Anastasia Nikulshina
We can’t celebrate happiness together
At dawn on the edge -
You and I are too different
To live in the same paradise.
Only the winds are unruly
They will talk about you again;
You and I are too proud
To cry about fate.
Let's fly across the sky like sparks
One after another in the footsteps -
You and I are too close
To part forever.
Anastasia Krasovskaya
I know your steps by heart.
There is windy sadness in your gait,
Movement of hands holding a cigarette
And days of madness given to the wind.
I don't know everyone you loved so much
But I know for sure that I was loved.
And I know how you will forget this one and that one,
Still holding a cigarette in his hand.
Evgenia Livskaya
It was a warm June evening,
The heel clicked on the pavement
You were achingly flawless
Not a husband yet, no longer a friend...
You told me about birds
What brands of wine do you like?
Eyes with curled eyelashes
They whispered: “You see, I’m alone...”.
Worried, I walked nearby,
She screamed with her heart: “I’m alone!”
There was a long row of cafes...
We walked: not husband and not wife.
Nina Shemenkova
While I love you, I know for sure:
There are countless happy days.
I'll beat fate in no time,
While He is in my destiny!
All thoughts are directed towards Him
I guide day and night
Whose eyes are righteous, radiant...
They are like stars, exactly the same.
I will collect all my thoughts at once, -
I will dress you in the clothes of the sun,
And the evil eye cannot reach them,
And do not execute them to the executioner!
Valeria Bronskaya
Thick shadow from a soft curtain
She lay down on the painted carpet.
Intricate patterns
Merged into one big pattern.
The phone is stubbornly silent,
It’s as if he and I are also in a quarrel.
The clock's dull, calm ringing
The poisoned nerves spurt.
Today the tea is getting cold again
And, like yesterday, the liver becomes stale.
And the one who should have forgiven
Again he didn’t ask for forgiveness.
Anastasia Gauss
I died. The curtain is thicker than the window
And curtains of mirrors everywhere.
I died - because Roses also dry up
Without affection. No worries. No heat.
But to my death, so unexpected,
Your eyes are still blind!
From the beauty once so desired,
Only sharp thorns remained.
I feel strangely sorry for you, my fallen angel,
Wandering restlessly in silence.
And tenderness, untimely withered.
And my own wasted soul.
BIANT PRIENSKY
What is the greatest good? In a just and honest mind.
What is man's destruction? It is only in another person.
Who has the wealth? Pleased. Who is poor? Insatiable.
What is a woman's best gift? In a chaste life.
Who is chaste? The one before whom rumors fall silent.
What is characteristic of a sage? Even though he could do harm, he doesn’t want to.
What makes a fool? And it cannot harm, but it strives.
PITTACUS OF MYTYLENE
It will not be possible to say who did not know silence.
If an honest man praises, it is better than the darkness of evildoers.
The foolish is full of envy towards the happy and proud.
A fool laughs at human misfortune.
You must obey the laws, honoring them.
When you are happy, you have many friends;
Unfortunately, few of your friends are with you.
CLEObulus of Linda
Let the more we are given, the less we wish for.
Is the poor man himself to blame for the evil of fate?
Happiness is only for a moment if there is a crime in it.
You can forgive many people, but don’t forgive yourself.
Everyone spares the evil, but is glad to destroy the honest.
Now even great merits will not be glorified,
But even for trifles, shame is often the fate.
PERIANDER OF CORINTH
Benefit is eternal with decency in agreement.
Restless at heart and happier.
It’s bad to wish for death, to be afraid is worse.
Just do what you have to do.
Let him be afraid of others who are afraid of many.
If the lot is happy, then why worry?
If there is no happiness, then why try.
SOLON OF ATHENS
I will call life happy if its progress is completed.
If the spouse is equal, then they are together, but they are not equal, that means they are apart.
You won't get any merit for a random service.
Choose a friend in secret, but praise him in front of everyone.
It's better if you were raised noble - you weren't born.
If the lot is destined, then what should be avoided?
If everything is wrong in the world, then why should we be afraid?
