You are as simple as all Yesenin. The poem "you are so simple as everyone" Yesenin Sergey Aleksandrovich. You are as simple as everyone

You're as simple as everyone
You know the lonely dawn
You know the autumn blue chill.

In a funny way, I’ve gotten into my heart,
I took a silly thought.
Your iconic and strict face
Hanging in the chapels in Ryazan.

I didn’t spit on these icons,
I honored rudeness and cry in a rake,
And now words suddenly grow
The most gentle and meek songs.

I don't want to fly to the zenith
The body needs too much.
Well so your name rings
Like an August cool?

I am not a beggar, neither miserable nor small
And I can hear beyond the heat:
I like to understand from childhood
Dogs and steppe mares.

Because he did not save himself
For you, for her and for this.
Pity happiness -
Crazy heart of a poet.

Therefore I am sad, sowing,
As if in leaves, slanting eyes ...
You're as simple as everyone
Like a hundred thousand others in Russia.

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On the ancient Ryazan land, the fabulous days of golden autumn are firmly connected with the name of Sergei Yesenin, who left a bright trace in Russian poetry, enchanted musicians, artists, writers, translators with his verses. His works are read, re-read, memorized by people of different professions, representatives of many nationalities, diverse cultural traditions. Esenin's lyrics captivate once and for all, unique images remain in my memory. And the soul can no longer live without a new meeting with the poet ...

“You can see a lot at a distance ...” In the first half of the 1920s, Yesenin became more and more famous: his books were printed and quickly dispersed in significant print runs, poetry evenings, both with his own and with his participation, resonate widely, and critics write about Yesenin’s numerous followers, his imitators, foreign publications relish the details of Yesenin and Isadora Duncan’s trip to Europe and America. Newspapers and magazines publish the poems he has just written. It was Esenin who, during the celebration of the 125th anniversary of the birth of Pushkin on June 6, 1924, read his poems dedicated to him and, on behalf of the writers, laid flowers at the monument to the poet. During his lifetime, Yesenin's works were translated into 17 languages, and now, as the Russian State Library reports, already into 160 languages \u200b\u200bof the world.

Many of his contemporaries respond to the tragic death of the poet - obituaries, poems, memoirs. Hundreds of unprofessional poets dedicate their works to Yesenin and, hoping for publication, send them to local and central newspapers and magazines, read at mourning evenings. At the Yesenin grave at the Vagankovsky cemetery, fans leave notes addressed to him. In the 1930s and 1940s, when Yesenin was little printed, his works were rewritten by hand. Yesenin collections were held with soldiers of the Red Army along the firing lines of the Great Patriotic War.

And recently, a volume of Yesenin’s poems traveled to outer space at the International Space Station, safely returning to the earth. We can say that wherever a Russian person finds himself, he seeks and finds the opportunity to touch the work of his beloved author.

Yesenin - a poet who strengthens and heals the Russian soul, helps us withstand the most difficult conditions. He, by the sincerity of his poetic word, unites people of different nationalities, becoming a conductor of Russian poetry and Russian culture in the world. There are many examples of this. Each year, fate brings me with more and more connoisseurs of Yesenin poetry, translators, researchers from Azerbaijan, Belarus, Bulgaria, Brazil, Vietnam, Germany, Georgia, Spain, Italy, Canada, Kyrgyzstan, China, Latvia, Mongolia, Poland, Turkey, Uzbekistan, from Ukraine, from France, the USA ...

I will give one very illustrative example from the biography of the famous Vietnamese translator, deputy chairman of the Center for Art Translation of the Union of Writers of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam Hoang Thuy Toan. In 1954, he came to the Soviet Union as a 16-year-old boy, studied the Russian language and Russian literature - first in preparatory courses, and then as a student at the Moscow State Pedagogical Institute. IN AND. Lenin. Studying in the third year, I learned that one of the special courses is read by a young teacher Yu.L. Prokushev, inspired to tell students about the wonderful Russian poet Sergei Yesenin, whose work in the textbooks of that time was not considered fully enough. A classmate gave Toan a volume of Yesenin’s essays, which had been published by the Kiev publishing house “Radyansky Scribe” by that time - the book was presented to her by the director of one of the Moscow schools in which the girl had practice. Carried away by Yesenin, Toan acquired Prokushev's book about him, published in the library "Spark", and upon returning to his homeland he became a real propagandist of Yesenin's creativity in Vietnam. He enthusiastically told Vietnamese writers and translators - members of the Vietnam Writers' Union about the Russian genius who captivated him. At the suggestion of Toan, translations from Esenin were included in the book “Poems of Soviet Poets”, published in 1962.

