The poem "loved you without much reasons" Beresov Valentin Dmitrievich. Mysteryproof
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Loved you without any reason
For the fact that you are grandson,
For the fact that you are a son,
For the fact that the kid
For growing
For the fact that the dad and mom looks like.
And this love is until the end of your days
It will remain a mystery of your body.
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Still poem:
- How did you like you during your life! Imagined - it is impossible to love more. And swear on your grave forever remember you friends. Why? There is no questions here, the one who knew you - he will understand ... and ...
- Many, my friend, loved you, to many and you were given ... But you were not loved by him ... It was only a prank, or the hungry needle, or despair of explosions ... but your beauty is clean ...
- They loved each other for so long and gently, with longing deep and forefast insanely rebellious! But, as enemies, they avoided recognition and meetings, and there were empty and their brief speeches. They are...
- No, I'm not so dusty, I love, not for me the beauty of your shining: I love in you the past suffering and youth deceased. When sometimes I look at you, in ...
- I love you, I'm confused and do not know how to say that you can choose and fighting wine to become. Before you when I go, I sit in confusion, I don't know, just ...
- There were many difficult days, there will be many difficult days. So it is too early to sum up. So we met with her, so we moved away from her somewhere on a country road. Only a few ...
- Do you not remember? As long as I breathe, you will not forget you and deceased. It is more expensive in sorrow and dusk storms than the rest of the rest when the sun is shining. Be free, great and ...
- Well, you, far away, if I don't like you, if it's again and pulls into a handful of gave the charter, so that your appearance is nearby. And such a grievous source that you ...
- With a mystery, heavy longing, I look at you, my heart! What awaits you ahead? - Doll, which will be inopened at first you, and then this doll will bother ... After when you grow up, you ...
- My love, Russia, I love, while I live, the rains of your oblique, the Holy Grass, the roads of your Skitnya, Lidi Your Guys. And there is no acquittal not loving you. My love, Russia, you with each ...
- The world is the rigor of the old stubble, but Ptahi tweet with roofs, but thrifty, every cilia, about youth you speak. And the maples are green flames in the heart sparkling. I do not know when between us ...
- I want to call you my wife for the fact that the others did not name that in my old house, broken by the war, you again gosti will be hardly. For what I wanted ...
- I do not remember you, why do I remember? This is just what I know, just what you can know. Edge of the Earth. The smoke strip pulls into the sky, slowly. Lonely, unhwerly goes ...
- I learned to walk a little man from the sofa to the edge of the table. He already has eyes and shoulders, and their young business. It is necessary to overcome all the hasty, to try tooth to the milk: ah, like a grandmother ...
- Great Princess Elisabete Feodorovna I look at you, admiring it hourly: you are so incomprehensible! Oh, right under such an excellence the same beautiful soul! Some meekness and sadness intimate in ...
Marina Korotkov
Head of the library of the Center for the Development of Children's Creativity and Youth. A. V. Kosareva, Moscow
2008 declared in Russia the year of the family. And even on a festive day, in the holidays, one of the readers, the teacher by profession, asked for a "family poems". The first of the authors who remembered - Valentin Berestov. Poem from the cycle of "Crossstorming":
Loved you without any reason
For the fact that you are grandson,
For the fact that you are a son,
For the fact that the kid
For growing
For the fact that the dad and mom looks like.
And this love, until the end of your days
It will remain a mystery of your body.
In the book of memoirs "Childhood in a small town" V.D. Bestov wrote: "How much gentle eyes shone at me! I got used to that everyone loves me ... The kindness of relatives and countrymen spoiled me at the beginning of life. Becoming adults, I could not get used to that someone is not happy to me and does not expect anything good at all. "
In the poetry Berestov, the words "mother", "Father", "Grandma", "Brother" are especially common. If you collect all these verses together, it will turn out a kind of "family chronicle". One of the collections of the poet is called "Family Photography" (M., 1973), according to the same poem:
I pull a new sailor
And straightens grandmother hairstyle
On dad pants new in striped,
On mom insensited jacket,
Brother in the mood is excellent,
Rumba and smells soap strawberry
And waiting for the obedience of candy.
Solemnly we take chairs in the garden.
The photographer instructs the device.
Laughter on the lips. Embrace in the chest.
Puff. Click. And the holiday is behind.
In 2008 marks 80 years since the birth of Valentina Dmitrievich, he was born in 1928, in the most non-deeper day in the year - April 1:
And I was born on April 1st.
My father, returning from the trip,
Heard on the road this news
And did not believe: "So, not born,
And if it was born, then not a son.
No, the jokers have grown through the edge.
Joking, jealous, yes, in jokes, knew! "
One of the first memories of childhood (the shaft was then no more than three years) and his favorite poem of his mother:
Evening. In wet colors windowsill.
Grace. Purity. Silence.
At this hour, the head is on the palms,
Mother usually sits by the window.
Will not respond, it will not turn
Do not raise with the palms of the face.
And wake up as soon as it rains
Behind the father's smile window
And tighten the Giri's walking
And rush towards him.
What is love in this world,
I know, yes, I will not soon understand.
Mom Vali played in amateur, and when she prepared a role, only the saint of the food was in the house:
Mom walks, chmuri eyebrows,
Whispering loudly, teaches the role.
So now there will be a TIME:
Onion Yes Oil, Bread Yes Salt.
Floor is not soot, the flower does not polit,
Under the slab fire went out.
And no one's children
Do not raise us.
Artistic nature
On the day the premiere is no case
Before the worries of everybody. Trew -
Here is our festive lunch.
Broken glasses
Get off from hand.
In a bowl, water from the crane,
Bread crumbling and cut onions.
And in the eyes of Mom Storm,
And in the motion celebration.
That's so tuny!
What kind of turbine!
No good thing!
And here's the son in the auditorium looks at mom-artist:
Mother Mother played,
And the son of the soul frowned.
What am fun and bold
This machine gun was.
