"What are you grieving about, comrade seaman?" It is the very sad song of Soviet WWII-time seamen. ******************************************************************************************** "What are you grieving about, comrade seaman?" (Translated by Andrey) What are you grieving about, comrade seaman? Your accordion groans and cries, And the hatbands [1] hang like a mourning flag Say us, what does it mean? We that it were you, seaman, who fought heroically Against enemies in a hand-to-hand fighting. So what did disturb your heart? Answer us, comrade, in a familiar way. ”Friends, I shall tell you about my grief, I shall not keep back anything from you, - I carry an invisible wound inside of my heart, It is the bloody, smarting wound. There are torments which are worse than a death, They fell to my lot - Fascists-"dogs" did violence To my proud and pure beloved girl. They took away her for shame and for disgrace, they bound her tender hands… Her father is wounded, her brother is killed, Her she-friends wrote me about it. I lost them and when I close my eyes In the darkness of nights I see my beloved girl in the hands of butchers And bite my lips up to blood. And I have rest neither at the night nor at the day, I pant with fury. And I revel in revenge Only during an attack, only under the fire in a combat…” The accordion is grieving together with its owner It is sobbing and is groaning: "Oh, I want only to hear the command "Open fire!" as soon as possible And to rush in a mortal combat!" 1943 Remarks of Andrey: [1] it is about the hatbands on a sailor's peakless cap ******************************************************************************************** The Russian version (translit): "O chiom ty toskuesh', tovarishch moriak" O chiom ty toskuesh', tovarishch moriak? Garmon' tvoia stonet i plachet, I lenty povisli, kak traurnyi flag... Skazhi nam, chto vsio eto znachit? Ne ty li, moriak, v rukopashnom boiu S vragami srazhalsia geroiski, - Tak chto zhe vstrevozhilo dushu tvoiu? Skazhi nam, tovarishch, po-svoiski. "Druz'ia, svoio gore ia vam rasskazhu, Ot vas ia skryvat'sia ne stanu, - Nezrimuiu ranu ia v serdtse noshu, Krovavuiu, zhguchuiu ranu. Est' muki, kotorye smerti strashnei, Oni mne na doliu dostalis' - Nad gordoi i svetloi liubov'iu moei Fashistskie psy nadrugalis'. Eio uveli na pozor i na styd, Skrutili ei nezhnye ruki... Otets eio ranen, bratishka ubit, - Tak mne napisali podrugi. Ia ikh poterial i vo mrake nochei, Lish' tol'ko glaza zakryvaiu, Liubov' moiu vizhu v rukakh palachei, I v krov' svoi guby kusaiu. I net mne pokoia ni noch'iu, ni dniom, Ot iarosti ia zadykhaius', I tol'ko v atake, v boiu pod ogniom Ia mest'iu svoei upivaius'…" S khoziainom vmeste toskuet garmon', Rydaet i stonet trekhriadka: "Skorei by uslyshat' komandu "Ogon'!" I brosit'sia v smertnuiu skhvatku!" 1943