Even hiding from the war of that time in a remote village, the translator did not stop working. At that time, when the Americans bombed Vietnam, Toan was translating the poems of Pushkin and Yesenin - the translation book "Lyrics of Pushkin" was published in Vietnamese in 1966. And at the turn of 1972 - 1973, Toan returned from a forced evacuation to Hanoi and received a new book by Prokushev on Yesenin's work. Since then, he literally has not parted with Yesenin, translating his works. Toan is a leading translator of Yesenin works, published in 1983 in the Vietnamese language, a poetry collection "Poems of the Block and Yesenin." It is significant that this fall he is going to our country to participate in celebrations dedicated to the 123rd birthday of his beloved Russian poet.

Yesenin's anniversary is celebrated this year widely. So, in Moscow and the Ryazan region will host the international scientific symposium "Sergey Yesenin: Personality. Creation. Epoch ”, the exhibition“ Poems of mine, calmly tell my life. ”Is running at the Russian State Library, there will also be a round table on the theme“ Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin in Translations: History and Modernity ”. On the poet’s birthday, October 3, the traditional All-Russian Yesenin poetry festival will be held in Ryazan Konstantinov. The main organizers of the Yesenin days - Institute of World Literature. A.M. Gorky Russian Academy of Sciences, Russian State Library, State Museum S.A. Yesenina (Moscow), Ryazan State University named after S.A. Yesenin and the State Museum-Reserve S.A. Yesenin.

A lot of gifts have already been made for the anniversary. The Moscow Museum of the poet is acquiring a new building this year, in Konstantinov the construction of a storage facility for exhibits of the museum-reserve is ending, and Yesenin Museum in Mardakyan (Azerbaijan) is opening after major repairs. The exhibition "Familiar Yours Sergey Yesenin" travels across Russia. In Baku, the publication of the seven-volume "Yesenin Language Dictionary" prepared by G.I. Shipulina. An illustrated edition was also published there, including all currently known translations into the Azerbaijani language of the poems of the Yesenin cycle “Persian motifs,” Isahan Isakhanli collected 61 translations, made by nine translators, including himself. This book has been noticed and appreciated in Russia: Isahan Isa-Khanli was awarded the S.A. Ryazan Region Prize Yesenin in the field of literature and art. And in the Spanish Granada, the exhibitions “Sergei Yesenin and Garcia Lorca: Two Poets, Two Fates” and “The Results of Modern Esenin Studies” were successfully held. Just do not list. In different parts of Russia and in many countries of the world, Yesenin's birthday is celebrated!

And this is not surprising. Now, 123 years after the birth and 93 years after Yesenin’s death, continuing to learn new details of his life and work, we never cease to be surprised at the depth of poetic revelations, the powerful sound of his voice, we find gleams of Yesenin’s images in the works of our contemporaries.

“Live as a star leads you ...” These lines can be considered one of the poet’s testament to many generations of readers. A person’s thoughts about his life, its essence and goals, about his path in this world should not only be dreams and meditations - they should be embodied in real deeds and actions, in conscious service to the people and country in the chosen field. Such a service is possible only if a person is engaged in a business that he likes, if it reveals his abilities. Among the people about whom it can be said that they have done a lot in their chosen field, there are many who devoted themselves to the study of Yesenin's work. Among them - the mentioned Hoang Thuy Toan Yuri Lvovich Prokushev.

Building the history of the triumphal procession of Yesenin’s work to readers, first of all you recall Prokushev, a unique and multifaceted personality. A teacher, publisher, publisher, organizer, an expert on Russian literature, a collector of Yesenin's rarities, he conceived and brilliantly implemented many projects, and not only Yesenin's ones. But it is extremely important that Yuri Lvovich actively contributed to the creation of Yesenin museums, primarily in his native Yesenin Konstantinov and Moscow, at the poet’s first metropolitan address; he did a lot to preserve the Yesenin heritage. Prokushev formed and in many ways managed to implement a comprehensive program for the study of Yesenin's life and work: the Academic Complete Works, "Annals of Life and Creativity", "Yesenin Encyclopedia", annual international Yesenin conferences and scientific collections based on their results. Monuments to Yesenin near the Ryazan Kremlin and on Tverskoy Boulevard in Moscow appeared largely due to the perseverance and determination of Prokushev.

