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173 -
Yesenin will sing on the damned guitar later.
On the damned guitar..." S. Yesenin. “Sing, sing. On the damned guitar..." Sergei Yesenin
Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.I would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.
Don't look at her wrists
And silk flowing from her shoulders.I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And I accidentally found death.
I didn't know that love is an infection
I didn't know that love was a plague.Came up with a narrowed eye
The bully was driven crazy.
Sing, my friend. Remind me again
Our former violent early.
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Let her kiss each other,
Young, beautiful trash.
Oh, wait. I don't scold her.
Oh, wait. I don't curse her.Let me play about myself
To this bass string.
The pink dome of my days is flowing.
In the heart of dreams there are golden sums.I touched a lot of girls
He pressed a lot of women in the corners.
Yes! there is a bitter truth of the earth,
I spied with a childish eye:Males lick in line
Bitch leaking juice.
So why should I be jealous of her?
So why should I be sick like that?Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and a whirlwind.
Sing, sing! On a fatal scale
These hands are a fatal disaster.
You just know, fuck them...
I will never die, my friend.
Read by R. Kleiner
Sergey Yesenin
x x x
Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
I would choke in this frenzy,
I would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.
And silk flowing from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And I accidentally found death.
I didn't know that love was a plague.
Came up with a narrowed eye
Came up with a narrowed eye
The bully was driven crazy.
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other,
Let her kiss each other,
Young beautiful trash.
Oh, wait. I don't curse her
Let me play about myself
Let me play about myself
To this bass string.
In the heart of dreams there are golden sums.
I touched a lot of girls
I touched a lot of girls
He pressed a lot of women in the corners.
I spied with a childish eye:
Males lick in line
Males lick in line
Bitch leaking juice.
So why should I be sick like that?
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and a whirlwind.
These hands are a fatal disaster.
Just you know, send them to...
Yesenin was born into a peasant family. From 1904 to 1912 he studied at the Konstantinovsky Zemstvo School and at the Spas-Klepikovsky School. During this time, he wrote more than 30 poems and compiled a handwritten collection “Sick Thoughts” (1912), which he tried to publish in Ryazan. Russian village, nature of central Russia, oral folk art, and most importantly, Russian classical literature had a strong influence on the formation young poet, channeled his natural talent. Yesenin himself different time named various sources that fed his work: songs, ditties, fairy tales, spiritual poems, “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign,” the poetry of Lermontov, Koltsov, Nikitin and Nadson. Later he was influenced by Blok, Klyuev, Bely, Gogol, Pushkin.
From Yesenin's letters from 1911 to 1913, the complex life of the poet emerges. All this is reflected in poetic world his lyrics from 1910 to 1913, when he wrote more than 60 poems and poems. The most significant works of Yesenin, which brought him fame as one of best poets, created in the 1920s.
Like everyone great poet Yesenin is not a thoughtless singer of his feelings and experiences, but a poet and philosopher. Like all poetry, his lyrics are philosophical. Philosophical lyrics are poems in which the poet talks about eternal problems human existence, conducts a poetic dialogue with man, nature, earth, and the Universe. An example of the complete interpenetration of nature and man is the poem “Green Hairstyle” (1918). One develops in two planes: the birch tree - the girl. The reader will never know who this poem is about - a birch tree or a girl. Because the person here is likened to a tree - the beauty of the Russian forest, and she is like a person. The birch tree in Russian poetry is a symbol of beauty, harmony, and youth; she is bright and chaste.
The poetry of nature and the mythology of the ancient Slavs permeate such poems of 1918 as “Silver Road...”, “Songs, songs, what are you shouting about?”, “I left my home...”, “Golden leaves swirled...” etc.
Yesenin's poetry of the last, most tragic years (1922 - 1925) is marked by a desire for a harmonious worldview. Most often in the lyrics one feels a deep understanding of oneself and the Universe (“I don’t regret, I don’t call, I don’t cry...”, “The golden grove dissuaded...”, “Now we are leaving little by little...”, etc.)
The poem of values in Yesenin’s poetry is one and indivisible; everything in it is interconnected, everything forms a single picture of the “beloved homeland” in all the variety of its shades. This is the highest ideal of the poet.
Having passed away at the age of 30, Yesenin left us a wonderful poetic legacy, and as long as the earth lives, Yesenin the poet is destined to live with us and “sing with all his being in the poet the sixth part of the earth with the short name “Rus”.
“Sing, sing. On the damn guitar"
Sergey Yesenin
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
I would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.