CHILON SPARTAN
Let me not instill fear and hostility in the younger ones in the elders.
Remembering death, lead your life and remembering health.
Conquer all your troubles, be strong in spirit or friend.
If you have done good, you don’t need to remember it;
Always remember the good that was done for you.
We like old age, since it is similar to youth;
Youth is painful for us if it is like old age.
SKIF ANACHARSIS
Be afraid that a secret slander may suddenly touch you.
Life has flown by, but its glory will never die.
Don’t rush to announce what you are planning to do.
If you are overwhelmed by fear, you will be defeated.
If you scold justly, you are an enemy, then you are useful;
If you praise falsely, then, being a friend, you harm.
There is no excess in anything: the measure is in a hurry to go into excess.
COURT OF PARIS
The court of Priamid brought Helen to glorious Troy;
The judgment of Priamid brought Troy to an evil end.
HERO AND LEANDER
Love paved the way for Leander through the stormy waves -
Love paved the way for him to a sorrowful death.
DOLON AND ACHILLES
Dolon was seduced by the glorious prey - the team of Achilles;
He himself, stabbed to death, became the glorious prey of Dolon.
NIS AND EURYALUS
May the sweet destiny of friendship be precious to you:
Life is a great part - friendship is a sweet destiny.
TO APOLLO AND TO THE READER
Thank you, Apollo, inspirer of poets!
Friend reader, farewell: thanks to you.
EPITAPH
Death will not destroy me: I leave behind a memory.
Just, book, live: death will not destroy me.
Song of the Rowers (B. III, p. 167). A stylization of a work song that is rare in ancient poetry.
Cor, or Portunus, Roman god of ports and harbours.
Temple of Venus, destroyed to build walls (R. 100, B. IV, 288).
Library converted into a dining room (R. 126, B, IV, 314).
Water-filling wheel (R. 284). It is interesting to compare the epigram of Antipater of Thessalonica about the water mill (Palatine Anthology, IX, 418), quoted by K. Marx in Capital (vol. I, Gospolitizdat, 1953, p. 414).
For a man who ground flour for himself (R. 103, B, IV, 291).
Cupid in love (R. 240, B. IV, 410).
According to legend, the gates of Hades were made from the mythical metal adamant.
To Dulcia (R. 381, B. IV, 535).
Refusal of serious poetry (R. 429, B. IV, 39). In Art. 10 Behrens' reading is accepted. Behrens, without sufficient grounds, attributes this epigram to Seneca.
The Drunkard's Dream (R. 30, B. IV, 219).
Bunch (R. - 31. B. IV, 220).
The books of the Aeneid, eaten by a donkey (R. 222, B. IV, 189).
Centaur Chiron (R. 89, B. IV, 277).
Pasiphae (B. V, 51). Pasiphae, daughter of Helios and wife of King Minos, was inflamed with an unnatural passion for the bull; hiding in a wooden stuffed heifer, she united with him and gave birth to the Minotaur, half-man, half-bull. Each of the 22 verses of this work has its own special metrical metre; Horace used various combinations of these 22 poetic meters in his stanzas, so this poem is, as it were, a fictionalized metrical reference book for the works of Horace. As such a reference book, it is attached to one of the manuscripts of the work of the grammarian Rufinus on metrics; perhaps Rufinus was its author. The sequence of sizes is as follows: 1) adonium; 2) dactylic dimeter; 3) ferecrates; 4) glyconeum; 5) dactylic tetrameter; 6) dactylic hexameter; 7) trochaic diameter; 8) iambic dimeter; 9) alkeev nine-syllable; 10) truncated iambic trimeter; 11) pure iambic trimeter; 12) small asclepiad; 13) small sapphic; 14) alkaev eleven-syllable; 15) Alcaeus decasyllable; 16) large asclepiad; 17) Aristophanes; 18) large sapphic; 19) ionics; 20) archilochus; 21) elegy; 22) yambeleg.
The Pretis are the daughters of the Argive king Acrisius, punished with madness for refusing to honor Dionysus.