Yuri Lvovich was not alone, he had many associates, followers, unanimous, as he called them. In the Soviet Union, a unique movement arose - popular Yesenin studies. Fans of Yesenin poetry not only met each other, but also held conferences, organized exhibitions, wrote articles, and published books. Through their efforts throughout the Union, several dozen national Yesenin museums were created, most of which are still working. Among the creators of these museums are Valentina Evgenievna Kuznetsova, a teacher of the Russian language and literature of the Roslyakovo secondary school of the Murmansk region, an engineer-technologist, a worker of a defense enterprise in the “closed” city of Seversk, Tomsk Region, Vladimir Nikolaevich, milling machine maker of the Vyazemsky machine-building plant Pavel Nikiforovich Propalov, an Oryol local history specialist and public figure George Alexandrovich Agarkov. These people and other same enthusiasts for many decades, sometimes all their lives, disinterestedly collected their Yesenin collections, which can be envied by reputable state museums. Gathered to make them public, so that the Yesenin word conquered new souls. Sorry, friends and colleagues, that I didn’t name everyone here - you can write an interesting and informative article about each member of the Radunitsa Esenin International Society! And they will be, these articles: we will tell you about all Yesenin museums and their creators in the Yesenin Encyclopedia and the Encyclopedia of Russian Literary Museums.

But not only museums are opened by asheninologists. Thanks to their breakdown power and perseverance, their indefatigable energy, monuments to the poet appeared in many cities and villages. I'm not talking about the streets, alleys and boulevards named after Yesenin. Do you know how many there are in Russia? More than six hundred. Some of them, unfortunately, have been lost recently due to the death of villages or the laying of new highways. It is hard to imagine how many people fought for assigning the poet’s name to their native places. We do not know exactly how many commemorative signs are on houses with “Yesenin” addresses. Dozens of plaques were installed in the places visited by the poet. There is a popular love for Yesenin!

Now that there are not only Yesenin’s poems, but also memories of the poet, studies of his life and work, biographical books can be read freely on the Internet, when there are many groups in social networks that are united by interest in Yesenin, we can talk about a kind of Yesenin’s field. And everyone can become an employee on it. Some write poems inspired by the poet, others draw, illustrating his works. Amazing paintings - illustrations for Yesenin's works were gathered following the results of several Yesenin competitions in the collections of the Firebird Children's Literary and Art Gallery. Dozens of works sent by young artists from different cities and countries, and each of them has its own interpretation of Yesenin's verses! You can delve into each picture for a long time, each time rejoicing in a deep understanding of poetry by young talents. Some of them have already become a professional artist, others find themselves in other areas, but Yesenin's poetry continues to live in their souls.

Many people go to Yesenin's places on fascinating routes. They come to Konstantinovo, Moscow, Ryazan, Baku, Tashkent and other places associated with the poet, come from different parts of Russia and the world. And, of course, they read poetry. Re-read them and you, dear reader. Yesenin is more modern than ever!

But most of all, love for the native land

I was tormented, tormented and burned.

S.A. ESENIN.

Oh, Russia, a raspberry field And the blue that fell into the river, I love to the joy and pain of Your lake longing.

Cold sorrow cannot be measured, You are on a foggy shore. But do not love you, do not believe - I can not learn.

I am most of all
I love spring.
Love spill
Rapid flow
Where to every sliver
Like a ship
So much space
That you will not throw an eye.
But the spring that I love, I call the Great Revolution! And I suffer only about her
and mourn, I am waiting for her alone and calling!

I want to be a singer
And a citizen,
So that everyone
Like pride and example
To be real
And not a step son -
In the great states of the USSR.

I do not know what will happen
with me…
Maybe in a new life
not fit
But still I want steel
To see poor, impoverished Russia.

Darling
Nice to say to me:
I escaped a steep fall.
Now in the Soviet side
I am the most furious companion.

I see everything.
And I clearly understand
What a new era -
Not a pound of raisins for you
What is the name of Lenin
Noisy like the wind around the edge
Letting my thoughts go
Like mill wings.

You are your own, peasant
our…
Say: Will the peasants depart
Without the ransom of the land of the gentlemen?
Trembling, swinging steps
But remember
Under a head bang:
“Tell me, who is Lenin?” I answered quietly: “He is you.”