Mom, mommy, that's what you!
His celebration is not tai
All neighbors shaking and pushing
Son whispered: - This is my mother!
And then his mother played
White general daughter.
How cowardly and evil
The general daughter was.
Son wanted to fall through the earth.
After all, the shame is covered with family.
And around admiring faces:
"Did not recognize? Well this is your mom "?
(« Independence»)
In the memoirs of Berestov, wrote about himself - "Social Half-Blood": One grandmother - a peasant, another - noble. Valentina Berestova's mother, Zinaida Fedorovna, was a daughter famous in the district of the landor of Fyodor Telogen and Alexandra - the nobility of the vintage trunovy. Fedor Telegin, however, he himself was from the peasants, but the rich and became the owner of the estate of silver, not far from Meshovsk. Valentina Berestov Father, Dmitry Matveyevich Berezov, was from the peasants, but from the peasants of the economic, those that belonged to the treasury and did not know serfdom. Since childhood, he loved reading, he studied in Poltava in the teacher's seminary, then when the first world war and officers began to be missing, was taken to officer school, from where it was sent to the front. Subsequently, he worked as a school teacher, taught history. Possessing a great voice, he sang in his childhood in the church church, and later sons sang with his lulled Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Vertinsky's songs.
My father does not whistle at all,
Not at all sang.
Not that I am not what I am
When I was with him.
Not in full voice, just like that
He did not sing anything.
Everyone says that the voice was
At my dad.
The singer did not, taught children,
In three wars fought ...
He sang for mom, for guests.
No, he did not sing.
And what we just sing -
Ta-Ra yes Ti-Ri-Ri, -
Probably sounded in it,
But somewhere there, inside.
No wonder he had
Gait is so easy
As if the music called
Its from afar.
The Great Patriotic War began, and the Father called on the front, the poems "First Evening of War":
She walked first evening
Perhaps the last war.
As on the commemoration, we eat pancakes with tears.
Long sit down, and eat, and look at the Father.
Quiet, so quietly, what heard the hearts are beating.
Sweet tea, yes on faces stamps.
What does the wrist agenda come to hand?
Maybe with this, as from the world war
Or with a civilian, father will return alive.
Threads. Needle. Straight razor. Notebook.
Fees and indeed briefly in a distant hike.
The infantry planet will be saved and the country.
How to work, a father gathered for war.
In the family of Berestov, there were three sons (the third son was born already after the war). Valentin Dmitrievich wrote about himself and his brothers:
* * *
House
Chance.
Mother is horrified by horror:
- Again fights!
Brother goes to his brother.
And drives us to the courtyard
In the crowd of guys.
Courtyard Chadun:
Roses brother's brother!
* * *
So, I take scissors,
Comb and bathrobe.
Sits like a hairdresser
My five-year-old brother.
And asks it all curls
Cut out
So that women alone
Left it.
YOUNGER BROTHER
After all, it is necessary! Brother still believes seriously
For a long time for me in question.
When he puffs, he is still a steam locomotive.
And I no longer be a steam locomotive.
Valentin was senior of brothers, and when his father went to the front, he is a senior man in the family:
Father to the front called.
And for such a reason
I have to live from now
As follows a man.
Mother forever at work.
Apartment empty.
But in a house for a man
There is always a thing.
I follow the brother,
Occasionally blade.
Vary Lunch: in Mundire
Hot potato.
Full of water vest.
Made by the apartment.
Dishes wash easy -
It's not a drop of fat.
With imperturbable view
solid and decent
Into the courtyard, to the passing pit,
I go with a permanent bucket,
From three cards coupons
Strigut me in the "Gastronome".
Cordhouse and minider. Man.
Senior in the house.
I am sincerely sure
That the father was replaced.
But in the life of that far
Blessed, pre-war
Father did not do
Similar cases.
Mother replaced dad.
I help my mother.
Meanwhile, there were no news from the Father for a long time, and in 1942, a fourteen-year-old teenager writes the poem "Father":
My father! You do not slam the news
Whole year family native
But the days when we were together
In a dream, get up in front of me.
And comes to life:
Reed and distance of the native river,
And you, bending over the water,
You look tired in the float.
Again I, baby, with you near
Standing, silence keeping
And you look like
Sometimes you look at me ...
And again passing cart
Knocking, dust smoke smoke.
And old horse, tired of running,
Woven with a slow jug.
No sound is disturbing.
Only stupid quail in the morning
Not clever repeats
All "sleep is time" yes "sleep is time."
And life again flows first,
All the same joy is full,
As if we were not separated
Increased war.
As if there were a dream nightmare
All shocking and need
And the morning with light radiant
They were dispersed without difficulty.
Father returned alive and with this, for him the third on the score, war. He raised three sons and for each of them was an example in life:
The older brother had a bell father,
Mid of the town, local history and singer.
He imitating and in this, and that,
The historian was selected son and poet.
The middle brother had a sad father,
Fisherman and boredom executive fugitive.
Divided the flower garden, grodied at home.
His impression, son became an agronomist.
The younger brother had an old father,
Sage, the forensic world of the residents.
He was looking for books, collected and read.
And the son in imitating a scribe became.
So age and time changed it
Twisted the era of my father.
And only one father did not change:
For each son, he was a sample.
"The era of my father twisted," writes Berestov. In 1936, Dmitry Matveyevich was excluded from the party, called at night for interrogations in the NKVD. Saving your family, he left Meshovsk. In 1988, Valentin Dmitrievich wrote about this poem "Evidence (1936)".
"Berestov, - Father said, -
Feed: You Aer.
Evidence was looking for
Dust in the archives raised,
In Ukrainian, for example.
And now we present them.
You're not in vain Auxoous hidden.
What in Ekaterinoslava
Have you spoke at the congress?
What did you go to the esrames of this?
What did they say about terror
In a thousand nine hundred and third? "
- What did you say? Probably nonsense.
What else to say at that time
Could a child of the years eight?
