Our literature knows many great writers who brought immortal values to Russian culture. The biography and work of Nikolai Rubtsov are important in the history of Russia. Let's talk in more detail about his contribution to literature.
The poet was born in 1936, January 3. This happened in the village of Yemets, which is located in the Arkhangelsk region. His father was Mikhail Andreyanovich Rubtsov, who served as a political worker. In 1940, the family moved to Vologda. Here they met the war.
The biography of Nikolai Rubtsov includes many sorrows that befell the poet. Little Kolya was orphaned early. My father went to war and never returned. Many believed that he was dead. In fact, he decided to leave his wife and moved to a separate house in the same city. After the death of his mother in 1942, Nikolai was sent to Nikolsky. Here he studied at school until the seventh grade.
The biography and work of Nikolai Rubtsov are closely intertwined with his hometown of Vologda.
Here he met his first love - Henrietta Menshikova. They had a daughter, Lena, but their life together did not work out.
The young poet entered the Forestry Technical School of the city of Totma. However, he studied there for only two years. Afterwards he tried himself as a fireman on the trawl fleet in Arkhangelsk. Then he was a laborer at the Leningrad training ground.
In 1955-1959, Nikolai Rubtsov served in the army as a senior sailor. After being demobilized, he remained to live in Leningrad. He is accepted to the Kirov plant, where he again changes several professions: from mechanic and fireman to charger. Fascinated by poetry, Nikolai entered the Moscow Gorky University in 1962. Here he meets Kunyaev, Sokolov and other young writers who become his friends. They help him publish his first works.
Rubtsov faces difficulties at the institute. He even thinks about quitting his studies, but his like-minded people support the poet, and already in the 60s he published the first collections of his poems. The biography and work of Nikolai Rubtsov during his institute life clearly conveys to the reader his experiences and spiritual mood.
Nikolai graduated from college in 1969 and moved into a one-room apartment, his first separate home. Here he continues to write his works.
Since the 1960s, Rubtsov's works have been published at quite an enviable speed. In 1965, a collection of poems, Lyrics, was published. Following it in 1969, “Star of the Fields” was published.
With a break of one year (in 1969 and 1970), the collections “The Soul Keeps” and “Pines Noise” were published.
In 1973, after the poet’s death, “The Last Steamship” was published in Moscow. From 1974 to 1977, three more publications were published: “Selected Lyrics”, “Plantains” and “Poems”.
Songs based on poems by Nikolai Rubtsov gained great popularity. Every resident of our country is familiar with “I will ride my bicycle for a long time,” “It’s light in my upper room,” and “In moments of sad music.”
Nikolai Rubtsov's poems echo his childhood. Reading them, we plunge into the calm world of Vologda life. He writes about home comfort, love and devotion. Many works are dedicated to the wonderful time of year - autumn.
In general, the poet’s work is filled with truthfulness and authenticity.
Despite the simplicity of the language, his poems have scale and power. Rubtsov's syllable is rhythmic and has a complex, fine structure. In his works one can feel the love for the Motherland and unity with nature.
The biography and work of Nikolai Rubtsov ends suddenly and absurdly. He dies on January 19, 1971 during a family quarrel at the hands of his fiancee Lyudmila Derbina. The investigation established that the poet died from strangulation. Derbina was sentenced to seven years in prison.
Many biographers express the opinion that Nikolai Rubtsov predicted his death, writing about it in the poem “I will die in the Epiphany frosts.”
A street in Vologda is named after the writer. Monuments have been erected to him in several cities of Russia. Rubtsov's poems continue to enjoy great love among readers of different ages. His works remain relevant in our time, because people always need love and peace.
Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov (1936-1917) - Soviet lyric poet, he was born on January 3, 1936 in Yemetsk. In his works, he glorified nature and declared his love for his native country. Some literary scholars compare him with Sergei Yesenin. Both poets died too early, and their poems contained an incredible amount of pain. The works “In moments of sad music”, “It is light in my upper room” and “I will ride a bicycle for a long time” are still remembered and loved by many of Rubtsov’s readers.
Kolya was born into the family of the head of the timber industry enterprise, Mikhail, and his wife, housewife Alexandra. The family had five children, the future poet was the youngest of them. Later, the Rubtsovs had another son, Boris. And after some time, two daughters died as a result of fighting the disease.
Because of his father's work, the family moved often. A year after the birth of their son, they went to Nyandoma. There Mikhail became the head of a consumer cooperative. But the Rubtsovs did not stay long in this cozy town either, since their father received an offer from Vologda. In 1941, he went there with his family, and already in 1942, Mikhail was called to the front.
Shortly before the start of the war, Nikolai's mother died. Four children were left unattended when their father had to go to the front. He asked his sister Sophia to take custody of them, but she only took the eldest daughter. The younger sons went to the Kraskovsky preschool orphanage.
During the hungry war times, it was not easy for the orphanages. They were malnourished and did not trust adults or each other. Soon Kolya was left completely alone when he was transferred to Totma. The younger brother was left in Kraskovo, his father went to war, and other relatives were long dead. Because of the grief he experienced, at the age of six the boy wrote his first poem. He was inspired by the nature of the Vologda region, and later this theme constantly appeared in his writings.
Since childhood, Nikolai was distinguished by a vulnerable character and a keen sense of justice. He often cried, and in the orphanage the poet was called Favorite. Despite this, people were drawn to the young man. He attracted them with his education, ability to listen and feel.
Back in 1941, the children learned that Mikhail died during hostilities. And only a few years later it became clear that he had simply abandoned his family. The man married another woman and never again thought about his sons, left in the orphanage.
According to other sources, the father returned from the front in 1944, but could not find information about his son’s whereabouts due to lost archives. According to documents, Nikolai was an orphan. In 1955, Mikhail suddenly appeared on the horizon. They met, but communication did not work out. Father and son never saw each other again, and seven years later Mikhail died of cancer.
Kolya was one of the smartest boys in the orphanage, he was even awarded a certificate of commendation. He graduated from seven classes and tried very hard to gain as much knowledge as possible. Despite the fact that their school had one teacher for four subjects, the children were happy about this.
In June 1950, Rubtsov received a diploma from the orphanage school. He dreamed of going to Riga to become a student at a nautical school. But instead I had to study at the Totem Forestry College. After graduation, the young man began working in the trawl fleet of the Sevryba trust, and then he was accepted as a laborer at a military training ground in Leningrad.