I am not seduced by the Anthems of the hero ...
I'm happy that
What a gloomy at times
Only feelings
I breathed with him
And he lived.

Amid the roar of the waves
In his clearing
Slightly harsh and tender sweet
He thought a lot
Marxist
Quite Leninist
Created.

"Captain of the earth."

Shy, simple
and honey
He is like a sphinx in front of me.
I don’t understand what power
He managed to shake the ball
terrestrial? "Lenin."

Maxim Skorokhodov,

laureate of the Ryazan region prize named after S.A. Yesenina

in the field of literature and art of 2015

You are as simple as everyone, Like a hundred thousand others in Russia. You know, a lonely dawn, You know the cold of autumn blue. Funny, I got stuck in my heart, I took a silly thought. Your iconic and austere face Hanged in chapels in the chapels. I didn’t spit on these icons, I honored rudeness and screaming in a hang, And now suddenly the words of the most gentle and meek songs grow. I don’t want to fly to the zenith, Too much body needs. Why does your name ring like an August coolness? I am not a beggar, nor miserable, nor small, And I can hear beyond the fervor: From childhood I liked to understand Dogs and steppe mares. Because I didn’t save myself either For you, for her, or for that. A pledge of unhappy happiness - The poet’s crazy heart. Therefore, I am sad, sowing, As if in leaves, slanting eyes You are as simple as everyone, Like a hundred thousand others in Russia.

I believe in God as I believe in the sun. I do not believe because I see Him, but because in His light I see everything else.

I’m like a little kitten that needs to be taken by the scruff of the neck, put on my knees and said: now you are mine and I won’t let you go, and then I will lie down and purr gently.

All people and all the events of your life came into it because you pulled them. Now you need to choose what to do with them.

You know, I used to think you were weird. And now I understand that everyone is strange except you.

So who are you finally?
“I am part of the power that always wants evil and always does good.”

In your life you must leave a place for your life. It seems such a simple truth, but you can live a century and not know.

When your face is cold and bored
When you live in annoyance and argument
You don’t even know what flour you are,
And you don’t even know how sad you are.
When you are kinder than blue in the sky
And in the heart there is light, and love, and participation,
You don’t even know what song you are
And you don’t even know how happy you are!

Don't talk to me about your spirituality, buddy. This is not so interesting to me ... Please do not talk to me about "pure awareness" or "living in the absolute."
I want to see how you feel about your partner. To your children, parents, to your precious body.
Please do not give me a lecture on the illusion of a separate "I" or how you have achieved constant bliss in just 7 days. I want to feel the genuine warmth coming from your heart. I want to hear how well you can listen. Accept information that does not match your personal philosophy. I want to see how you communicate with people who disagree with you.
Do not tell me that you are awake and free of ego. I want to know you beyond words. I want to know how you feel when misfortunes overtake you. If you can completely immerse yourself in pain and not pretend to be invulnerable. If you feel your anger but don’t go to violence. If you can safely allow the experience of your grief without becoming his slave. If you can feel your shame and not disgrace others. If you can screw it up and admit it. If you can say sorry and really keep that in mind. If you can be completely human in your amazing divinity.
Don't talk to me about your spirituality, buddy. This is not so interesting to me. I just want to meet YOU. To know your precious heart. To understand a beautiful person fighting for the light.
To the words "about a spiritual person." To all the skillful words.

Do you believe in God? I did not see him…
How can you believe that you have not seen?
I'm sorry I offended you
After all, you did not expect such an answer ...
I believe in money, I saw them for sure ...
I believe in a plan, in a forecast, in career growth ...
I believe in a house that was built solid ...
Of course ... your answer is pretty simple ...
Do you believe in happiness? You have not seen him ...
But your soul saw him ...
Sorry, I must have offended you ...
Then we have one - one ... Draw ...
Do you believe in love, in friendship? How about sight ???
After all, this is all at the level of the soul ...
Are sincerity bright moments?
Do not rush to see everything with your eyes ...
Do you remember how in a hurry to meet,
But traffic jams ... didn’t have time on the plane ?!
Your plane exploded that evening
You drank and cried day and night ...
And at that moment when the wife gave birth,
And the doctor said: “Sorry, there is no chance ...”,
Do you remember life flashed like slides
And as if the light faded forever
But someone shouted: "Oh, God, a miracle ..."
And a scream rang out loud baby ...
You whispered: "I will believe in God."
And a sincere soul smiled ...
There is something that the eyes cannot see,
But the heart sees sharper and clearer ...
When a soul fell in love without falsehood
That mind objects more and more ...
Refers to pain, to bitter experience,
Includes selfishness, a big "I" ...
You saw God every day and so much
How deep is your soul ...
Each of us has his own way ...
And faith and love are most important ...
I did not ask you: "Have you seen God?"
I asked if I believed in him ...