"How eight? Y, enemy seed!
Twisted, damn! "
During the war, Father Berestova was captive and on his return to his homeland was forced to work in a rural school, he could not find work in Kaluga.
Two grandmothers lived in their family: Baba Sasha, the mother of Zinaida Fedorovna, and the great-grandmother Alexander Gerasimovna, mother of Baba Sasha. About them Valentin Dmitrievich also tells in his verses.
Baba Sasha
Fairy affectionate ours!
Arcs proud eyebrows.
I called "Baba Sasha"
Mother of my mother.
In the town we walked
About your old sins,
And with the zeri mantis
You kept them.
In black shawl, in a strict dress,
For myself asking for us,
Knees before God
Sooted many times.
Favoring needles
Blue view from under the handkerchief ...
I drove to half
Dry buttons troops.
I am on beil cadets
Interventories, junkers.
Clean "Hurray!", "For the power of the Soviets!"
Shocked your quiet shelter.
In the book memories of Berestov wrote about her: "My blue-eyed black-haired grandmother, the mother of five children fell in love with the monk-balance, threw his grandfather. I heard about it in Meshovsk in half a century after the death of my grandfather.
And about great-grandmother:
Prababku-Lyonyku, Prababku-nobility
Always spend a hurry to the backup.
For what is the honor of me from me?
Prababka! She is not anyone.
"Prababashushka, Hello!" -
"Came, naughty?
On the gickers, be boring. Take a headphone.
Again Kovalev. Sing, Milk, sing!
Ah, Radio! Treasure for the old woman blind!
Well, enough. Newspaper - seatingman of culture.
Let's tell cartoons.
Circle on the eye? Ah, monocle! Well well!
In the cylinder and with a bomb? Feed, they say, war! "
Oh, how she was having fun above Brian
Above Churchill, Goover, Zhang Xue Lyan,
Like snort, lips palm climbing,
Over the fine spirits of the great powers.
I joking, Kutil, Katila in a carriage.
Laughing and joking, lingered in the world.
Tenth ten! .. old women
Yes cone yellow riza ass.
There was no you heard "You are a victim of fallen."
Over the ancient rank, she fang.
The great-grandmother loved to listen to the folk songs performed by the singer Kovaleva, fond of politics and, despite the fact that at that time was already blind, subscribed to the newspaper "Izvestia". Thanks to the "Izvestia" and the great-grandmother, the little Valya Berestov learned the first letters and read the first word. He tells about this in the memoirs: "And yet she (great-grandmother) learned me the first two letters. On other caricatures, what I told her, the medium of a stormy sea rose a proud cloud with four letters along the steep cliff. "Three identical letters nearby? - asked the great-grandmother. - NOT otherwise the USSR! " The first word I read! " Currents and his brother Dima Grandma was called the precious and shiny. Grandmothers were "devoid" - that is, devoid of electoral rights for noble origin.
Father's mother, Grandma Katya, lived in the village of Torkhovo. She was the second wife of Matthew Berestov and gave birth to him 18 children from which nine survived. From the village to visit, she came in the cart and the rules herself.
Grandma Katya
I see grandmother Katya
Standing at the bed.
From the village of arrived
Grandma Katya.
Mom knot with hotel
She serves.
I'm quiet
Dried pear fuss.
Ordered my father
As a child:
"You're already baby, myself
Straightening a housing! "
And asked with a spoke,
Looking at me:
"Do not want a fairy tale,
My father? "
Many relatives of Berestovoy died in the war. The two sons of Baba Sasha returned from the war. Valentine's cousins \u200b\u200bBerestova Vasily and Konstantin - grandchildren of Baba Kati - also did not return from the war. In the poem "Rubaha", Valentin Dmitrievich spoke about Vasily's cousin:
Parents are different, and grandma is alone.
And brother brought from the village to us.
And I was, a six year old, he is more glad to him.
I studied at the teacher my cousin.
What he was merry! What a kind he was!
What are his beautiful shirts wore!
Came in the white shirt. And on the porch we have
We looked at the clock of the cathedral.
And before mom said: "March in bed!",
We learned time on arrows to find out.
Then in the blue shirt he came for me,
He led to other students and sat at the table.
And the announcer, as a teacher, was told for everyone.
So the loudspeaker I listened for the first time.
But in the shirt of black my brother was in the house,
And I let my mother in the village of us together.
Oh, the shirt has a new one big secret:
In a trough with paint in the kitchen, she changed color.
And again she - look! - How new looks.
And the loudspeaker says more stricter ...
Brother is cute, he did not return from the battlefield.
Silver trumpet shines gramophone.
Favorite plate, spike, in a circle went:
"Grunge cups fell from the table."
The window disclosed windows. Under the windows - friends.
"Fell and smashed as my youth."
Vasily fought near Kiev, was a political officer, got into the environment. Then he was in the partisan detachment. In 1944, Vasily Grigorievich disappeared. Shortly before that, parents received two letters from him, in one of them he asked not to worry if he had no news for a long time.
The father of the hero of the poem "Kostik" Nikolai Matveyevich Berezov was the chairman of the collective farm. When the Germans came, he was appointed an old-age, but he managed to preserve the collective farm herd without giving the occupants to any head of livestock. Despite this, after the liberation of the village of the Red Army (in the early 1942), he was arrested and sent to Uzbek camps. For him, the inhabitants of the village had encouraged, and in 1945 he was released and rehabilitated, but health was undermined, and soon he died. And his son Konstantin, who was not even 18 years old, called to the army and, as the son of the "enemy of the people," sent to the penalty battalion. He died a few months later, in 1942, having exploded on Mine (the finnishes were thrown on the mineral field in front of the technique):
Who remembers the bone,
Our cousin
About the brother soldier,
About our long-standing loss.
He graduated from school
And immediately died in war.
He remembered you
I dreamed in a dream.
In family albums
He lives on the old card
(Played he played,
But for some reason removed with the guitar).