In 1953, Kolya became a student at the Mining and Chemical College in the Murmansk region. But his studies were not easy for him, and already in his second year the young man failed the exam. As a result, he was drafted into the army. From 1955 to 1959, the poet served in the Northern Fleet as a sailor. After demobilization, Nikolai worked as a fireman, mechanic and miner in Leningrad. But he dreamed of changing his life, becoming a real writer.
In 1957, Rubtsov’s poem was first published in the regional newspaper of the Arctic. After the army, the poet began to make his way to fame; in Leningrad he made several useful acquaintances. Thanks to his friendship with Gleb Gorbovsky and Boris Taigin, the writer was able to win the attention of the public. In the summer of 1962, his first collection “Waves and Rocks” was published. Nikolai preferred to do everything on his own, without contacting a publishing house.
In the same year, the young man entered the Literary Institute in Moscow. There he became friends with Sokolov, Kozhinov and Kunyaev. Colleagues repeatedly helped the poet publish collections, invited him to performances and supported him in every possible way. At the same time, Rubtsov’s studies were not going so smoothly. He became addicted to alcohol and often came into conflict with teachers. Nikolai was expelled several times, then reinstated. During his years of study, he released two more collections: “Star of the Fields” and “Lyrics”.
Rubtsov differed from the sixties poets who were popular at that time. He never sought to follow fashion, to squeeze his works into any framework or standards. The lyrics of this writer were quiet, although sometimes there were extremely controversial lines. He didn’t have too many fans, but that was enough for Nikolai. He found his niche and remained in it until his death.
In 1969, Rubtsov graduated from the institute and began working for the Vologda Komsomolets newspaper. At the same time, he released the collection “The Soul Keeps.” A year before, the poet received a separate one-room apartment for the first time in his life, but he did not have to live in it for long.
The writer is remembered and respected in different parts of Russia. In Vologda they named a street after him and erected a monument to the poet. Sculptures in memory of Rubtsov were also installed in Totma and Yemetsk. After his death, the collections “Plantains”, “The Last Steamboat” and “Green Flowers” were published. The last collection of works published during the author’s lifetime was called “Pines Noise.”
Many of Nikolai's works turned into musical compositions. Back in the eighties, Sergei Krylov performed part of the verse “Autumn Song”. The accompaniment for it was invented by Alexey Karelin. Later, Gintare Jautakaite sang “It’s Light in My Upper Room” to the music of Alexander Morozov. In 1982, Alexander Gradsky breathed new life into the poem “Star of the Fields” by setting it to music. At the same time, the Forum group performed the song “The Leaves Flew Away.”
At the end of the eighties, Alexander Barykin’s hit “Bouquet” “shot”. Surprisingly, the basis for it was also the work of Rubtsov. The poet wrote this verse back in 1958 after meeting Taya Smirnova. He immediately fell in love with the girl, but she had another boyfriend. In memory of these feelings, Nikolai wrote the immortal poem “I will ride my bike for a long time” in just 15 minutes.
In 1962, the poet met Henrietta Menshikova at the institute. They started dating, soon the lovers got married, but never officially got married. The woman gave birth to Nikolai's daughter Lena. She lived in Nikolskoye, so the couple met infrequently.
In 1963, Rubtsov also met Lyudmila Derbina. They did not impress each other, but four years later the woman fell in love with his poems. At that time, she was already divorced and had a daughter, Inga. Despite this, in the summer of 1967, Lyusya moved to Vologda to live with her beloved.
The couple's relationship was intense. Because of Rubtsov’s addiction to alcohol, the lovers constantly quarreled, even breaking up several times. In January 1971, they set a wedding date for February 19, then went to the passport office. But they didn’t want to register the woman because of her daughter.
On the way from the passport office, the partners argued, as a result, Nikolai met friends and went to a party. After some time, Lyudmila joined him in the chess club. At that time, the poet was already pretty drunk, he began to be jealous of his future wife towards the journalist Zadumkin.
The men managed to calm down, everyone went to continue the fun in Rubtsov’s apartment. But after a few drinks, Nikolai again began to create scenes of jealousy. He and Derbina were left alone in the room, and the poet began to shout at his beloved. Lyudmila tried to leave, but he began to threaten, attack and beat her. As a result, the woman accidentally strangled him while trying to defend herself. She was sentenced to 8 years, but was released after 6 years under an amnesty.
Material from Wikipedia - the free encyclopedia
Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov (January 3, 1936, village of Yemetsk, Northern Territory - January 19, 1971, Vologda) - Russian lyric poet.
From 1950 to 1952, the future poet studied at the Totemsky Forestry College. Then, from 1952 to 1953, he worked as a fireman in the Arkhangelsk trawl fleet of the Sevryba trust; from 1953 to 1955, he studied at the Mining and Chemical College of the Ministry of Chemical Industry in Kirovsk (Murmansk Region). Here at the same time, another orphanage resident and future famous writer, Venedikt Erofeev, was graduating from school. Since March 1955, Rubtsov was a laborer at an experimental military training ground.
From October 1955 to 1959, he served in the army in the Northern Fleet (with the rank of sailor and senior sailor). After demobilization, he lived in Leningrad, working alternately as a mechanic, fireman and charger at the Kirov plant.
Rubtsov begins to study at the literary association “Narvskaya Zastava”, meets young Leningrad poets Gleb Gorbovsky, Konstantin Kuzminsky, Eduard Shneiderman. In July 1962, with the help of Boris Taigin, he published his first typewritten collection, “Waves and Rocks.”
In August 1962, Rubtsov entered the Literary Institute. M. Gorky in Moscow and met Vladimir Sokolov, Stanislav Kunyaev, Vadim Kozhinov and other writers, whose friendly participation more than once helped him both in his creativity and in the matter of publishing poetry. Problems soon arose with his stay at the institute, but the poet continued to write, and in the mid-1960s his first collections were published.
In 1969, Rubtsov graduated from the Literary Institute and was accepted into the staff of the Vologda Komsomolets newspaper.
In 1968, Rubtsov’s literary merits received official recognition and he was allocated a one-room apartment No. 66 in Vologda on the fifth floor of a five-story building No. 3 on a street named after another Vologda poet, Alexander Yashin. Three years later, Rubtsov’s life tragically ended in this home.