DREAM (FROM THE BOOK “VERSES OF LOVE”)

1
In a dark grove on green spruces
Golden leaves of limp willows.
I go out on a high shore
Where the bay splashes quietly.
Two moons shaking their horns
Swelled with yellow smoke swell.
Smoothing lakes with grass without distinguishing
Bittern quietly crying in the swamp.
In this voice of a sloping meadow
I hear a call familiar to my heart.
You call me my friend
Sad on the sleepy shores.
I have not been here for many years and many
Meetings of merry saw and parting,
But I always kept in myself strictly
The gentle fold of your misty hands.

2
A quiet lad who feels meekly
Kissing pigeons by mouth, -
Slow Walk Thin Mill
I loved in you, my dream.
I wandered around cities and villages
I was looking for you where you live
And with a laugh, frisky and funny
Often you beckoned me to rye.
Behind the monastery fence,
I once entered a white temple:
Blue water washing the sun,
My oracle threw at my feet.
I stood like a monk in the glow of scarlet
Suddenly, silence squeezed his throat ...
You came in under a black veil
And, dropping, she stood at the window.

3
With the porch under the bell buzzing
You went to incense candles.
And I could not, affectionately trembling,
Do not touch your hands and shoulders.
I wanted to tell you so much
That tormented the soul from an early age
But the quiet road smoked
In an empty glade of lakes.
You looked softly at the valleys
Where in the grass crawled curly haze ...
And the rare gray hairs fell
From your wilted brow ...
The creases from the clothes faded a little
And, it seemed in the channel of dark waters, -
Leaving, chewed my hopes
Your toothless, shambling mouth.

4
But not for long did the soul torment the cold.
Like a wing clinging to her legs
A new box of feelings I loaded
And he went along the new shores.
Seamlessly the wound was pulled into the heart,
Passion faded, and love passed.
But again you came from the fog
And she was beautiful and bright.
You whispered, blocking your hand:
“Look how young I am.
This life scared me
I’m all like air and water. ”
In the voices of a sloping meadow
I hear a call familiar to my heart.
You call me my friend
Sad on the sleepy shores.

YOU ARE SIMPLE, AS EVERYTHING ...

You're as simple as everyone

You know the lonely dawn
You know the autumn blue chill.

In a funny way, I’ve gotten into my heart,
I took a silly thought.
Your iconic and strict face
Hanging in the chapels in Ryazan.

I didn’t spit on these icons,
I honored rudeness and cry in a rake,
And now words suddenly grow
The most gentle and meek songs.

I don't want to fly to the zenith
The body needs too much.
Well so your name rings
Like an August cool?

I am not a beggar, neither miserable nor small
And I can hear beyond the heat:
I like to understand from childhood
Dogs and steppe mares.

Because he did not save himself
For you, for her and for this.
Unhappy happiness pledge -
Crazy heart of a poet.

Therefore I am sad, sowing,
As if in leaves, slanting eyes ...
You're as simple as everyone
Like a hundred thousand others in Russia.

WELL, KISS ME, KISS ...

Well, kiss me, kiss me
Even to blood, even to pain.
Out of tune with a cold will
Boiling water of heart jets.

Overturned mug
Among the cheerful is not for us.
Understand my girlfriend
On earth they live only once!

Take a calm look
Look: in the damp gloom
A month like a yellow raven
Spins, curls above the ground.

Well, kiss it! So I want.
A song of decay sang to me.
Evidently I sensed my death
One who climbs in the sky.

Fading force!
Die so die!
Until the death of the lips cute
I would like to kiss.

So that all the time in blue naps,
Not ashamed and not melting
In the gentle rustle of bird cherry
It was heard: "I am yours."

And let the light over the full mug
Light foam did not go out -
Drink and sing, my girlfriend:
On earth they live only once!
1925

BLUE JACKET. BLUE EYES...

Blue jacket. Blue eyes.
I didn’t say any truth to the dear.

