Vladimir Vysotsky — Echo

In the quiet valley where rocks do not stand in the way of the windstorm

In such places that no one got there or will get again

There joyfully lived a happy mountain echo

It answered the cry of mankind — yes it answered the cry of the man.

When loneliness comes up to throat as if with a stone

And moan once suppressed falls into the crevasse in the land

The echo would take up this cry that comes out of the troat

Augment manifold and then gently lift up in its hand.

Perhaps it was people, made drunk on a horrible potion

In order that no one would hear their stomping and shouts

Came over to kill, to make soundless the mountain valley

And they tied the echo and they placed a gag in its mouth.

All night they continued the bloody and cruel amusement

And nobody heard but a sound as on it people walked

In morning they shot in the face the quiescent mountain echo

And stones just like tears did burst from the wounded rock.

Vladimir Vysotsky

translation by Ilya Shambat