Io, the beloved of Zeus, who was transformed into a heifer by Hera and fled to Egypt, was identified in Hellenistic times with the Egyptian goddess Isis.
We are talking about Theseus, a descendant of the Athenian king Erechtheus; Knossian - Ariadne (the city of Knossos was the capital of Minos).
Anacyclic verses (B. III, 27). These were the names of poems that were read the same way, word by word, from beginning to end and from end to beginning. Russian tonic distich, in contrast to the ancient one. metric does not allow such constructions; the proposed translation by V. Bryusov is a remarkable exception. Meaning: “The aspiration of the (swimming) naiads overcomes the swaying of the waves, just as the flaming Not (south wind) defeats the swell of the Ikgtsrov sea.”
Snake verses (R. 40, 48, 57, 63, 77, 79, 80, B, IV, 229, 236, 245, 251, 265, 267, 268. About this poetic form. Notes to Pentadios. About Hero and Leandre, see the poem of Musaeus; the story about Dolon - in the X book of the Iliad; the story about the feat of the friends Nisus and Euryalus - in the IX book of the Aeneid. The entire cycle of "snake poems" in the Salmaznevsky collection contains 42 couplets. Behrens, without sufficient grounds, believes their author is Luxoria.
* * *
I look in the mirror and see
A flying train, the sound of wheels.
And a sheet of scribbled paper,
Which the wind carried away into the distance.
On a cold autumn evening
There is a burning candle in the window.
One homeless stray dog... -
No further, I'm silent.
I look in the mirror - there is a storm,
Salty spray flows into your eyes.
A frown drips from someone else's eyelashes
Like a thread, a shiny tear.
Car roar on the highway
And smoke from the city dump.
Long line at the cash register
Eyes looking with longing.
A star falling from the sky.
An empty sweet dream.
I look, but there is no mirror.
The emptiness gapes.
Hymn to Freedom
I want to praise You - Freedom is a priceless gift.
Both Creature and Man live by you.
But You don’t do good to everyone,
Who drags the strap in the Perishable World.
Power, gold, fornication are your enemies.
Man also sowed them within himself.
And this weedy chaff draws juice from him,
The fiend of hell is a slave to his fate.
Stop, O sinful man-
After all, you are not a slave, not a worm after all.
And you hide enemies within yourself,
Living life petty and carelessly.
Translation from German.
Poem - Regenbogen
Rainbow (literary translation by an unknown poet)
One summer with a friend
We walked through the park. The rain is over.
The sun was shining like a scarlet circle
And the rainbow flower bloomed.
But here, to a fellow student
Sighing, I said quietly:
“The sky is entwined with a motley flight
Your bright blue wreath."
My friend was a physicist, with surprise
He looked at me, laughing:
“What you said was stupid, there is no doubt about it.
What, tape? Where did it come from?
And he said that the layer is airy
The sun's light is divided into colors...
He said - I got bored
That science didn't work for future use.
Years passed, and then one day
We had a physics lesson.
The teacher is strict and looks important
The question he asked me was this:
And I say: “This is heaven
Your brightest chapter
He ties it with a colorful ribbon,
To decorate the blue with it!”
The class laughed: “What is he talking about?
He escaped from Stepanovka!”
And only the teacher, knowing the matter,
Having calmed the class, he told me:
“You, young man, are a poet in spirit
And there are no more complaints against you.
And we are not deaf to geniuses either
Perhaps I am a poet at heart!
But I listen to God's inspiration
Up in the clouds with the muse.
Come down, young man, to the ground
And talk about business."
(Stepanovka - location of the home for the mentally ill)
Meditation by moonlight.
(pessimistic poem - unknown poet)
Counting years, weeks, days
Sobbing bitterly - laughing carelessly.
I look at the corrupted face of the Moon
Life is short - but Nature is eternal.
I suffer from doubt every hour
Like a mad Danish Prince
And I've been wrong many times
Believing that Truth is always without borders.
But Man doesn't need it.
Only a Madman finds happiness in her.
The moon also shines for all of us,
But only a few people admire it.