Sweetheart asked: “Is the blizzard spinning?”
Flood the stove, make the bed. "

I replied sweet: "Today from a height
Someone showers white flowers.

Flood the stove, bed the bed
I have a blizzard in my heart without you. "

October 1925

FLOWERS TALK ME - FAREWELL ...

Flowers tell me - goodbye
Heads bending lower
What I will never see
Her face and fatherland.

Darling, well then! Well!
I saw them and saw the earth
And that deadly shiver
I accept new caress.

And because I comprehended
All my life, passing by with a smile, -
I speak for every moment
That everything in the world is repeatable.

Not all the same - another will come,
The sadness of the departed cannot be swallowed
Abandoned and dear
The one who comes better will put the song together.

And heed the song in silence
Loved with another lover
May remember me
How about a flower unique.

WHAT NIGHT! I CANT...

What a night! I cant.
I can’t sleep. Such a moon.
Still as if to the shore
In the soul of lost youth.

Girlfriend of chilled years
Don't call the game love
May this moonlight be better
It flows to me at the head of the bed.

Let the distorted features
He outlines boldly, -
'Cause you can't stop loving
How to fall in love, you failed.

You can only love only once
That's why you are a stranger to me,
That lindens in vain beckon us
In the snowdrifts feet immersing.

'Cause I know and you know
What is the moonlight blue in this reflection
There are no flowers on these lindens -
On these lindens, snow and hoarfrost.

What we loved a long time ago
You are not me, but I am different
And we both don't care
Playing love is inexpensive.

But caress and hug
In the crafty passion of a kiss
May my heart forever dream of May
And the one that I love forever.

I AM SAD TO LOOK AT YOU ...

I'm sad to see you
What a pain, what a pity!
Know only willow copper
We stayed with you in September.

Foreign lips smashed
Your warmth and awe of the body.
As if the rain is drizzling
With a soul, a little dead.

Well! I am not afraid of him.
Another joy was revealed to me.
Cause nothing is left
As soon as yellow decay and dampness.

After all, I did not save myself
For a quiet life, for smiles.
So few roads traveled
So many mistakes made.

Funny life, funny frustration.
So it was and so will be after.
Like a cemetery dotted with garden
In the birches, gnawed bones.

Here we will also fade
And we will fade as guests of the garden ...
If there are no flowers in the middle of winter,
So do not be sad about them.
1923

LET YOU DRINK OTHER ...

Let you drink to others
But I have left, I have left
Your hair glass smoke
And the eye is autumn fatigue.

Oh the age of autumn! He me
More expensive than youth and summer.
You started to like you twice
The imagination of the poet.

I never lie in my heart
And therefore, to the voice of swagger
I can say without fear
That I say goodbye to hooliganism.

It's time to part with a naughty
And rebellious courage.
Already a different heart drank
Blood is a sobering braga.

And knocked on my window
September with a crimson willow branch,
That I was ready and met
His arrival is unpretentious.

Now I make peace with a lot
Without coercion, without loss.
Russia seems to me different
Other - cemeteries and huts.

Transparent i look around
And I see whether there, whether here, somewhere,
That you are alone, sister and friend
Could be a companion of the poet.

That I alone could you
Brought up in constancy,
Singing about the twilight of roads
And the outgoing hooliganism.

I REMEMBER, FAVORITE, REMEMBER ...

I remember, love, I remember
The shine of your hair.
Not joyful and not easy for me
Lead you off.

I remember the autumn nights
Birch rustle of shadows
May the days be shorter then
The moon shone for us longer.

I remember you told me:
"The blue years will pass,
And you will forget my dear
With me forever. "

Today blooming linden
I reminded my feelings again
How gently then I rained
Flowers on a curly lock.

And my heart, not getting ready to cool,
And sad another loving.
Like a favorite story
On the other remembers you.

YOU DO NOT LOVE ME, DO NOT SORRY ...

You don't love me, don't regret me
Am I not a little handsome?
Not looking in the face, you’re fading from passion,
I put my hands on my shoulders.

Young, with a sensual grin,
I'm not gentle and rude with you.
Tell me how many you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?

I know - they passed like shadows
Without touching your fire
To many you knelt
And now you sit here with me.

Let your eyes be half closed
And you think of someone else
I don’t really love you myself,
Drowning in a distant road.

Do not call this ardor fate
Hot-tempered,
How by chance I met you
I smile, calmly dispersing.