And something more important,
Than just sadness and kinship,
Tied us all
Who has not forgotten about him yet.
Poems about grandmothers-deurban and brother bone were published only in the 1970s. And here it would be appropriate to remember another poem of Berestov.
Subtext
In my verses, you will not find a trick.
Dreamy smart and descendant bold
I can not. Truth to hide a lie
Under the lie truth - unbearable
I think. I write what I want,
What I want, about that and silent.
Well, and the subtext in a distinct
The verses gives not the author, but the era.
Years went, and Valentin Berestov from her grandson and son turned into his father, and then to his grandfather. When his daughter Marina was born, poems appeared for children. "My daughter Marina inspired me to poems and fairy tales for babies," wrote in the autobiographical note "About myself" by V.D. Bestov. For example, the famous poem "About the girl Marina and her car" or a poem "Horse":
I am for my daughter
The best of horses.
I can laugh loudly
And troke ringing.
And riding, riding, riding
On horseback
So wear
Rider-girl.
And the next morning there is no horse.
He leaves half a day
Pretending to be angry
Drawing
But dreams of one:
It would be a jump again.
And, trembling from impurious,
Beats hoof.
And then poems about the grandson appeared.
For the birth of grandson
As in childhood, grandmother
With me friendly.
But this grandmother -
My wife!
Walk with grandson
Grandfather like Beres
And aspen.
Grandson like kiosks,
The shops.
He took a canister mask,
He took stickers.
Do not leave the grandfather
Neither a penny.
At one of the meetings with readers, Valentin Dmitrievich said: "All the plots I took from my own life. All that in verses in my poems was written, it was with me ... "The poems given here, combined with a single theme, the theme of the family, is a peculiar history of the genus of Telician-Berestovy, inextricably linked with the history of our country.
And a few more poems that did not enter the article, also on the "family" topic: "Letter from grandmother", "Frenc", "Waking up, I go to the window ...", "Bathing", "Door", "Father's writing table ... "," Fishing Fishing "," Father's Gift "," At Grandma "," Parent Day (1940) "," Night conversations with father "," a terrible dream "," Mom left "," Parents went to the theater ", "Paper crosses", "only once, and then at the beginning of childhood ...".
A wonderful writer (and children's children) Valentina Berestova is such a short, but a brilliant poem.
"Loved you
Without special reasons:
For the fact that you are grandson,
For the fact that you are a son,
For the fact that -madish
For the fact that - growing,
For the fact that - on mom and dad look like ...
And this love is until the end of your days
He will remain a secret support of your ".
This poem is easily falling into memory, as reading, and understand it, it seems, it is not difficult. However, it is worth it, and exactly what is labor. Intellectual.
It seems that most of the "normal" families and so do what they say in the poem, and even perform - with interest. But let's divert two concepts: "Sentimental Sysyukanny" and ... Love.
What many families are busy in which there are small children, it's more often - sentimental sysyukanny.
Purify the poem ...
Let's put in place the words "loved" and "love" a more accurate word "enthusiastically" and "delight", although with a violation of verse.
"They were enthusiastic without much reasons ..."
And once again we re-read the received poem. Only the ending then you need to remake. From sentimental enthusiasm "The Secret Support" ... not strong it turns out ...
"And this delight to the end of your days
Will remain a secret your illness ",
Blimey. How do you like the poem after alteration? This is a typical clinical picture.
Why "gush" Tested about someone - is it bad? Because it quickly passes as a reaction of vinegar and soda, and ... he does not stand the problems ...
Love a person can be continued, even when he did something bad or inappropriate. Even when it develops into an independent person and makes everything in the opposite.
Even when he fell ill. Even when I went with you and stopped feeling you "my own." As they say, "Love long-door, merciful, not looking for his"...
But the sentimental delights can be experienced only on strictly defined sentimental reasons. (Approximately, as a new year's packet, you can not displays only in December-January). And these reasons are extremely small. A man who fell on the needle of Sentimental delights deliberately narrows the repertoire of his actions to be in the field of permanent sublimation. You will go out for the edges of the field - it's cold there, no one is enthusiastic there ... So a person becomes a jerk, cutter, indinction.
The person who was accustomed to the taste of showing sentimental delights, then, all his life, wants to get exactly the one - the sentimental delight - "Moms", "Baba" ... Something likes the taste of semal cereal with lumps - an adult normal person. You understand that this is an imprinting of kindergarten rubbish, but the sweet memories of childhood are not chosen and do not rewind ...
And maybe worse ...
As an adult, such a person can take and reject real love and friendship. Because they are "not so sweet" - as sweets familiar to him - sentimental delight.
Growing, such people become fallen on flattery. And if you compare the life and affairs of a person with the ship, then the conclusion is disappointing: the ship, in which, "for the captain" man, falling on flattering, will certainly take place.
So is it necessary to "love the child for the fact that he is kid"? I need! But how to distinguish the "expression of love" from "sentimental crusions"?
Well, God is with you, I do not know how to explain such obvious things ...
And how to distinguish sour cream from mayonnaise?
Elena NazarenkoBeresov Valentin Dmitrievich (1928-1998) - Russian Poet,
Writer, translator.
Valentin Berestov was born on April 1, 1928 in the city of Meshovsk,
Kaluga region in the teacher's family. Read the future poet learned to four
of the year. Poems began to write since childhood. During World War II, the family
Berestov was in evacuation in Tashkent. And there he was lucky
Get acquainted with the hope of Mandelshtam, who introduced him to Anna
Ahmatova.
Then a meeting was held with Korneeh Chukovsky, who played a large role.
