Песня анархистов - Анархистский марш - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The marchist march

Sing a song under the thunder of blows,

To explosions and bullets, under the flame of fires,

Under the banner of the black giant struggle,

To the sounds of the alarm of the draft pipe!

Destroy, brothers, palaces and idols,

Knocked down the shackles, tearing porphys;

Pretty submissive and slave love -

We will flood the grief of the people in the blood!

Woke up, the popular will risen

On the groans of the commune, to the call of Ravashol,

To the cries of the revenge of dead people,

Under the oppression of the bourgeois, in the loop of the executioners.

There are a lot of them, without an account, the need for broken,

Who died in the prison, on the block of the dead,

There are many of them, about the truth, who served you

And those who fell in a heroic, unequal struggle:

Their groans are hung over the heaven of Russia,

Their moans, calls, like a murmur of the elements,

Sound over Paris, a deaf kayna

And we are called up for a valiant battle.

Sing a song under the thunder of blows,

To explosions and bullets, under the flame of fires,

Under the banner of the black giant struggle,

To the sounds of the alarm of the draft pipe!

"Petrel" (Paris), 1908, No. 10-11, S. 23

Probably, the French realities of the 1870s and early 1890s are mentioned at its basis: the Paris Commune (1871), the attacks of the anarchist Ravashol 1892 (executed on July 11, 1892). The song in different versions was popular in anarchist units during the Civil War. The first lines are quoted in the proclamation of the anarchists underground “You cannot delay” (Moscow, 1919):

Anarchist brothers, for dynamite! Bombs in your hands! Without mercy, we will steal the executioners of the people, the executioners of the revolution! Brothers, “we will sing a song under the thunder of blows, under explosions and bullets, under the flame of fires; Under the banner of the black giant struggle, we will flood the grief of the people in the blood of executioners and jailers. Our black banner beats the weather. Many brave fell in the struggle. So hurry, our brothers are tired. Friendly forward to the struggle for equality, for the will.

(see documents of organizing anarchists underground).

The phonogram in modern arrangement - see here.

Makhnovo options

Anthem Makhnovtsev

Sing, brothers, under the thunder of blows,

To explosions and bullets, under the flame of fires,

Under the banner of the black giant struggle,

To the sounds of the "nabat" of the draft pipe ...

There are a lot of them, without a counting, clogged,

Tortured in prisons, on a block of dead,

There are many of them, about the truth, who served you

And those who fell in a heroic unequal struggle ...

Golovanov V. Ya. Tachananki from the south. - M.: Publishing House "March", 1997, p. 229-230.

According to the author of the book about the Makhnovsky movement "Tachaanka from the south" Vasily Golovanov, the full text of the song was published in the Makhnovtsev newspaper "The Path to Freedom", 1919, Aleksandrovsk.

Vladimir Chop in the book "Marusia Nikiforov" (written between 1996 and 2008), mentioning that the detachments of Marusi Nikiforova - who at different times fought as part of the Makhnov army and autonomously considered the "march of anarchists" to the hymn, cites such option:

The marchist march

Sing a song to the thunder and blows,

To explosions of shells, under fire flame,

Under the banner of the black giant struggle,

To the sounds of the alarm of the draft pipe!

There are a lot of them without account by fate forgotten,

Tortured in prisons, on a block of dead,

There are a lot of them, oh, however, who served you

And those who fell in a heroic, unequal struggle.

Take rifles and brownings boldly,

Let's go to beat the bourgeois for just!

Pretty shameful and slave love,

We will drown the grief of the people in the blood!

Rogovo option

The marchist march

Sing a song under the thunder of excitement

Under bullets and explosions, under the flame of struggles,

Under the banner of the black giant struggle,

To the sounds of a nabata- a draft pipe.

Take the palaces and destroy the idols

Cut the shackles, tear off the porphyry:

Pretty humble and slave love!

We will sink the grief of the people in the blood.

Risen, woke up the popular will

On the groans of the commune, to the call of Rovashol,

To cries about the revenge of dead people

Under the oppression of the bourgeois, under the oppression of the chains.

There are many of them - oh, true! - In need, clogged

There are a lot of them in prison, on the head