Холода

a song by Vladimir Vysotsky
English lyrics by Mika Tubinshlak

It’s been cold outside, innit? Even here in Canarias it’s pretty chilly by night. So this song came up in my memory.

В холода, в холода...

Of course Vysotsky would normally accompany himself on the guitar, but this jazz-waltz version recorded with Georgy Garanian’s big band Melodia (Мелодия) is exquisite. As I just have learned from Russian Wikipedia, in 2009 Garanian founded the jazz festival «Играем джаз с Гараняном» (“Playing jazz with Garanian”) which has been taking place annually on 25 January!

I’ve found a number of English translations which render the words «в холода» as “to the cold”, “into cold”, or “into the cold”. Oh dear. «В холода» really means “when it’s cold” (outside), “in cold weather”. This is a completely different meaning of the preposition «в»! And even if we wanted to go to a colder place, neither Minsk nor Brest would do: they are normally warmer in winter than, say, Moscow. I like the re-interpretation of this song by Mika Tubinshlak: not literal (for example, he swaps the cold for the mist and rain) but quite poetic and true to the spirit.

Владимир Высоцкий Холода

Vladimir Vysotsky, Mika Tubinshlak (translation) Through the mist

В холода, в холода, От насиженных мест Нас другие зовут города, Будь то Минск, будь то Брест, В холода, в холода. Неспроста, неспроста, От родных тополей Нас суровые манят места, Будто там веселей. Неспроста, неспроста... Как нас дома ни грей, Не хватает всегда Новых встреч нам и новых друзей, Будто с нами беда, Будто с ними теплей. Как бы не было нам Хорошо иногда, Возвращаемся мы по домам. Где же наша звезда? Может — здесь, может — там...

Through the mist, through the rain From our sheltering nest Other places are calling our names To the east, to the west, Through the mist, through the rain. Home is where we belong But we hear them again Distant voices we’ve known all along Like the missing refrain From an old favourite song. And it seems, yes it seems Live can be so much more New adventures and friendships and dreams Once we walk through the door So it seems, so it seems. But no matter how clear, How light-hearted we are Home is waiting, and we reappear. Where is our lucky star? Maybe there, maybe here...