Pimedal ööl
Ühte hõbehäält ei ole enam meie hulgas - ajuvähk viis meie keskelt 22.11.17
(kuigi pole oluline, aga sellel kuupäeval mõrvati Kennedy)
Dmitri Hvorostovski.
Kunagi oli Venemaal (ja ka meil) ületamatuks baritoniks Georg Ots,
praegu oli selleks Hvorostovski. Temal õnnestus muidugi pääseda ka kõikidele
maailma lavadele.
Georg Otsa võttis ka vähk 55 -ndal eluaastal, seda 1975.
Hoolimata ajakirjanduslikust vahust ei ole vähiravis 1975 - 2017 tegelikult ikkagi midagi
väga revolutsioonilist toimunud. Ehk saab pikendada elu mõne aasta jagu, aga endiselt
niidab vähk tuimalt täies elujõus mehi ja naisi - eriti viimasel aja just ajuvähk.
Kui mingi muu organ on vähiga saastunud, saab selle organi eemaldada. Ajus operatsioone
teha on aga väga raske ...
Vähi üheks põhipõhjuseks on radioaktiivne saastumine muuseas. Aga suured
mehed nagu Trump ja see Põhja Koreakas mängivad oma liivakastimänge edasi
koos kõigi teistega - näiteks hiljutine veiderdamine Ruteenium 106 teemal.
Eile selgus küll ainult minule oluline detail - oleme sündinud täpselt samal päeval.
Selle laulule ma ei leidnud eestikeelseid sõnu netist, panen lumehelbekestele mõeldes alla ingliskeelse tõlke.
Translation by University of Pittsburgh Department of Slavic Languages
Dark night, only bullets are whistling in the steppe,
Only the wind is wailing through the telephone wires, stars are faintly flickering...
In the dark night, my love, I know you are not sleeping,
And, near a child's crib, you secretly wipe away a tear.
How I love the depths of your gentle eyes,
How I long to press my lips to them!
This dark night separates us, my love,
And the dark, troubled steppe has come to lie between us.
I have faith in you, in you, my sweetheart.
That faith has shielded me from bullets in this dark night...
I am glad, I am calm in deadly battle:
I know you will meet me with love, no matter what happens.
Death is not terrible, we've met with it more than once in the steppe...
And here it looms over me once again,
You await my return, sitting sleepless near a cradle,
And so I know that nothing will happen to me!
Only the wind is wailing through the telephone wires, stars are faintly flickering...
In the dark night, my love, I know you are not sleeping,
And, near a child's crib, you secretly wipe away a tear.
How I love the depths of your gentle eyes,
How I long to press my lips to them!
This dark night separates us, my love,
And the dark, troubled steppe has come to lie between us.
I have faith in you, in you, my sweetheart.
That faith has shielded me from bullets in this dark night...
I am glad, I am calm in deadly battle:
I know you will meet me with love, no matter what happens.
Death is not terrible, we've met with it more than once in the steppe...
And here it looms over me once again,
You await my return, sitting sleepless near a cradle,
And so I know that nothing will happen to me!
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