Making out the words...

Over the years, there have been songs whose words I have been able to make out the first time around, but as a rule, I try to relax and enjoy the overall effect, because I'm as likely to mondegreen the lyrics as anything else.

Back during the early post-Soviet days, there was one particular march that could be heard at Russian state events, an upbeat tune that I had run across back before my university days. It turns out to be the regimental song of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, which was formed by Peter the Great in the late 1600s (the words to the song, I am sure, are much more recent).

During one of my trips to the former Soviet Union over the past few years, I picked up a CD of various regimental songs recorded by the Male Choir at the Valaam Monestary, and one of those songs is that of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. While working a launch campaign at Baikonur, I managed to dope out the first few lines after several hearings (mostly by osmosis), and - with the help of one of the office staff - managed to figure out the rest. The words were recorded in a file that was, um, misplaced, until a few minutes ago.

Herewith, The Song of the Preobrazhensky Regiment:

Знают, турки, нас и шведы, и про нас известен свет.
На сражения, на победы, нас всегда сам царь ведет.
С нами труд он разделяет, перед нами он в боях,
Счастлив всяк из нас считает умереть в его глазах.

Славны были наши деды, помнят их и швед, и лях!
И парил орел победы на полтавских, на полях.

Знамя их полка пленяет, русский штык наш боевой,
Он и нам напоминает, как ходили деды в бой.
Тверд наш штык четырехгранный, голос чести не замолк;
Как пойдем вперед мы славно, грудью первый русский полк!

Государям по присяге верен полк наш был всегда
В поле брани не робея, грудью служит он всегда.
Преображенцы удалые рады тешить мы царя.
И потешные былые славны будут век. Ура!

There's too much to do right now to pause and attempt anything more than a gist translation.

The Turks and Swedes remember us, and we have world reknown.
In battles and in victories, the czar himself leads us.
He shares our work, in battle he leads from the front,
Any of us would be happy to die in his sight.

Our forebears^[1] were glorious: the Swedes and Poles remember them!
As the eagle of victory soared at Poltava, on the battlefields.

The regiment captured their standards, our Russian bayonet is a battle tool,
It also reminds us of how our forebears went into combat.
Our four-edged bayonet is fixed, the voice of honor is not quiet;
As we, the first Russian regiment, march chest-forward gloriously!

Our regiment has ever been true to the oath sworn to our sovereign
Never timid on the battlefield, it ever serves with heart and soul.
Dashing Preobrazhentsy^[2], we are ready to do the czar's bidding.
And our droll past exploits will live gloriously for a century. Hooray!

Russians apparently have a thing about bayonets. One of the widely known aphorisms of the the best-known pre-Soviet Russian military leader - Generalissimo Alexander Suvorov - is "Пуля дура, штык молодец" (The bullet's a dummy, the bayonet's a fine fellow!).

Time to get to work, or something.

Cheers...

[1] Possibly the Russian equivalent of "the Old Corps"; those who went before, or the subject of the soldier's chorus in Bizet's Carmen ("Gloire immortelle de nos aieux...").

[2] The name for members of the Preobrazhensky Regiment.

Now I really need to get to work. You can listen to the song here.

Midday pause...

Galina left for Colorado Springs at about 6:30 am. I mostly moped for a couple of hours and then got a fire lit. At about 11 am, I went over to Mike and Karen's and we ended up walking the dogs (one of mine; two of theirs) and discussing the state of the world.

Afterward, I stopped by the supermarket and the health food store, and right now, I'm finishing lunch.

I've a mind to invite myself for dinner at the kids' place, if for no other reason but to show Huntur how to make Bavarian Cream. However, a phone call made earlier in the day has gone unanswered, so that's still up in the air.

Shiloh is napping on the sofa and I've still a mouthful or two left of the salad and boiled potatoes left over from last night.

Life is good (though it would be better if Galina were here).

Cheers...

At times, I am an idiot...

If you want a hard time, you can go tug on Superman's cape, spit into the wind, tear the mask off the Lone Ranger, or even mess around with Jim, but if you want no end of frustration, agree to work on a revised translation.

So there I am, dead in the water, a dozen miles off Shanghai... oops. No.

Where I am is this: I have English and Russian copies of the previous version of a document, and the new Russian version. The client even gave me a file that shows the revisions between the old and new versions of the original.

I opened the file Friday and saw only a handful of changes. I figured it would take an hour, tops.

You know what's coming, right?

It is a good thing I don't leave things for the last minute, because it turns out the file showing the revisions is, um, deficient... as in: it shows the vast majority of new text (which comprise the vast majority of the file, or about 8,000 words) as having been there before. My comparison of versions shows the true picture, and I'm not at all sure I can swing that volume of work in one day, especially considering that Mike and Karen invited Galina and me over for dinner tomorrow night, an engagement I do not intend to miss.

Rock to the left of me, a hard place to the right. A recipe for woe, nie?

Anyway, I sent off a terse email to the client, who may very well read it when the assignment is already due, but there's nothing to be done at the moment but do the best I can. I'll likely call the office tomorrow, just to cover all bases.

In other news, Galina got back from Colorado Springs about 40 minutes ago and is already sound asleep, a policy I intend to imitate shortly, as I've been up since about 5:30 am.

Cheers...