I would choke in this frenzy,
And silk flowing from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And I accidentally found death.
I didn't know that love is an infection
I didn't know love was a plague.
Came up with a narrowed eye
The bully was driven crazy.
Came up with a narrowed eye
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other,
Let her kiss each other,
Oh, wait. I don't curse her.
Let me play about myself
To this bass string.
Let me play about myself
In the heart of dreams there are golden sums.
I touched a lot of girls
He pressed a lot of women in the corner.
I touched a lot of girls
I spied with a childish eye:
Males lick in line
Bitch leaking juice.
Males lick in line
So why should I be sick like that?
The freer, the louder,
Here and there.
I won't commit suicide
Go to hell.
To your pack of dogs
It's time to catch a cold.
Darling, I'm crying
Sorry Sorry…
"Sorokoust"
A. Mariengof
The horn of death blows, blows!
What should we do, what should we do now?
On the muddy thighs of the roads?
You lovers of song fleas,
Would you like to suck the gelding?
It’s full of meekness to celebrate,
Like it or not, you know, take it.
It's good when twilight teases
And they pour it into your fat asses
The bloody broom of dawn.
Soon the freeze will whiten with lime
That village and these meadows.
There is nowhere for you to hide from death,
There is no escape from the enemy.
Here he is, here he is with an iron belly,
Pulls his fingers to the throats of the plains,
The old mill leads with its ear,
I sharpened my milling nose.
And the yard silent bull,
That he spilled all his brains on the chicks,
Wiping my tongue on the spindle,
I sensed trouble over the field.
Oh, isn't it just outside the village?
This is how the harmonica cries pitifully:
Tala-la-la, tili-li-gom
Hanging over a white window sill.
And the yellow wind of autumn
Isn’t that why, touching the blue ripples,
As if with a horse comb,
Strips leaves from maples.
He comes, he comes, a terrible messenger,
The fifth bulky thicket aches.
And the songs become more and more yearning
To the sound of a frog squeaking in the straw.
Oh electric sunrise
Belts and pipes have a tight grip,
Behold the ancient belly
Steel fever is shaking!
Have you seen
How he runs across the steppes,
Hiding in the lake mists,
Snoring with an iron nostril,
A train on cast iron legs?
Through the big grass
Like at a festival of desperate racing,
Throwing thin legs to the head,
Red-maned colt galloping?
Dear, dear, funny fool,
Well, where is he, where is he going?
Doesn't he really know that live horses
Did the steel cavalry win?
Doesn't he really know that in the fields of lightless
His running will not bring back that time,
When a couple of beautiful steppe Russian women
Did you give Pechenegs for a horse?
Fate repainted it differently at the auction
Our reach, awakened by the grinding,
And for thousands of pounds of horse leather and meat
They are now buying a locomotive.
Damn you, nasty guest!
Our song won't work with you.
It's a pity that you didn't have to as a child
Drown like a bucket in a well.
It's good for them to stand and watch
Painting mouths with tin kisses, -
Only for me, as a psalm-reader, to sing
“Hallelujah” over our native country.
That's why on September morning
On dry and cold loam,
My head smashed against the fence,
The rowan berries are drenched in blood.
That's why the tension has grown in
In the bustle of the ringing talyanka.
And a man smelling of straw
He choked on the dashing moonshine.
“Don’t grieve, dear, and don’t gasp”
Don’t grieve, dear, and don’t gasp,
Hold life like a horse by the bridle,
Tell everyone and everyone to go to hell
So that they don't send you to pussy!
"Yes! Now it's decided. No refund"
Yes! Now it's decided. No refund
I left my native fields.
They will no longer be winged leaves
I need the poplars to ring.
My old dog died long ago.
I love this elm city,
Let him be flabby and let him become decrepit.
Golden nap Asia
She rested on the domes.
And when the moon shines at night,
When it shines... God knows how!
I walk with my head hanging down,
Down the street to a familiar pub.
The noise and din in this terrible lair,
But all night long, until dawn,
I read poetry to prostitutes
And I fry alcohol with the bandits.
The heart beats faster and faster,
And I say it out of place:
“I’m just like you, lost,
I can’t go back now.”
The low house will stoop without me,
My old dog died long ago.
On Moscow's crooked streets
God destined me to die, to know.
"The wind blows from the south and the moon has risen"
The wind blows from the south
And the moon rose
What are you doing, whore?
Didn't come at night?
You didn't come at night
Didn't show up during the day.
Do you think we're jerking off?