He died on January 19, 1971 in his apartment, as a result of a domestic quarrel with a librarian and aspiring poetess Lyudmila Derbina (Granovskaya) (b. 1938), whom he was going to marry (on January 8 they submitted documents to the registry office). The judicial investigation established that the death was of a violent nature and resulted from suffocation - mechanical asphyxia from squeezing the neck organs with hands. Rubtsova’s beloved, in her memoirs and interviews, describing the fateful moment, claims that a heart attack occurred - “his heart simply could not stand it when we grappled.” Derbina was found guilty of the murder of Rubtsov, sentenced to 8 years, released early after almost 6 years, as of 2013 lives in Velsk, does not consider herself guilty and hopes for posthumous rehabilitation. Publicist and deputy editor-in-chief of the newspaper “Zavtra” Vladimir Bondarenko, pointing out in 2000 that Rubtsov’s death was somehow the result of Derbina’s actions, called her memoirs “senseless and vain attempts at justification.”
Creation
The Vologda “small homeland” and the Russian North gave him the main theme of his future work - “ancient Russian identity”, which became the center of his life, “land... sacred”, where he felt “both alive and mortal” (see Borisovo-Sudskoe) .
His first collection was released in 1962. It was called "Waves and Rocks." The second book of poems, “Lyrics,” was published in 1965 in Arkhangelsk. Then the poetry collections “Star of the Fields” (1967), “The Soul Keeps” (1969), and “The Noise of Pines” (1970) were published. “Green Flowers”, which were being prepared for publication, appeared after the poet’s death.
Rubtsov's poetry, extremely simple in its style and themes, associated primarily with his native Vologda region, has creative authenticity, internal scale, and a finely developed figurative structure.
In 1982, in the album “Star of the Fields” (Suite with poems by Nikolai Rubtsov), Alexander Gradsky performed songs based on the words of Nikolai Rubtsov.
In 1984, the group “Forum” released its debut album “White Night”, in which the song “The Leaves Flew Away” was written to the poems of Nikolai Rubtsov.
The song “Bouquet”, based on the poet’s verses, gained great popularity, the music for which was written by Alexander Barykin in 1987 (included on the 1988 album of the same name).
I'll be there for a long time
Drive a bike.
Narva of flowers.
And I'll give you a bouquet
To the girl I love.
I'll tell her:
- Alone with another
You forgot about our meetings,
And therefore in memory of me
Take these
Modest flowers! –
She'll take it.
But again at a late hour,
When the fog and sadness thicken,
She will pass
Without looking up,
Without even smiling...
So be it.
I'll be there for a long time
Drive a bike
I’ll stop him in the remote meadows.
I just want
To take the bouquet
The girl I love...
The purpose of this article is to find out how the sudden death of the poet NIKOLAY RUBTSOV is included in his FULL NAME code.
Watch "Logicology - about the fate of man" in advance.
Let's look at the FULL NAME code tables. \If there is a shift in numbers and letters on your screen, adjust the image scale\.
17 37 39 62 77 80 94 104 115 130 142 143 153 166 176 198 199 209 221 236 239 249 273
R U B C O V N I K O L A Y M I K H A Y L O V ICH
273 256 236 234 211 196 193 179 169 158 143 131 130 120 107 97 75 74 64 52 37 34 24
14 24 35 50 62 63 73 86 96 118 119 129 141 156 159 169 193 210 230 232 255 270 273
N I K O L A Y M I K H A Y L O VI C H R U B C O V
273 259 249 238 223 211 210 200 187 177 155 154 144 132 117 114 104 80 63 43 41 18 3
RUBTSOV NIKOLAY MIKHAILOVICH = 273.
(p)R(ist)U(p) + B(ol) (heart)C(e) + O(stano)V(ka) (breath)NI(i) + K(oxygen) (g)OL(od )A(nie) + (dead)Y + M(gnoven)I(e) + (backs)HA(nie) + (oxygen)Y (go)LO(d) + V(sudden)Y (heart)H( ny)...
273 = ,R,U, + B,C, + O,V,NI, + K,OL,A, + ,Y + M,I, + ,HA, + ,Y,LO, + V,I,CH , ...
5 11 14 46 65 79 80 85 108 109 128 143 149 181 195 198 199 216 248
D E V I T N A D C A T O E Y N V A R Y
248 243 237 234 202 183 169 168 163 140 139 120 105 99 67 53 50 49 32
"Deep" decryption offers the following option, in which all columns match:
(unexpected)D(annoye) (pr)E(ry)V(aniye) (breathing)I + (os)T(a)N(ovk)A (ser)DCA + (o)T (sudden)O (pr )E (tear)I (breathe)N(iya) (stop)V(k)A (se)R(dtsa) + (died)I
248 = ,D,E,V,I + ,T,N,A,DCA + ,T,O,E,I,N,V,A,R, + ,I.
Look at the column in the top table of the FULL NAME code:
199 = NINETEENTH JANUARY
________________________________
75 = (d)EVYATNA(tenth...)
199 = 85-(stopped) HEART VKA + 114-NO AIR
__________
75 = (no) AIR
Code for the number of full YEARS OF LIFE: 123-THIRTY + 96-FIVE = 219 = DEATH.
19 36 46 51 74 75 94 123 139 171 190 219
THIRTY FIVE
219 200 183 173 168 145 144 125 96 80 48 29
"Deep" decryption offers the following option, in which all columns match:
(sbi)T RI(tm) (ser)DCA + (death)TH + (outside)P(on)I (death)TH
219 = ,T RI,DCA + ,TH + ,P,I,TH.
Look at the column in the lower table of the FULL NAME code:
__________________________________
200 = (t) THIRTY FIVE
86 = (sudden) cardiac arrest
_____________________________________
200 = (sudden) CARDIAC ARREST
200 - 86 = 114 = FROM ARRHYTHMIA.
Reference:
Sudden arrhythmic death and threatening arrhythmias
medi.ru›Articles›1307
Development of issues related to the prevention of sudden death in patients with heart disease. ... catad_tema Heart rhythm and conduction disorders - articles.
Sudden arrhythmic death and threatening arrhythmias.
How dangerous is cardiac arrhythmia - can you die?
serdechka.ru›bolezni/aritmiya/chem-opasna.html
Cardiac arrhythmia is a disturbance in the rhythm of the heartbeat, along with improper functioning of electrical impulses that affect the heart rate, as a result of which it can beat slowly or very quickly.
