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Река. Часть втораяReka. Chastʼ vtoraya

The River. Part Two

A present for my father’s 65th birthday — and now he is the drop, and the rain, and the river.

Russian5:38

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Possibly the most important song of all the ones I have ever written in collaboration with artificial intelligence. I gave it to my father for his 65th birthday, on 4 March 2024. While I was writing it, I worked out that “two thirds of a century” (counted to the day) would fall EXACTLY on my own birthday that same year. My father, sadly, did not live to see it.

The last verse is my father’s. Strictly speaking it is a translation of Thích Nhất Hạnh, but my father translated in such a way that more of him stayed in the translation than of the source.

Rivers, and water in general, ran through my father’s whole life, and somehow through our entire discourse as well. And on the last full day of his life he was deep in a book about the history of Moscow, from which he learned that somewhere outside the city there is a hidden canal from some ancient century.

And the next day he became the drop, and the rain, and the river himself.

Lyrics

The translation is a crib, not a singing version.

Открывая окно, я людским удивляюсь потокам.
Otkryvaya okno, ya lyudskim udivlyayusʼ potokam.
Жизнь кипит, проносясь с шумом мимо меня.
Zhiznʼ kipit, pronosyasʼ s shumom mimo menya.
Я стою, замерев, словно в заводи перед порогом
Ya stoyu, zamerev, slovno v zavodi pered porogom
На пороге грядущего дня.
Na poroge gryadushchego dnya.
Я закрою глаза и увижу могучую реку,
Ya zakroyu glaza i uvizhu moguchuyu reku,
Может Дон, может Неман, а может Катунь,
Mozhet Don, mozhet Neman, a mozhet Katunʼ,
Где мгновенья, как волны, растянулись на две трети века
Gde mgnovenʼya, kak volny, rastyanulisʼ na dve treti veka
По теченью нейлоновых струн.
Po techenʼyu neylonovykh strun.
И, расправив крыла, я над ними промчусь баттерфляем,
I, raspraviv kryla, ya nad nimi promchusʼ batterflyayem,
Пронесусь через воды, шторма и года.
Pronesusʼ cherez vody, shtorma i goda.
Мы, как капли дождя, на круги расходясь, исчезаем,
My, kak kapli dozhdya, na krugi raskhodyasʼ, ischezayem,
Но река не умрёт никогда.
No reka ne umryot nikogda.
Открывая окно, наблюдаю я сущность живого.
Otkryvaya okno, nablyudayu ya sushchnostʼ zhivogo.
Жизнь прекрасна, безмерна, полна, глубока.
Zhiznʼ prekrasna, bezmerna, polna, gluboka.
И когда удаётся жить мгновеньем мгновенья любого,
I kogda udayotsya zhitʼ mgnovenʼyem mgnovenʼya lyubogo,
Я и капля, и дождь, и река.
Ya i kaplya, i dozhdʼ, i reka.
Opening the window, I marvel at the currents of people.
Life boils over, rushing past me with a noise.
I stand still, as if in a backwater above the rapids,
On the threshold of the coming day.
I’ll close my eyes and see a mighty river,
Maybe the Don, maybe the Neman, or maybe the Katun,
Where moments, like waves, have stretched out over two thirds of a century
Along the current of nylon strings.
And spreading my wings, I’ll race above them in a butterfly stroke,
Rush through the waters, the storms and the years.
Like raindrops we scatter into circles and disappear,
But the river will never die.
Life is beautiful, immeasurable, full, deep.
And when you manage to live any given moment as a moment,

Music: Vova Zakharov

Lyrics: Vova Zakharov, Vladimir Zakharov Sr.