По полю танки грохотали

Language: Russian

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Related Songs

Песня о госпитале [Медсанбат]
(Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij / Владимир Семёнович Высоцкий)
Пусть всегда будет солнце!
(Maija Kristalinskaja / Майя Кристалинская)

This folk song was composed during the WW2. It never had any definite fable and number of stanzas. Anyone could add to it whatever troubled him personally anytime. Here is the most popular version.
По полю танки грохотали,
Танкисты шли в последний бой,
А молодого лейтенанта
Несли с пробитой головой.

По танку вдарила болванка,
Прощай родимый экипаж.
Четыре трупа возле танка
Дополнят утренний пейзаж.

Машина пламенем объята,
Вот-вот рванёт боекомплект
А жить так хочется ребята.
И вылезать уж мочи нет.

Нас извлекут из-под обломков
Друзья возьмут на руки нас.
И залпы башенных орудий
В последний путь проводят нас.

И полетят вдруг телеграммы
Родных, друзей оповестить,
Что сын их больше не вернется,
И не приедет погостить.

В углу заплачет мать-старушка,
Слезу рукой смахнет отец.
И дорогая не узнает,
Каков танкиста был конец.

И будет карточка пылиться
На полке пожелтевших книг.
В танкистской форме, при погонах,
И ей он больше не жених.

Contributed by Vyacheslav Chetin - 2013/6/6 - 14:31

Language: English

English Version from youtube
Tanks went on rattling on the battle field
Crews taking up the last-ditch thrust,
And several soldiers slowly carried
A young lieutenant, forehead crushed…

An iron pig has hit the armor,
Bear no ill will, my good ol' crew! –
And four dead bodies by the tank hull
To supplement the morning view.

In blazing flames, the tank’s enveloped,
The load is just about to blow.
Boy, how athirst you are to get on
And way too whacked to make it off.

We shall be dragged from under debris,
And raised on hands by combat-mates
To the combative charge of tank-guns,
Escorting us in our last way.

And “killed in action” will be cabled
To folks and friends to let them know
Of one of theirs, no longer able
To come and see a parent’s home…

Mom, prostrate, sheds tears in the corner,
Dad brushes teardrops with a hand,
And sweetheart never is informed of
Whatever is the tank-man’s end.

And dust will gather on the photo
By yellowed volumes on a shelf:
Dressed as a tank-man, stripes on shoulders,
Not any longer her fiancee.

Contributed by Vyacheslav Chetin - 2013/6/6 - 14:33

There's a typo in the last stanza, 3-rd line:

... straps on shoulders, ...

The interpretation is mine not youtube's.

Best regards,

Vyacheslav Chetin - 2013/6/9 - 20:43

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