No! A man doesn't need ideas
They only give headaches.
He needs to eat and sleep every day,
Work, start a family, vegetate.
No, Socrates was still somewhat wrong,
Trying to understand the Man.
Be a hundred times more humane than Himself
And then I would have gotten confused with this cripple.
And so, if someone, not sparing himself
He's trying to do something good for someone.
We will say sarcastically: “He’s a fool! Child!
Naive and stupid, Don Quixote is inept!”
Let me be an Egoist, but the World is Egoism.
Much worse than My Selfishness.
And the lunar disk burned misty in the sky
Lightly illuminating all this K...
* * *
I'm haunted by a nightmare
Dumb, cunning and cruel.
Electrocutes into consciousness
And like steam escaping.
Striped and beaten,
Marked with a crooked mark,
Wandering the path of life,
I became calm, smooth, well-fed.
I didn't know how to laugh or cry,
Watching everything from the sidelines.
Life is rushing somewhere cool,
And I didn’t care about everything.
But then she came - I don’t know
Why did you contact her then?
Months and years pass.
But I don’t understand how to forget.
She's not a match for me mentally,
I despised it the first time.
But nature is like leprosy
It left a mark in my soul.
I'm burning, I'm suffering, but I'm silent.
“That woman is not worth you!”
The mind speaks but worries
The soul screaming: “I want, I want”
And my throat feels like intoxication
Lonely melancholy with resentment.
Blind, cunning and cruel
I'm haunted by a nightmare.
Today the great sculptor has passed away. Ernst Neizvestny passed away in New York. In the 60s, his works, strong and unlike official Soviet art, were regarded as a challenge to the system. I had to fight for my views and principles. The outstanding master went abroad, but even after that he did a lot for domestic and world art.
A Russian sculptor in America - this is what Ernst Neizvestny spoke to himself while sitting in his New York studio. He once placed the figures in the window himself.
In 1962, an exhibition in the Manege was supposed to put an end to creativity: Nikita Khrischev’s anger fell on him personally. There were sarcastic remarks: “This Unknown is quite famous, if you count how much he costs the state!”
The sculptor Ernst Neizvestny tried to defend his factory of “freaks” in front of those gathered. He had the courage to answer: “You don’t understand art, your informants are deceiving you.” The young sculptor was the only avant-garde artist who objected to the Secretary General.
And nine years later, not just anyone, but him, will be commissioned for a tombstone monument to Khrushchev. That's what the family wishes. Black and white block - an impartial look at a person and an era.
“If you were to ask me whether I have met brilliant people or not? I would say yes, I have. Ernst,” says artist and friend of Ernst Neizvestny Vitaly Volovich.
The artist Volovich was friends with Neizvestny - they both grew up in Yekaterinburg, where a museum of the famous sculptor was created. Here his Orpheus, the main symbol of the TEFI television award, froze. Here is what was scolded for half a century and then extolled.
“He worked absolutely furiously. And I came to his small workshop on Sretenka and then to the large workshop on Mira Avenue and was always amazed. I had the feeling that a huge team of sculptors was working there,” says Vitaly Volovich.
He was far from socialist realism and everything that in the USSR was called “art for the people.” But as a monumental sculptor, he depended on government orders. In his entire life, he received only five of them, including a decorative relief in the Artek pioneer camp, the facade of the building of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Turkmenistan in Ashgabat, and the “Friendship of Peoples” monument for the Aswan Dam in Egypt. For a long time, no one needed his sculptures.
“For 25 years I was basically thrown out of professional work as an artist, I worked as anything: a foundry worker, a mason, and even a salt loader at the Trifonovsky station,” said Ernst Neizvestny.
The last straw was the barbaric destruction of his workshop. He returned home, and there was only a pile of fragments. Almost everything that was created over the decades has been broken and destroyed.
“I myself didn’t want to leave, but if they break your ribs, your work, the bridge of your nose and your fingers, then you run, it’s natural. But I, I’m not God, I’m just an animal, only in human form,” said the sculptor.