Cardiac arrhythmia - what is it. Cardiac arrhythmia...
arrhythmia.center›serdechnaya-aritmiya/
An abnormal heart rhythm is referred to as cardiac arrhythmia.
209 = (con)INA FROM HEART ARRHYTHMIA
_____________________________________
74 = CUM(on)
Conclusion:
Encyclopedias » 100 GREAT LOVE STORIES » LYUDMILA DERBINA - NIKOLAI RUBTSOV
Nikolai Rubtsov (1936–1971) - an outstanding lyrical Russian poet, during his short life he managed to publish only four collections of poetry.
Her name was Lyudmila Derbina. She was an aspiring poetess and had known Rubtsov since the early 60s, when she first saw him in Moscow in the dormitory of the Literary Institute. However, then the young woman did not like the poet. “He unpleasantly struck me with his appearance,” she recalled much later.
- One of his eyes was almost invisible, a huge purple black eye covered it, several abrasions were on his cheek. On his head was a dusty beret, an old, worn-out coat of an indeterminate color was dangling on it. I could barely control myself not to turn around and leave immediately. But something stopped me." The meeting of the aspiring poets was fleeting, and that year they did not meet again. Derbina got married and gave birth to a daughter.
She remembered the poet only a few years later, when she read his second collection, “Star of the Fields,” which brought Nikolai Rubtsov wide fame:
I forgot what love is
And under the moonlight over the city
How many vows have I fulfilled?
I get gloomier when I remember this.
N. RUBTSOV
In early January 1971, despite the difficulties in their relationship, Derbina and Rubtsov decided to get married. Marriage registration was scheduled for February 19.
A few days after submitting the application, on January 18, the young people went with friends to celebrate some event at the club. Rubtsov once again became jealous of Lyudmila for some journalist. When he was calmed down and the incident seemed to be over, the cheerful company went to Nikolai’s apartment for a walk. There he drank a fair amount and began to pester his beloved again with reproaches and insults. Then the friends, considering that it was better for them to leave and for the young people to sort things out in private, hastened to leave. Only Rubtsov and Derbina remained in the apartment.
“I looked aloofly, with growing irritation, at the rushing Rubtsov,” Lyudmila Derbina recalled about that terrible night, “I listened to his scream, the roar coming from him, and for the first time I felt emptiness in myself. It was the emptiness of dashed hopes. What marriage?! With this drunkard?! It can't exist! Rubtsov drank the rest of the wine from the glass and threw the glass at the wall above my head... He slapped me several times... I stood and looked at him with hatred.”
By morning, Lyudmila tried to put her raging lover to bed, but he pushed, screamed and waved his arms. And then, suddenly suddenly grabbing the woman by the hands, he began to pull her into bed. Lyudmila broke free and jumped back in fear. “...Rubtsov rushed at me, forcefully pushed me back into the room,” Derbina said, “losing my balance, I grabbed him, and we fell...Rubtsov reached out to me with his hand, I grabbed it with mine and bit it hard. With her other hand, or rather, two fingers of her right hand, the thumb and forefinger, she began to tug at his throat. He shouted to me: “Luda, forgive me!” Luda, I love you!“... With a strong push, Rubtsov threw me away from him and turned over on his stomach. Thrown away, I saw his blue face.”
The frightened woman ran out of the house and at the first police station reported that she had killed her husband. The police did not believe it and advised the drunken lady to go back home. When she said that her husband was the poet Nikolai Rubtsov, the police officers became wary and still went to see what had happened.
The trial was long and painful. At first, Derbina was placed in a clinic for the mentally ill, but she in every possible way refused to stay there, preferring a prison cell to the proximity of seriously ill people. She recalled that everyone was interested in the trial taking place behind closed doors and in every possible way forced the killer to consent to this. Lyudmila agreed, but regretted it for a long time later. She was sentenced to eight years in prison. However, she had to serve five and a half years, after which she was released and went to Leningrad.
Her book about life with Nikolai Rubtsov, “Memories,” was published in 1994. Derbina denied her guilt and argued that the murder was manslaughter, as many believed at the time. “Kill him? - Derbina exclaimed. “I didn’t have such a monstrous thought... I didn’t want to kill him, abandon my young child and go to prison for many years.” She also recalled that before his death, the poet complained several times about heart pain and consulted a doctor. This, as well as some other circumstances of death, forced forensic experts many years later to make a completely different judgment that perhaps the poet died as a result of acute heart failure. Whether this is true or not is now impossible to determine.
An act of forensic medical examination, which established that the death of N.M. Rubtsov was caused by mechanical asphyxia, from compression of the neck organs by hands, and that before his death N.M. Rubtsov was in a state of moderate (close to severe) stage of intoxication.”
30 years later: the experts' word
At the end of 2000, Yuri Molin, professor of the Department of Forensic Medicine, and Alexander Gorshkov, head of the medical and forensic department of the regional bureau of forensic medicine, state forensic expert of the highest category, conducted an investigative experiment with the participation of Lyudmila Derbina. The simulated tragic events were recorded on a video camera. And this is what the poet’s “killer” told the experts:
- Rubtsov’s health in the last months of his life could not be called satisfactory. He complained of pain in his heart. He always had validol in his pocket. Rubtsov’s friend Sergei Chukhin wrote in his memoirs: “Rubtsov was ill. Various sizes of pills were scattered on the table next to the sofa. “You know, my heart is seizing”...
On January 4, 1971 (a few days before the tragedy - author's note) a heart attack occurred right in the Writers' Union. They wanted to call an ambulance, but he refused. Apparently, he got by with his pocket medicine again. On January 5, he walked around the house, bent over, holding his right hand over his heart. His medical record should have been preserved in the clinic at his place of residence, but the investigation did not consider it necessary to familiarize himself with it..."
The conclusion turned out to be unequivocal: Rubtsov died on his own, from a heart attack, which was provoked by chronic alcoholism with heart damage: “... overexertion associated with liberation from the hands of the attacker, and her sharp repulsion were the last factor that could cause the development of acute heart failure, which led to to death."
"I will die in the Epiphany frosts." The mystery of the death of Nikolai Rubtsov
According to the conclusions of the forensic examination, the cause of death was “mechanical asphyxia from squeezing the organs of the neck with hands” - in other words, the poet was strangled.
It later turned out that her fingers paralyzed Rubtsov’s carotid arteries, and that last push was nothing less than agony.