In the fate of Valentina Berestov. And Akhmatova and Chukovsky reacted to the beginning
His creativity with great interest and care. While
K. I. Chukovsky wrote: "This fourteen-year-old silent teenager has
The talent of a huge range, surprising all the experts. His poems
Classical in the best sense of the word, it is endowed with a subtle sense of style.
and works with the same success in all genres, and this work
Combined with high culture, with hard work. His
The moral appearance inspires respect to everyone who comes into contact with him. "
The first collection of poems Valentina Berestova "Departure" was released in 1957
And he received recognition of readers, poets and critics. In the same year it comes out
The first book for children "about the car." Then followed the collections of poems:
"Merry Summer", "How to find a track", "Smile", "Lark", "First
Fall Falls, "Determination of Happiness", "Fifth Noga" and many others. "Berestov,
- wrote the poet Korzorvin, is primarily talented, smart and, if
You can say that, a cheerful lyrical poet. " Anna Akhmatova about short
Humorous verses Valentina Dmitrievich Berestov told him:
"Refer to this as serious as possible. So no one knows how. "
"If I were asked who - a century man, I would say: Valentine
Berestov. Because it was these people who lacked the twentieth century
Total". To this statement, Novella Matveyeva could join
many. Valentina Berestov grateful many wonderful children's
Writers with whom he helped make the first steps in the literature. . .
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Loved you without any reason
For the fact that you are grandson,
For the fact that you are a son,
For the fact that the kid
For growing
For the fact that the dad and mom looks like.
And this love is until the end of your days
It will remain a mystery of your body.
V. Berestov
The antipyretic agents for children are prescribed by a pediatrician. But there are emergency situations for fever when the child needs to give a medicine immediately. Then parents take responsibility and apply antipyretic drugs. What is allowed to give to children of chest? What can be confused with older children? What kind of medicines are the safest?
Loved you without any reason
For the fact that you are grandson.
For the fact that you are a son.
For the fact that the kid.
For what we grow.
For the fact that the dad and mom looks like.
And this love is until the end of your days
Years at ten houses with their
You carry your own name.
But a little bit fell
You lost this name.
There are no names here. Clicks are worn here.
And at school? Here your habit.
You consider big here here
And the name is called.
Like this. Three ranks, three roles -
In the family, on the street and at school.
No need to mark marks and in the diary.
About adults! Oh grandmother and aunt!
When well, when you finally understand,
What do I twelve years old! Not two! Not five!
You can not kiss me when meeting!The older brother had a bell father:
Cadmog town, teacher and singer.
He imitating and in this, and that,
The historian was selected son and poet.
The middle brother had a quiet father:
Fisherman and boredom of the executive fugitive.
Divated a flower garden, grodied at home.
And the son in imitation became an agronomist.
The younger brother had an old father:
Sage, the forensic world of the residents.
He was looking for books, collected and read.
And the son in imitating a scribe became.
So age and time changed it
Twisted the era of my father.
And only one father did not change:
For each son, he was a sample.It's strange to remember what he walked me!
As it happened, he was mixed and teased.
And "Murzilka" "Zumrilko" he called
And the magazine "Crocodile" Male "Dragonel".
"That burgunduous, who in the movie buys a ticket!"
Two tickets, he faded shine.
I was expelled. And he did not glance to me,
After feeding a real ticket instead of a fake.
He lured me to the greenhouses for the village,
To dazzling red big tomatoes.
I seduce, break on the greenhouse glass,
Here he would have enjoyed shame.
Whether we are adults, I would not forgive him,
I would peel off forever with such a scoundrel.
In childhood, everything is different. Caught. Drove away.
And again, no matter what happened.On school matinees
You ask kids: - Are there any questions?
And - the handle raised not to read.
Ask high school students - they will wash.
Silemi afraid
Seem?
But there are no stupid questions.
Stupid can be the answer."Mom, Dad" - takes the baby slowly,
And a pencil break breaks.
Petya - writes a boy, Tom's pride.
He will mark it with his name proud.
Nina - writes teenager.
Again for him
Someone is more important in the world.
And all their life do not erase those letters.
That one, then another pops up from the bottom.Once he committed a mistake
Frightened, did not know where to go,
And, most expensive calmness of the soul,
I swore at all wrong.
So as not to stumble, he slowed down,
So as not to forget, did not argue
And his own opinion was hid
What, in fact, remained unless.
He did not interfere with anyone in the world.
He was met by a polite smile.
He no longer performed errors.
All his life is now a mistake.Favorite name
Your name in the snow wrote,
I stand and admire them.
And before I am everything that could, decorate
Name Gordy your own.
Wrote someone to read
What I was when it was here.
As some news
About what I am,
I loved my name.Sat confused in the society of liars.
Silent. The word inserted did not try.
And I did not notice myself in the end,
As, without saying a word, he was hung.First grader
Daughter, tell me, did you wash?
- Mommy, all bowls empty.
- Daughter, did you drink tea?
- Mommy, two cups poured.
- And with a set on the house everything is in order?
- Mommy, check my notebooks!
- And with the lesson how is your daughter?
- All the poem remembered to the line.
- How are your dolls from yours?
- Mommy, do not ask her.
I really do not know how to be with it.
Does not want to eat, does not want to drink.
Ask about the task creation
And the notebook will hide under the crib.
And ask you to tell the poem,
Stripping eyes - and kicking.
Roman "Life Arsenyev" is a completely new type of bunin prose. It is perceived unusually easily, organically, because the associations with our experiences constantly awaken. At the same time, the artist leads us on such a way, to such manifestations of the person, about which person often does not think: they seem to remain in the subconscious. And as it works on the text of the novel, the Bunin removes the "key" to the randering of his main search, which he speaks openly at first. Therefore, instructively appeal to the early editions, the billets to the novel.
In 1903, the first review was appeared in the magazine "New Way" written by Alexander Blok. His meeting with the publication was not accidental, at the head of which they stood 3. N. Hippius and D. S. Merezhkovsky. To personal acquaintance with them (in March 1902), the block has a lot and carefully studied the compositions of Merezhkovsky, and as noted by VL. Orlov: "Almost all reflections between the block in the youth diary about the anti-diabetes of pagan and Christian worldviews (" flesh "and" Spirit ").