First Switzerland, then America. He wrote home to his loved ones: “If only my homeland would be a little more kind to me...” And after perestroika she began: Neizvestny began to create for Russia again. Composition “Tree of Life” in Moscow, “Monument to the Dead Miners” in Kuzbass. In Magadan he erected the “Mask of Sorrow” - a grandiose monument to the memory of the victims of Stalin’s repressions.
He even returned to the Manege in triumph. Personal anniversary exhibition. By the way, there are inaccuracies in all his biographies. By volunteering for the front, he credited himself with a year. It turns out that I lived to be 91, not 90. But that doesn’t matter anymore.
“I can die myself - without permission. I am convinced that if the body is perishable, then the spirit is eternal,” said Ernst Neizvestny.
His career in exile was more successful than all the sixties who left the country. Unknown's works are kept in the Louvre, Prado, and the Vatican.
Dark windows, curtains, the studio in New York was empty. Ernst Neizvestny once placed the figures in the window himself. They said goodbye to him so many times, it seemed forever: in 1945, his family received a funeral: “Your son died heroically.” The Order of the Red Star was awarded posthumously. And he woke up in the morgue and, despite being wounded in the spine, was able to walk and work.
Watch the film about the outstanding sculptor on Channel One today after the evening broadcast from Rio de Janeiro. At 0:40 - - film first. Part two tomorrow at the same time.
There are poems not about you
So then.
Into the knot of tangled fate
Not everything is a lie
Off the beaten path
Deep into the taiga
Where there are no people
Draw circles
Overflowing with you - words
No paper
I'll leave my finger in the snow
Poems trace
I do not mind. They will be erased.
Spring will come
He will take them with him
With water foliage.
And melted lines
From roots to branches
Will run with living juices
My love.
My poems are just a meager reflection
What I feel.
They are a blithely eternal search
The heat of the sacred fire.
They are the reflection of the soul
In the halls of crooked mirrors,
And a fleeting vision
What I contemplated for a moment.
They are the imprint of time
In spaces without boundaries and measures,
And aspiration towards the light of truth
Through the barrier of deceit and darkness.
They are a game of imagination
So that the world does not seem gray,
And merciless battle
And the music of timpani and lyres.
They are mysterious speeches
About what you don't quite understand,
And sometimes...
Two weeks have flown by -
you returned to the portal,
my nerves rang
because I was bored.
I'm with no one on the litportal
I didn’t flirt without you -
wrote a poem about Tskhinvali,
posted it, then removed it.
You were relaxing at sea,
breathed in the sea to my heart's content,
How are you without Virtual?
and the Stichera got by?
However, what do I care?
If only there was no trouble.
Do you see how the soul began to sing,
How did you come back to me?
I'm still composing
about you, love and sadness,
even if I leave, dear,
then I’ll come back to you in verse...
How to easily write in albums
Compliments, light nonsense,
Or tender languor,
Or a comic reproach.
But not for you. Not in front of you
Flaunt subtle flattery
Indifferent verses
To amuse your boredom...
No, not the sparkles of hypocrisy,
Not a plexus of arts,
And trust my soul
And diamonds of hot feelings
Scattering in front of you
I cry and laugh
And I trust in your mind
And I'm not afraid of ridicule...
You will understand, dear, gentle
- Angel of light, good friend...
What I write is not careless,
To brighten up your leisure time...
And then...
Don't write me poetry, it's not worth it.
Better go to the park for a walk,
You're probably worth more
Listen, don't smile.
There is no tea, I would like to treat you,
Do you have tap water?
I haven't asked you for a long time,
But you'll forget anyway.
Don't write me poetry, don't
That's not why we know each other.
and without them I’m always glad to see you,
Let there be no rules and let there be no laws
A poem written without rhythm
seems to me to be nonsense.
I am, of course, self-taught
but I’m not writing about sex.
There are no hints in my poems
to the hackneyedness of vulgar phrases -
I learned from the classics
how to construct your story.
I don't write like Pushkin,
but how I hear the voice of heaven.
Every poet has
your talent and even honor.