By the way, autumn is just around the corner.
Well, this isn't the first time I've seen this.
A dog whines in a wet kennel,
Healing battle wounds.
Cars are running, rushing straight ahead
And suddenly they fall from a pothole into a puddle.
When the truck howls, skidding,
This howl exhausts my soul.
Cold water is noisy all around,
And everything around is blurry and hazy,
An invisible wind, like a net,
Leaves are coming in from all sides...
There was a knock. I pulled the bolt.
I'm happy to hug my true friends.
We had fun for a few hours
Have fun with sad eyes.
When we said goodbye again in the hallway,
It was the first time I heard so clearly
How about the harsh approach of winter
The heavy rain was complaining to the roofs.
The time has passed when in the green meadow
I opened the patterned window -
And all the rays are like hundreds of kind hands,
The sun reached out to me in the morning...
Oh, why should I...
Oh, why should I
My heart was filled with sadness,
What is this sadness in my heart?
You just
I looked into the stoker,
And nothing else happened.
I managed to see
Just bangs
But behind you, as if behind fate,
I ran out
Then he chatted to no avail
About something insignificant with you.
I spoke indistinctly:
Like grandma
Which needs a coffin, not love,
Know because
Your friend Lucy
Did you chuckle and raise your eyebrow?
You were waiting for Vova,
We were very worried.
You asked: “Where is he now?”
And they fluttered lightly in the wind,
Worried too
Your hair.
The reason for your anxiety
And the fact that I'm superfluous here -
I knew it too!
And therefore, having said goodbye rank by rank,
He walked through the puddles to his boilers.
No, about love
The poems are not outdated!
It cannot be said that this is rubbish and scrap.
Who are you with now
Walking around Trout?
And who's kissing you around the corner?
And if you
You're sitting alone in the apartment,
Tell me: are you not expecting anyone to come to you?
There's not a single girl in the whole world
To say about love: “This is a lie!”
And there are no such guys in the whole world,
That they can live without loving girls.
I look out the window
Where there is only rain and wind,
But I only see you, you, you!
Larisa, listen!
I'm not lying at all -
Every sound of the verse is in tune with the heart.
And you, perhaps,
You say: “Well, Kolka!” -
And you’ll just laugh: ha-ha-ha!
Then not this one
There is an infection in my soul -
A melancholy that can burn stronger than fire.
And don't look again
Come to our stoker!
Do you understand me?
Birches
I love it when the birches rustle
When leaves fall from birch trees.
I listen and tears come
On eyes weaned from tears.
Everything will come to memory involuntarily,
It will resonate in the heart and in the blood.
It will become somehow joyful and painful,
It's like someone is whispering about love.
Only prose wins more often,
As if the wind of gloomy days will blow.
After all, the same birch tree makes noise
Over my mother's grave.
During the war, my father was killed by a bullet,
And in our village near the fences
With the wind and rain it made noise like a beehive,
Here is the same yellow leaf fall...
My Rus', I love your birches!
From the first years I lived and grew up with them.
That's why tears come
To eyes weaned from tears...
Bouquet
I'll be there for a long time
Drive a bike.
I’ll stop him in the remote meadows.
Narva of flowers.
And I'll give you a bouquet
To the girl I love.
I'll tell her:
Alone with someone else
You forgot about our meetings,
And therefore in memory of me
Take these
Modest flowers!..
She'll take it.
But again at a late hour,
When the fog and sadness thicken,
She will pass
Without looking up,
Without even smiling...
So be it.
I'll be there for a long time
Drive a bike
In the remote meadows I will stop you with it.
I just want
To take the bouquet
The girl I love...
In a white shirt I lie in the sedge,
Ancient Shuya is rolling.
I treasure every dim ray,
I treasure every flower.
Sometimes it’s cloudier, sometimes it’s brighter,
Quiet, a little sad
The same star that is above my life,
It will burn over the grave...
It’s light in my upper room...
It’s light in my upper room.
This is from the night star.
Mother will take the bucket,
Silently bring water...
My red flowers
Everything in the kindergarten withered.
Boat on the river bank
It will soon rot completely.
Slumbering on my wall
Willow lace shadow.
Tomorrow I have under her
It's going to be a busy day!
I will water the flowers
Think about your destiny
I'll be there before the night star
Make your own boat...
Away
Gleb Gorbovsky
Slum yard. Figure on the corner.
It seems that this is Dostoevsky.
And the yellow light in the window without a curtain
It burns, but does not dispel the darkness.
Granite thunder struck from the heavens!
A sharp wind rushed into the slum yard,
And I saw how Dostoevsky trembled,
How heavily he hunched over and disappeared...
It can't be that it wasn't him!
How can I imagine these shadows without him?
And the yellow light and dirty steps,
And thunder, and walls on four sides!
I continue to believe this nonsense
When to your den
Along the corridor in terrible darkness,
Having bowed, the poet leads me...
Where have I gotten, poor fellow!
You have never seen such pictures before,
Such dreams never hovered over you,
And may such evil pass you by!
The poet, like a wolf, gets drunk on an empty stomach.
And motionless, as if in a portrait.
He sits more and more heavily on the stool,
And everything is silent, not moving at all.
And in front of him, imitating someone
And bustling around the cities like everyone else,
A strange woman sits and smokes...
Oh, why do you smoke, madam!—
He says it's all going away
And every path the wind mourns,
What a strange nonsense that looks like a bear,
He was haunted again all night,
He says that we are of the same blood,
And he points his finger at me,
And I’m embarrassed to look like a sufferer,
And I laugh to look more alive.
And I thought: “What kind of poet are you,
When amidst a meaningless feast
The dying lyre can be heard less and less,
And does she hear a strange noise in response?..”
But they are all seriously entangled
Some kind of general nervous system:
A random cry, heard over bohemia,
Brings everyone to screams and tears!
And everything sticks out:
The neighbor is sticking in the doorway,
The awakened aunts are hanging around behind him.
Words stick out
A bottle of vodka sticks out,
A senseless dawn sticks out the window!
Again the window glass is in the rain.
Again it feels like fog and chills...
When the crowd reaches for the coffin,
After all, someone will say: “He burned out... in labor.”
On patrol
From splashes and wind
lips were salty
There was acute fatigue in the muscles,
On the decks
stretching out,
Flew
through the railing.