The first "brief essay of life and creativity" was published by A.Skripov in 1963. A close friend of the poet, who conducted a correspondence with him during 1929-1936, Skipov published a large number of previously known materials. His work, which possesses the undoubted advantages of a reliable testimony, obviously did not lose its value and now, but it fully affected the views and estimates like the following people with the domestic literary criticism of the 60s.
Valentin Berestov
Poems about children
Loved you without any reason
Grandma Katya
Third attempt
From the cycle "School Lyrics"
He pulls her hand over the palat and pulls
Where right where left
Piece
We were friends with you, how kid boy
Loved you without any reason
For the fact that you are grandson.
For the fact that you are a son.
For the fact that the kid.
For what we grow.
For the fact that on dad and mom
And this love is to the end of your
It will remain a mystery of your body.
Grandma Katya
I see grandmother Katya
Standing at the bed.
From the village of arrived
Grandma Katya.
Mom knot with hotel
She serves.
I'm quiet
Dried pear fuss.
Ordered my father
As a child:
"You're already baby, myself
Walking horsenate! "
And asked with a spoke,
Looking at me:
"Would you like a fairy tale
My father? "
Again, as many years ago,
The courtyard is empty. And nobody in the garden.
How do I find comrades?
No one ... And yet someone is.
One, two, three, four, five,
I'm going to look!
I'm from the eyes of the palm of the tip.
Hey guys! Who fell into the grass?
Who is there for a birch barrel?
I do not believe in the empty courtyard.
I play with you so far.
He taught lessons. Repeated lessons.
Lessons made, at the lessons rushing.
How I listened to the lessons in the lesson!
How did the blackboard answered the lessons!
And deserving Ukole Il reproach,
I did not distract anything.
Drawing theorem on the sand.
Third attempt
You do not immediately throw the arena
And you do not immediately bring the line.
Three attempts are given to the athlete
In order to take height.
Failure, but you are not at a loss:
Again is close to the decisive moment.
Observing others attempts.
Arranging a new struggle
Above the plank, and again
Three attempts are given to you.
Grieving teeth, get ready and wait.
And it turns out that the third attempt
It always remains ahead.
From the cycle "School Lyrics"
He pulls his hand over the palat and pulls.
Someone does not look at him?
He is all impressive: "Ask me!"
It is pretty that he is in secret penetrated,
What miracle happened, the task was decided ...
Ask, please! Make mercy!
Where right where left
"Victory!" - there was a junk cry.
Do not need to pester
Do not go to my grandmother:
Read! Read!
No need to tend to sister:
Well, read the page!
Do not call.
No need to wait.
And immediately we start the battle.
We are not tired of these battles,
Still would! She hardened in battle!
Grandma Katya
I see grandmother Katya
Standing at the bed.
From the village of arrived
Grandma Katya.
Mom knot with hotel
She serves.
I'm quiet
Dried pear fuss.
Ordered my father
As a child:
"You're already baby, myself
Walking horsenate! "
And asked with a spoke,
Looking at me:
"Do not want a fairy tale,
My father? "
Giant
I was friends in my childhood with a giant.
We had a fun one.
He is a birch in the forests and glades.
I rushed scrapping behind him.
And he was a rocket man,
With the consciousness of your own forces,
And the knife is twitched,
And long pants wore.
We walked together all summer.
No one to touch me.
I'm giant for it
All songs Fathers sang.
O my noble and proud
Intercessor, giant and hero!
At that time you finished the fourth,
And I switched to the second.
Compare the growth of the guys
And they will be friends on a par.
I grew up. I finished ninth,
When you died in war.
Wreath
Sometimes I happened to be subject
Silent fees and worries.
Infancy. Lawn early summer.
And the girl sits, wreaths weave.
And, laying the crown Gold
On my head
All shines. And I do not protest.
I am a cumier myself.
And, rejoicing the shining look,
I look at the girl, on the clouds,
Obediently fulfilling the role of King
And felt gravity, and cool,
And freshness, and wreath solemnity.
Evening. In wet colors windowsill ...
Evening. In wet colors windowsill.
Grace. Purity. Silence.
At this hour, the head is on the palms,
Mother usually sits by the window.
Will not respond, it will not turn
Do not raise with the palms of the face.
And wake up as soon as it rains
Behind the Father's smile window.
And tighten the Giri's walking
And rush towards him.
What is love in this world,
I know, yes, I will not soon understand.
Return from the East
And there in the steppe - the fire has cooled ash ...
We're home. The steppe is not visible from here.
Nevertheless, although we left the steppe,
Of us, she does not want to leave.
We are also a steppe. We look like
Tanning and weatherproof skin
And the fact that in the heart we carry silence,
And what we see in the city of the moon.
More wakes us among the night somewhere
Invisible ray touched eye
Three hours before the local dawn
The steppe sun, inserted without us.
Visiting, in the crowd among the whirlpool,
Again, let weaker than yesterday,
I will overtake us sudden Dunda, -
Steppe night whispers: "It's time to sleep."
But gradually everything will be in place:
Rise, hang up, and look, and complexion.
And steppe? She will leave, melts, kanet
And yet it will not be shred to the end.
Ancient friend will appear, remind
And again the steppe will fill you all.
Where right where left
Standing a student on the fork of roads.
Where the right, where left, he could not understand.
But suddenly a student scratched in my head
That Herocho, which wrote.
And the ball threw, and pages leafed.
And kept the spoon, and the floors swept.
"Victory!" - there was a junk cry.
Where the right, where left, learned the student.
The game
We sat for chess, happened.
One board strategists was little.
And proud honed rhe
The fate of humanity to play
Went down to the floor, to the world of simple toys -
Ships, boxes and coils.
And here the kings are sitting on the throne,
And pawns in tanks and ships.
Parada. Watch. Conspiracies. Discharge.
Somehow someone will not forgive someone.
And kings throw the fleet on the fleet,
At the army of the army, the people.