Yes, and you will go your way
Spray joyless days
Only do not touch the kissed,
Just don’t be beckoning.

And when with another down the lane
You go chatting about love
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet with you again.

Turning shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a bit
You will tell me quietly: "Good evening ..."
I will answer: "Good evening, miss."

And nothing will disturb the soul
And nothing will thrill her, -
He who loves cannot love
Who burned, you will not set fire to.

ANNA SNEGINA (excerpts from the poem)
……
I'm walking in an overgrown garden
The face touches the lilac.

Aged wattle.
Once upon a time there’s a gate
I was sixteen years old
And the girl in the white cloak
Told me affectionately: “No!”
Distant, lovely were.
That image in me has not died out ...
We all loved these years
But they loved us little.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The moon laughed like a clown.
And even in the heart there is no former
In a strange way, I was full
An influx of sixteen years.
We broke up with her at dawn
With a riddle of movements and eyes ...

There is something beautiful in summer
And with the summer, beautiful in us.

…….
I'm walking in an overgrown garden
The face touches the lilac.
So sweet to my flashing glances
Absorbed wattle.

Once upon a time there’s a gate
I was sixteen years old.
And the girl in the white cloak
Told me affectionately: “No!”

Far dear were! ..
That image in me has not died out.

We all loved these years
But that means
They loved us too.

January 1925

...

Do not wander, do not crumple in crimson bushes
Swans and do not look for a trace.
With a sheaf of your oatmeal hair
You looked to me forever.

With red berry juice on the skin,
Tender, beautiful, was
You look pink at sunset
And, like snow, radiant and bright.

The grains of your eyes crumbled, wilted,
The subtle name melted like a sound
But stayed in the folds of a crumpled shawl
The smell of honey from innocent hands.

In a quiet hour, when the dawn is on the roof,
Like a kitten, pawing his mouth
Mild talk about you I hear
Water singers with wind honeycombs.

Let the blue evening whisper to me sometimes
That you were a song and a dream
Well, who invented your flexible camp and shoulders -
He put his mouth to a bright secret.

Do not wander, do not crumple in crimson bushes
Swans and do not look for a trace.
With a sheaf of your oatmeal hair
You looked to me forever.

The addressee of the poem is Augusta Miklashevskaya, a bright page in the poet’s love life. But the feelings passed, or rather the author himself could not hold them, which he now bitterly regrets. The "crazy soul of a poet" cannot live alone, although it seems that he can "hear beyond the heat."

The structure of the work is circular, where the repeating first two lines sound hopelessly at the end of the poem, as if they echo about the simplicity, but also the uniqueness of the heroine. Multiple references to personal pronouns create the illusion of personal, frank conversation.

The fact that this conversation is not intended for outsiders is indicated by the mention of iconic faces in the chapels, which the author “spit” on. Completely different feelings were held in high esteem - rudeness and screaming, but with the advent of that one there were found both tender words and “meek songs”.

Yesenin's chosen one, a simple girl, like thousands of others, this is clearly stated at the beginning of the poem, at the same time her image is similar to the church face. But even here it is invisibly seen that there are not so few faces of such “in Ryazan”. Ryazan in the work is written with a small letter, this is not a city, it is a symbol of the outback of Russia, where there are hundreds of thousands of such

The same girls who dream of a great feeling, meeting the cold dawns in solitude.

The poem is unusually rich in a variety of syntactic figures. Quite often there is an inversion of lines (especially in the first and second stanzas), which indicates the poet’s experiences, his desire to attract the attention of his beloved.

The upward gradation of pronouns, on the one hand, speaks of girls who could meet in the author’s life, but this is just a good metaphor - you can save yourself, your feelings, love for your homeland, originality and at the same time remain outwardly far from the routine of "The poet’s crazy heart."

Verbs are highlighted in the work, both emotionally (spitting, understanding, saving), and in the construction of lines (in the last place, which attracts attention and rhymes in the last verb of the next line).

As in all of Esenin's love lyrics, this poem clearly shows a connection with the nature of the native land. The author is sad, “sinking as if in leaves,” the name of the heroine rings “like August coolness.” The coolness of autumn is an ideal canvas for the poet’s sadness, where the blue color is invariably present - cold, bewitching and sad. Even the fact that the hero is “ridiculously stuck in his heart” only emphasizes hopelessness and by no means fun.