Текст и перевод песни Александр Розенбаум - Вещая судьба

Вещая судьба

Заплутал, не знаю где
Чудо чудное глядел
По холодной, по воде
В грязном рубище
Через реку, через миг
Брёл, как посуху старик
Толи в прошлом его лик
Толи в будущем
Позамёрзшая межа
А метели всё кружат
Я глазами проважал
Слышал сердца стук
Одинока и горба
Не моя ли шла судьба?
Эх, спросить бы
Да губа
Онемела вдруг
Полем, полем, полем
Белым, белым полем дым
Волос был чернее смоли
Стал седым
Полем, полем, полем
Белым, белым полем дым
Волос был чернее смоли
Стал седым
А старик всё шёл как сон
По пороше босиком
Толи вдаль за горизонт
А толи вглубь земли
И чернела высота
И снежинки, петь устав
На него ложились там
Да не таяли
Вдруг в звенящей тишине
Обернулся он ко мне
И мурашки по спине
Ледяной волной
На меня смотрел и спал
"Старче, кто ты?" закричал
А старик захохотал
Сгинув с глаза долой
Полем, полем, полем
Белым, белым полем дым
Волос был чернее смоли
Стал седым
Не поверил бы глазам
Отписал бы всё слезам
Может всё, что было там
Померещилось
Но вот в зеркале друзья
Вдруг его увидел я
Видно, встреча та моя
Всё же вещая
Полем, полем, полем
Белым, белым полем дым
Волос был чернее смоли
Стал седым
Полем, полем, полем
Белым, белым полем дым
Волос был чернее смоли
Стал седым

Prophetic Fate

Lost, I don't know where,
I saw a wondrous sight,
On the cold water there,
In rags and plight.
Across the river, in a blink,
An old man walked, as on dry land,
Was it his face from the past I think,
Or from the future's strand?
The frozen boundary lies,
While blizzards swirl and spin,
I watched him with my eyes,
Heard my heart beat within.
Lonely and hunched she goes,
Could it be my fate that flows?
Oh, to ask I'd yearn,
But my lips,
Suddenly turn numb.
Across the field, the field, the field,
White, white field, the smoke does yield,
My hair was blacker than tar,
Now turned gray, by far.
Across the field, the field, the field,
White, white field, the smoke does yield,
My hair was blacker than tar,
Now turned gray, by far.
And the old man kept walking, like a dream,
Barefoot on the powdery snow's gleam,
Either towards the horizon's seam,
Or deep into the earth below.
And the heights grew dark, you know,
And snowflakes, tired of their show,
Fell upon him there, just so,
Yet did not melt, aglow.
Suddenly, in the ringing silence' space,
He turned to me, with solemn grace,
And chills ran down my spine's embrace,
Like an icy wave, it flows.
He looked at me, and slumbered deep,
"Old man, who are you?" I cried and leaped,
And the old man laughed, his secrets kept,
Vanishing from sight, he goes.
Across the field, the field, the field,
White, white field, the smoke does yield,
My hair was blacker than tar,
Now turned gray, by far.
I wouldn't believe my eyes' decree,
Would blame it all on tears, you see,
Maybe everything that happened to me,
Was just a vision, a fantasy.
But then, in the mirror, my friends so true,
Suddenly I saw him, me, anew,
It seems that encounter, through and through,
Was truly prophetic, just for you.
Across the field, the field, the field,
White, white field, the smoke does yield,
My hair was blacker than tar,
Now turned gray, by far.
Across the field, the field, the field,
White, white field, the smoke does yield,
My hair was blacker than tar,
Now turned gray, by far.