The dream seemed shorter than a salvo flash,
And the intensity of feelings was such,
What sudden alarm calls
There was a thundering in my ears,
like bells!
But the ship was sailing, throwing back the waves,
With an angry howl, tilting the mast,
And in flakes of foam, lathered as if,
Only the heavy armor was tempered.
And I realized -
be able to survive first!
And you will stop loving the roof over your head,
Let flowers
they will pave your way,
But you will go
stormy!..
In the hut
The hut stands smoking with a chimney,
A pockmarked old man lives in a hut,
Lives behind carved windows
The old woman, proud of herself,
And firmly, firmly to your limit -
Far from all universal affairs -
The hut has grown behind the hill
With all the family and goodness!
And only the son starts talking,
What does not want to guard the house,
And everyone is looking over the pass,
Where he has never been...
In the stoker
A white flame curls in the firebox,
White-white, like snow,
And stands heavy
There is a man near the firebox.
Instead of "Hello":
Step aside! -
There's fire here, don't get burned!
In the furnace the slag was broken in a big way
A crowbar red from the heat.
They showed through my shirt
Sweaty muscle mounds.
He threw the crowbar and wiped it off with a handkerchief.
He glanced sideways at me:
What about the vest, for the force? -
He asked ironically.
I laugh: - For me to wear
There is no better thing, fact!
Navy, then? - So, naval.
Well, that’s not bad if that’s the case!
As a fireman, you have to think,
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
And a shovel as a reward
He handed it to me: “Take it, sailor!”
It smelled like coal fumes
Dust got into my eyes and mouth,
And there's hot steam at my feet
The slag floated like a steamship.
How I wanted it to blow
The deck wind comes here...
But it didn't blow. I thought:
“And don’t! Nonsense!"
And he worked with such fervor,
As if an order had been given
Become a good stoker
To me, who went into reserve!
In moments of sad music
And the sound of gusty birches,
And the first snow under the gray sky
Among the extinct fields,
And a path without sun, a path without faith
Cranes driven by snow...
The soul has long been tired of wandering
In former love, in former hops,
The time has come to understand,
That I love ghosts too much.
But still in unsteady dwellings -
Try to stop them! -
Calling to each other, the violins cry
About the yellow stretch, about love.
And still under the low sky
I see clearly, to the point of tears,
And the sound of gusty birches.
As if the farewell hour is eternal,
As if time has nothing to do with it...
In moments of sad music
Don't talk about anything.
In the holy abode of nature,
In the shade of overgrown birches
Turbid waters flow
And the wheels squeak...
Sleep, mighty consciousness,
But someone's whistle and someone's light
Suddenly, like a memory,
The trail of my love is disturbing!
With a farewell haze
Old women's huts above the river...
Unforgettable views!
Unforgettable peace!
And how silent they are at night
Meek visions! Their dream
And everything that is behind their silence,
It worries us from all sides!
And a lonely grave
Takes the mind to heaven,
And there are the midnight lights
They bring up many, many thoughts...
In a Siberian village
It's a yellow bush
That's a boat upside down,
That cart wheel
In the mud...
Between the mugs -
They're probably looking for him...
The baby is sitting
The puppy whines nearby.
Puppy whines
And everything creeps towards the child,
And he forgot
Probably about him -
I'm drawn to chamomile
weak little hand
And he says...
God knows what!..
What peace!
It's only autumn here
Above the ice-bearing
rushing about the river,
But sleep tighter
When the night is deaf
From all sides
The tops of the pine trees rustle,
When it's usual
Heard in the air
Dreary aspens
Moans and prayers, -
In such a wilderness
Returning after the battle,
What a soldier
Didn't shed a tear?
Random guest
I'm looking for a place to live here
And now I sing
About a corner of Rus',
Where is the yellow bush?
And the boat is upside down,
And the wheel
Forgotten in the dirt...
Spring on the banks of the Biya
How much litter washed up on the birch trees
Playing hollow water!
Tractors, draggers with manure,
Foals with a passing train,
Geese, horses, golden ball,
Bright ball of the rising sun,
Chickens, pigs, cows, rooks,
Gorky drunkard with a new chervonets
At the counter
and a bush under the window -
Everything swims, drowns, laughs,
Wading in water and mud!
Along the shore of the mad Biya
They drive a herd of bulls on horseback -
And, bending his mighty necks,
The bulls raise a menacing roar.
I tell you: - The deaf will hear! -
And what kind in the vicinity of Biya -
Look - the skies are blue!
I tell you: - The blind will see,
And their roads will be easy.
I also say to the dear girl:
Don't look at me so sadly!
Darkness, snowstorm - it was all
And it passed - smile quickly!
Smile! - I repeat dearly. -
So that we are not washed away by the flood,
So that it is not in vain with inescapable strength
The sun was beating like a fountain of rays!
Spring at sea
The blizzards in the rocks ceased.
Flooding the air with light,
The sun splashed with rays
To the jubilant bay!
The day will pass - your hands will get tired.
But, covering up the fatigue,
Live sounds from the soul
They ask for a harmonious motive.
The light of the moon is thin at night,
The shore is bright at night,
The sea is calm as a kitten
Everything is scraping against the pier...
about spring
The wind sobbed like a child...
The wind sobbed like a child
Around the corner of a darkened house.
In the wide yard, rustling,
Straw scattered across the ground...
You and I didn't play at love,
We didn't know such art
We're just at the woodpile
They kissed out of a strange feeling.
Is it possible to part ways jokingly?
If it's so lonely at home,
Where is only the crying child wind
Yes, a woodpile of wood and straw.
If the hills are so dark,
And the gates creak without stopping,
And the breath of approaching winter
You can hear everything from the icy swamp...
about loneliness
about relationships
Wind from the Neva
I remember cold
wind from the Neva
And sad tilt
of your head.
I remember you rushing away
And yellow walls
from all sides.
I remember mine
crazy night
And the waves flying
past and away!
Love, not splashes
river blue,
Brought me a cold one
wind from the Neva...
Evening incident
I met a horse in the bushes.
And I shuddered. And it was too late.
There was fear in every water,
In any hay barn...
Why is she in such a wilderness?
Did you appear to me at such a time?
We were two living souls
But incapable of conversation.
We were two different faces,
Although they had two eyes.
We are so terribly, not completely,
We looked at each other twice.
And I was in a hurry - I confess to you -
With one thought to the household:
What is better for different creatures
In troubled places -
don't meet!