From under the perfume One bottle brave,
Although the fragile was, but fought with glory.
Where the Heroian spirit, there is a heroic look.
He was with all the troops translate
Raspberry Trennoye thread.
People tired of bloodshed
Sparkling kings and governor.
The last fight. Last rise.
Great worldwide brother.
A chess table, a bottle on the chest.
And the yard is running in the yard,
Governed by the world.
Who is twelve years old
Who is twelve years old, that kindergarten
Millennium walked back.
About this childhood in gold
He remembers almost with shame.
Forget it rather! After all, it
In the heroic biography of the spot.
Horse
I am for my daughter
The best of horses.
I know how to loud and grind a loud.
And riding, riding, riding
On horseback
So ridiculous girl is worn.
And the next morning there is no horse.
He leaves half a day
Pretending to be angry
Drawing
But dreams of one:
Would be again a hop
And, trembling from impurious, beats hoof.
Koshkin Puppy
Cat has a selection son -
Not kitten and puppy
Very cute, very modest,
Very gentle son.
Without water and without urine
Cat Son washed;
Instead of a sponge, instead of soap
Tongue son soap.
Quickly licking tongue
Neck, back and barrel.
Cat mother - Animal
Very clean.
But the son of the reception
And now he is a huge dog.
Poor mom is not under power
Wash shaggy versil.
On huge sides
Lack of language.
To wash the neck to my son,
We must get to his back.
Oh, the cat sighed, -
Difficult son wash!
Splash yourself, swim yourself,
Wash myself without mom.
Son bathes in the river.
Mom sleeping on the sand.
Ski mark
And again skiweed
Like rails embedded in the snow.
Pushing out and sliding
Run, not lag behind everyone.
Let my last ski trail
Melted so many years ago
But the memory of childhood whispers: - No,
He's here. Cases go to the way!
My childhood suddenly returned.
It, leaky, drives me,
As if not at all it
It remains somewhere behind the war.
Loved you without much reasons ...
Loved you without any reason
For the fact that you are grandson,
For the fact that you are a son,
For the fact that the kid
For growing
For the fact that the dad and mom looks like.
And this love is until the end of your days
It will remain a mystery of your body.
Love began to be deceived with solid ...
Love began to be deceived with solid.
I ran from the school yard passing
And again at the corner appeared, blushing,
So as to be inadvertently meeting with her.
And, understanding everything, slightly confused,
She put on my explanation:
They say, with someone from the locals I need to meet.
About white beretk in the darkness of the snowfall!
And again, the yards, I rushed through the MGLU,
And she came across every corner,
And, having met, once again fled ...
That's how I first accomplished it.
Patronage of the 41st year
One of them in Tashkent lived,
Another came from Kaluga.
Everything was different with them,
And only the grandmother is one.
From letters grandmother
They found out about each other,
And in the forty of their first brought them
Patriotic War.
Tells the younger brother
About dimming and anxiety
Like with "Junkers", so big
Fucked the yurt "hawk",
How through the city was the flock ...
And the elder brother, serious, strict,
Heat: - You write it!
After all, you have a wonderful syllable!
And bitterly crying the younger brother,
Hearing the grief summary.
He remembers the "messerschmitts" hum
And sharpness of military teams.
And the eldest looks at him,
Looks like on his find
And rejoices what opened
(And what did you think!) Talent.
Man
Father to the front called
And for such a reason
I have to live from now
As follows a man.
Mother forever at work.
Apartment empty.
But in a house for a man
There is always a thing.
Full of water vest.
Made by the apartment.
Dishes wash not difficult -
It's not a drop of fat.
With three card cards
Strigut me in the grocery.
Cordhouse and minider.
Man. Senior in the house.
I am sincerely sure
That the father was replaced.
But in the life of that far
Blissful, pre-war,
Father did not do
Similar cases.
Mother replaced dad.
I help my mother.
Only once, and then at the beginning of childhood ...
Only once, and then at the beginning of childhood,
My uncle, he who died in war,
We called us. But still peeled
I can in his eyes. They are in me.
Everything else - the appearance and words -
Forgotten. But also remember
There was grass. Sustained grass.
High and thin. Forest.
Should be in the forest (he is on the edge of the earth
Was for me) my uncle was introduced
And there we left the meadow,
Happy, eyes looking at each other.
And I noticed the threads on the proteins,
And folds of the eyelids, and rare eyelashes,
And two pupils, two anti-maritresses,
In two gray and radiant pupils.
And how I myself reflected in them,
And the way they are stuck.
And moved eyelids ... only mig
I remember. One moment of an eye.
He pulls her hand over the seafood and pulls ...
He pulls his hand over the palat and pulls.
Someone does not look at him?
He is all impressive: "Ask me!"
As if he was driving a horse on the road,
Here he rushed with an urgent package,
With an urgent package and accurate answer.
No need to store marks and diary,
It is pretty that he is in secret penetrated,
What miracle happened, the task was decided ...
Ask, please! Make mercy!
Paradox Chukovsky
"You are finely writing,
Hurryly, deftly, sluggish.
Behind the craft
Bass
Behind the balancing.
What to spin protein?
Do you see, pay a little?
I do not see in this sense -
He sighed Chukovsky. - Stop
Write disinterestedly -
For this they pay more! "
First friend
Since primitive children went to primitive forest,
And the primitive sun looked at them from heaven.
And met children in more often an unknown animal,
What no longer did you like it yet.
Said primitive dad: "Well, play with him.
When he becomes more, we will eat it together. "
Night. Primitive people sleep primitive sleep,
And primitive wolves steal in the darkness of the night.
Bed primitive people, in a dream defenseless.
How often the animal belly groove was done by them!
But evil cannibals having sodged the brave animal,
And these are primitive people from death.
With dad go hunting he started when he was gone.
So the other became a man funny and loyal dog.
Song frogs
We have glazes like diamonds
And the skin is the color of the emerald.
