī moldāviete
Lepni atbildēja man:
— Partizāņu cīņu trauksme
Pāri visai zemei skan.
Tagad ceļš ikvienam silā
Prom no dzimtas sētas trauc.
Ceļš lai arī tevi
Partizāņu gaitā sauc.
Piedziedājums.
Moldāviete projam gāja
Zuda skatam mežmalā:
Skumji kļuva, kādēļ mani
Līdzi nepaņēma ta.
Jauna staltā moldāviete
Bieži sapnī bija man
Līdzes viņu silā
Satiku kā partārtizāns
Piedziedājums.
Chairman of the Jury,
People’s artist of the RSFSR
Honored artist of
Russian Federation
Honored artist of Russian Federation
Honored artist of the Belarusian SSR
Minister of Resorts and Tourism
of the Republic of Crimea
People’s artist of Russian Federation, TV presenter
People’s artist of Russian Federation
My sentimentality does not allow me to listen to this without tears. Many thanks to the performer and the orchestra, the conductor. Bravo.
Magomed Madomedov
I watched the whole concert. I strongly recommend the timing from 0.58.36 to 1.03.30. There all the magnificent "orchestra" finally does not hide behind the consoles, but comes to the forefront together with Grazioso and plays "Katyusha". They do it so that the audience goes mad!
Colonel61 Nikolaev
OTTA means masterpiece!!!
Ivan Ivanov
VERY BEAUTIFUL MUSIC BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE! MY BOW TO THE ARTISTIC DIRECTOR OF THE FESTIVAL.
Trikliaty Moskal
Brilliant! Dynamic, fresh, melodic! Bravo, Li Otta! Bravo to the Artists!
Nikolay Efimov
Once again, I am convinced that I am not enchanted with you for nothing. I listen to you and get great pleasure!!!
No one has ever reminded me so sincerely that I am a Ukrainian! Thank you, OTTA!
Nikolay Gonchar
OTTO ORCHESTRA!!!!! BRAVO!!! HOW GREAT IT IS WHEN THE WHOLE WORLD SINGS THE SONGS OF THE WAR YEARS!!!
WHEN THERE IS MEMORY OF THE HARD TIMES, THIS MEANS THAT PEOPLE WILL TRY TO AVOID THE HORROR OF WAR, WHICH THEY WANT TO IMPOSE ON THE PEOPLE OF THE EARTH…
SUCH A FESTIVAL IS THE BEST THING FOR ALL OF HUMANITY, CAUGHT IN THE TRAP OF THOSE WHO DECIDED TO TURN PEOPLE INTO FRIGHTENED ZOMBIES…
BRAVO TO THE CONDUCTOR – LEE OTTO! BRAVO TO THE MUSICIANS OF THE OTTO ORCHESTRA!!! BRAVO TO THE SINGER!!!
THANK YOU!!!!!
Bella Goldshtein
English version under construction