Visions on the Hill
I'll run up the hill
And suddenly there will be a whiff of antiquity from the valley.
And suddenly pictures of menacing discord
At this moment I will see in reality.
Desert light on starry shores
And strings of your birds, Russia,
Eclipse for a moment
In blood and pearls
Stupid shoe of high-cheekbone Batu!..
Russia, Rus' - wherever I look...
For all your suffering and battles -
I love your old Russia,
Your lights, graveyards and prayers,
I love your huts and flowers,
And the skies burning with heat,
And the whisper of willows by the muddy waters,
I love you forever, until eternal peace...
Russia, Rus! Protect yourself, protect yourself!
Look again into your forests and valleys
They came from all sides,
Tatars and Mongols of other times.
They carry a black cross on their flags,
They crossed the sky with crosses,
And it’s not the forests that I see around,
And the forest of crosses
in the surrounding area
Crosses, crosses...
I can't do it anymore!
I will abruptly take my palms away from my eyes
And suddenly I see: at attention in the meadow
Hobbled horses chew the grass.
They will neigh - and somewhere near the aspens
This slow neigh will pick up,
And above me -
immortal stars of Rus',
Tranquil twinkling of the high stars...
During a thunderstorm
Suddenly the sky broke
With cold flame and thunder!
And the wind began to twist and turn
Rock the gardens behind our house.
A curtain of cloudy rain
The forest expanses were clouded.
Cutting through the darkness and furrowing,
Lightning flew to the ground!
And the cloud went on and on and on!
The shepherd shouted, the flock rushed about,
And only the church under a thunderstorm
She was silent piously and holy.
I was silent, lost in thought,
Contemplating with a habitual gaze
An ominous holiday of existence,
Confused view of the native land.
And everything was split apart,
A lullaby was heard crying,
And the arrows of lightning kept rushing
Into an unsettling, boundless space.
Return from a flight
Oh, how brightly the lights swarm!
How we hurried to the ground from afar!
Coastal glory days!
Shore joyful meetings!
The soul of a sailor in his native city
At first he wanders, as if in a fog:
Where to go in a pea coat on a day off,
With all the melancholy, with a paycheck in your pocket?
He is in no hurry to answer the question,
And in the midst of this mental turmoil
Perhaps the sailor is worried
The best moments in a harsh life.
And yet the faces would be sullen
And the sailors looked hard,
If only the holds weren't bursting with fish,
When would I have to say: “Bad luck.”
Meeting
- How much you have changed! —
I exclaimed. And the friend was taken aback.
And he became sadder than an orphan...
But I, laughing, consoled him:
- Changing the previous features,
Changing age, anger and mercy,
Not only me, not only you,
And all of Russia has changed!..
about life
Yes, I will die!
Yes, I will die!
So what's wrong?
At least now from a revolver to the forehead!
May be,
The undertaker is smart
He will make me a good coffin.
What do I need a good coffin for?
Bury me anyway!
My pathetic trace
Will be trampled
The shoes of other tramps.
And everything will remain
How it was
On Earth, not for everyone...
It will be the same
Shine Shining
On the spit-stained globe!
Village nights
The wind under the windows
quiet as a dream
And behind the gardens
in the twilight of the fields
Quail calls,
early stars twinkling,
with bridle
I will run out of the darkness,
The hottest
I'll choose a horse
And over the mown grass,
clanking bits,
Horse to the neighboring village
will carry me.
Let the daisies meet
avoid hooves,
Trembling willows
sprinkled with dew, -
For me, like music,
the world will be filled again
The joy of date
simple with a girl!
I love everything without memory
I'm in a village camp,
They excite my heart
in the twilight of the fields
Quail calls,
distant stars twinkling,
Neighing of the hobbled
young horses...
Until the end
Until the end
Until the silent cross
Let the soul
It will remain clean!
Before this
Yellow, provincial
By my birch side,
Before the stubble
Cloudy and sad
On autumn days
sorrowful rains,
Before that
Strict village council,
Before that
Herd by the bridge
Before everything
With old white light
I swear:
My soul is pure.
Let her
Will remain clean
Until the end
Until the death cross!
Dobry Filya
I remember how amazing it was
That forest farm
Happily dozing off
Between animal roads...
There in a wooden hut,
No claims or benefits
So, no gas, no bathroom,
Good Filya lives.
Filya loves cattle,
Eats any food
Filya goes to the valley,
Filya blows the pipe!
The world is so fair
There's not even anything to hide...
Filya, why are you silent?
What should we talk about?
Road Elegy
Road, road,
Separation, separation.
Familiar before the deadline
Road flour.
And father's tribe,
And close souls
Forest magpie
One of my friends.
Road, road,
Separation, separation.
Tired in the dust
I'm dragging around like a prison guard.
It's getting dark in the distance
The plantain is depressed.
And a little scary
Without light, without a friend,
Road, road,
Separation, separation...
Cranes
Between the swamp trunks the fire-faced east flaunted...
When September comes, the cranes will suddenly appear!
And the cries of cranes will wake me up like a signal.
Above my attic, above the swamp, forgotten in the distance.
Here they fly, here they fly, announcing to us the period of withering
And the term of patience, as the legend of the biblical pages, -
Everything that is in the soul expresses sobbing to the end
And the mighty flight of these proud, illustrious birds!
Widely in Rus', farewell hands are waved to the birds.
The gloom of the swamps and the desolation of the chilling fields -
This will all be expressed, like a legend, by heavenly sounds,
The flying cry of the cranes will be heard far away!
Now they have fallen silent - and again the hills and villages become orphans,
The river becomes orphaned on its joyless banks,
The rumor of the swept grass and trees is becoming orphaned
Because - keep quiet - no one will express them that way!
lyrical
Blocked
my way
Oboz. I set foot on the stubble.
And I thought to myself:
Little by little
My village is changing!
Now in the fields
Cars everywhere
And there are no skinny mares to be seen,
And only eternal
Spirit of Buckthorn
Still just as bitter and sad.
They're coming, they're coming
Carts to the city
Along all the roads without end,
I can't hear the idle
Conversations
Idleness is not visible
For what?
She's just a child -
She's still just a child -
Lives playing and joking.
Let's walk through the dark forest!
Let's wake up the nightingale!
There by the road under a canopy
My favorite bench.
Let's run to the field quickly!