And we are born three times
And this, brothers, just a miracle.
Ikrinka small in a lump,
And taddastic in a sular stink,
And here is a frog on a bump
Sits il jumps on the lawn.
Dressed in ice - and again alive.
Here is a frog what!
We breathe gigs, like fish.
We breathe easily like people.
Like birds, we could fly.
But it is better to sing like birds, we will!
Of course, quite good trill
Sometimes these birds are removed!
But we were the first to sing,
When they were not in the world.
Years Millon, and maybe two
I heard the world one "kva-kva!"
We and on land of the record holder
And in every pool champion.
We have jumping knees,
We have a mesting paw.
Of course, we are cold
But our songs are so equipped.
We are foolish in your bass,
But in your fairy tales, we are princesses!
Become a queen - kva-kva!
Kingdom of magic force!
Subtext
In my verses, you will not find a trick.
Dreamy smart and descendant bold
I can not. Truth to hide a lie
Under the lie truth - unbearable
I think. I write what I want.
What I want, about that and silent.
Well, the subtext, in a distinction from the trick,
Walking with Chukovsky
I am fourteen years old, and he is sixty.
He is huge, and sad, and Rumba, and the nasal.
He is thinking about his son. I am sad without a father.
May blooms. And the war is not visible to the end.
Caution My he decides fate
And it's anxiously looking at my hoodo.
Tomorrow in the morning he will seem to save me.
In the meantime he will show how to write.
And read the poems that the great poet
Composed about the love of twenty-seven years,
Remember what is still waiting for me ahead.
About poetry! Souls of people beezd,
To find strength and general language in you
This bright boy and a strong old man.
Hypersca
Again, as many years ago,
I go into the familiar courtyard and in the garden.
The courtyard is empty. And nobody in the garden.
How do I find comrades?
No one ... And yet someone is.
Empty ... But they should be here.
One, two, three, four, five,
I'm going to look!
I'm from the eyes of the palm of the tip.
Hey guys! Who fell into the grass?
Who is in Saraj? Who is the angle?
Who is there for a birch barrel?
I do not believe in the empty courtyard.
I play with you so far.
Early Glory
"Poet! Poet!" - shouted after.
Poet had few years.
He did not dream of glory.
He dreamed of violence
With all who the poet after
Shouted: "Poet! Poet! Poet!"
Dawn. Sokolniki. Polyana ...
Dawn. Sokolniki. Polyana.
We are smoothly forty-five.
When you go, somehow strange
Such things remember.
On our first arms
Last star looks.
Let beckle-free curses
They will never touch them.
We were friends with you, how the boys are friends ...
We were friends with you, as the boys friends,
Fought and argued without a respite.
Happened, just just come down with you,
And immediately we start the battle.
Again in hand-to-hand chess snatch
Hurry up each other to put on the blade.
Where the sword was tracked, the ball ride there.
Likui, winner! Potted, cry!
We are not tired of these battles,
Although everyone a hundred times died on a duel.
But we kept our friendship.
Still would! She hardened in battle!
Glowworm
I have a shaggy worm in my hands.
He carries a greenish light.
And his name is the guys - Firefly.
It is a pity that in childhood I did not have to find you!
I would say: "This is my firefly!"
I would take you home, Firefly.
I would put you in boxes,
And I could not sleep with joy.
Because I did not find you that mother
Too in time stacked to sleep?
Because that the cowardly in childhood was
And in the afternoon, the evenings did not roam?
No, I wandered, evil wizards called.
Obviously, I was not lucky then.
And then came the blazing July.
Screens of explosions. Glitter tracing bullets.
Leaving the darkened town
Echelons were reached into the east.
I lost my childhood somewhere on the way ...
So light brighter, small! Svetie!
Third attempt
You do not immediately throw the arena
And you do not immediately bring the line.
Three attempts are given to the athlete
In order to take height.
Failure, but you are not at a loss:
Again is close to the decisive moment.
You are preparing for the third attempt,
Observing others attempts.
Embedded. Took off. And - ready!
Arranging a new struggle
Above the plank, and again
Three attempts are given to you.
And did not come out (an attempt is not torture)
Grieving teeth, get ready and wait.
And it turns out that the third attempt
It always remains ahead.
Therefore, it is not necessary to return to the class.
Call ringing, dress up soon
And wait for me near the school doors! "
And couples, in pairs behind her,
For cute teacher
We solemnly leave the village.
And in the puddles with the puddles of foliage marked!
"Look! On the Christmas trees in the undergrowth
Maple stars are burning like suspension
Fix over the most beautiful sheet
In the streaks of raspberry on gold.
Remember everything as the earth falls asleep,
And the wind falls asleep in the foliage. "
And in the grove of maple light and light.
All new leaves flies with branches.
We play and wear under the leaf
With a sad, thoughtful woman nearby.
Lessons
He taught lessons. Repeated lessons.
Lessons made, at the lessons rushing.
How I listened to the lessons in the lesson!
How did the blackboard answered the lessons!
And deserving Ukole Il reproach,
I immediately learned from them lessons.
I followed the teacher I look.
I did not distract anything.
And who then sat at the desk nearby
Let him forgive, I did not hear him.
Hours ... a person right passion,
And I was in power in this passion.
In any of us sits Scholyar-slab,
Fearful that will cause a blackboard.
In any of us lives a cheerful schoolboy,
Drawing theorem on the sand.
For the school spirit without impurities
As for the horse, it is ready to give up the pilliness.
Oh, you are the kingdom of locomotive!
How much do you want boiling water.
Wait-ka, commodity!
Pey, brigade, boiling water.
Skip sanitary
Echelons east.
Wait, passenger!
Sit, children, grass.
Siberian shelves fight
Mchat courier to Moscow.
Careful commanders
Masking brought.
Ah, biron taezhni,
Far than you took away.
The steam locomotive ripples and goes
And wagons fly.
And birch as a trinity,
How to rustle on the hut.