Let's look at the dawn!.. -
I obey unwillingly
And I also say something.
But my feelings are fighting inside me
I know too much in life
And often alone with her
It's not easy for me and I'm lonely.
And now she is already sad,
And now the meeting is more serious,
She will completely confuse
A tangle of my contradictions!
Why did we walk through the forest?
Why did they wake the nightingale?
Why did you stand under the canopy?
That lonely bench?
about relationships
Star of the Fields
Star of the fields in the icy darkness
Stopping, he looks into the wormwood.
The clock has already rung twelve,
And sleep enveloped my homeland...
Star of the fields! In moments of turmoil
I remembered how quiet it was behind the hill
She burns over the autumn gold,
It burns over the winter silver...
The star of the fields burns without fading,
For all the anxious inhabitants of the earth,
Touching with your welcoming ray
All the cities that rose in the distance.
But only here, in the icy darkness,
She rises brighter and fuller,
And I'm happy as long as I'm in this world
The star of my fields is burning, burning...
Green flowers
Sadness brightens when flowers bloom,
When I wander through a multi-colored meadow
Alone or with a good old friend
Who himself does not tolerate fuss.
Behind us is noise and dusty tails -
Everything has calmed down! One left
That the world is arranged menacingly and
Wonderful,
What is easier where there is a field and flowers.
Stopping in slow
I watch the day as I play,
blossoms.
But even here... something is missing
enough..
What is missing is what cannot be found.
How not to find the one that has gone out
As never before, wandering in bloom
Between white leaves and on white
I can't find green flowers...
Winter evening
The wind is not the wind -
I'm leaving home!
It's familiar in the stable
The straw crunches
And the light is shining...
And more -
not a sound!
Not a light!
Blizzard in the darkness
Flying over bumps...
Eh, Rus', Russia!
Why am I not calling enough?
Why are you sad?
Why did you doze off?
Let's wish
Good night everyone!
Let's take a walk!
Let's have a laugh!
And we'll have a holiday,
And we'll reveal the cards...
Eh! The trumps are fresh.
And the same fools.
winter night
Someone is moaning in a dark cemetery,
Someone is knocking on my door,
Someone is looking intently into the home,
Appearing in the midnight window.
At this time, get off the stormy road
Came to stay with me for the night
Somewhat incomprehensible and strange
A person from the other side.
And it’s no coincidence that the old blizzard woman
There is some terrible secret
In this plaintive cry of the night.
Dilapidated rafters bend,
And up the shaky stairs into the darkness,
To scare away the evil spirits,
I go to the attic with a flashlight.
Shadows scatter in the corners...
Who's there?.. - Deaf. Not a sound in response.
Below me, as if alive, the steps
So they walk... There is no salvation!
Someone moans all night in the cemetery,
Someone dies in a snowstorm - it’s hard to bear,
And it seems to me that in the home
Someone's been staring all night...
Winter song
Don't predict melancholy!
Quiet winter night.
Quiet ones glow, wonderful ones glow,
The sound of a wormwood can be heard...
My paths were difficult, difficult.
Where are you, my sorrows?
A modest girl smiles at me,
I myself am smiling and happy!
Difficult, difficult - everything is forgotten,
Bright stars are shining!
Who told me that in the dark darkness
Is the abandoned meadow going silent?
Who told me that hope is lost?
Who came up with this, friend?
The lights in this village are not turned off.
Don't predict melancholy!
Gently decorated with light stars
Quiet winter night...
Why are you, willow, growing up?
Over a navigable river
And you caress the muddy waves
As if they need peace?
Knowing no barriers or detours,
How noisy, ruining your life,
From passing ships
The waves are rushing towards you!
And there is a secluded edge of nature,
Where they can, sounding kindred,
Flowing waters in the shade
To respond to affection with affection...
When my soul
calm will come
From high, after thunderstorms, unfading skies,
When my soul inspires worship,
The herds go to sleep under the willow canopy,
When my earthly soul breathes holiness,
And the full river carries heavenly light,
I'm sad because
that I know this joy
It's just me alone. I have no friends with me...
White horse
In a dark field.
The river below freezes.
For an overnight stay
In a secluded hut
I settled down with the old man.
I told him:
The cold is angry!
And the barking of a dog is scary...
He looked
Smoked, listened
And he answered me: - Stay the night!
In my window
There are plenty of autumn stars!
And on the heart
Cats scratching * …
* Poem "White Horse..."
It didn't seem to be over.
Different sources give different options.
Compiler: Vita Pshenichnaya (Pskov)
offered Almanac-45 exactly this text...
To the cemetery
one vanity
There was a rebellion of heroic forces
And the summers will collapse into oblivion
To the orphan stars of graves?
Stalin said something while drunk -
And a rifle salvo rang out!
Stalin said something with a hangover -
The hymns were sung by the meeting hall!
Stalin died. He is no longer there.
What should I do, I tell myself,
So that there is a liquid dawn over the homeland
Has it become like a big dawn?
I'll walk the gloomy path
To remember the sob of the blizzard
And born in a long struggle
Lonely stars of the graves.
I'll go bow to the fields...
Maybe it's better not to think about everything,
And to leave, firing from the Berdanka,
in the vicinity of villages...
On the Sukhona River
Lots of gray water
a lot of gray skies
And a little flat uninhabited land,
And a few lights along the shore... I would like
A free sailor again
Hire on ships!
So that with a cheerful soul
Again sail into the unknown, -
Maybe the old happiness will flash ahead!..
Meanwhile, they do not spare
This good area
Like someone's revenge, torrential rains.
But on the other side under the flood
Dragged ashore -
Apparently, it must be an old lady with a hump,
But again the men rushed to the courtyard at a gallop
And with a cart and horses
We boarded the ferry again.
So, I think I would like to become a hairy ferryman!
If only I could choose this, as others could, -
Lots of gray water
a lot of gray skies
And a little flat native land,
And a few lights along the shore...
They came
There were no dogs - and suddenly they started barking.
Late at night - what miracles! -
Someone is driving into the field behind the barns.
There were no guests - and then they arrived.
There was no news - so get it!
And again under the crimson willows
The holiday ended by chance.
Forgive us, my tired little boy,
Forgive me like brothers and sisters:
Maybe we are beyond all our experience
We lit our last fire.
Maybe they came for the last time,
Maybe they won't visit you soon...
Like in a garden, a crimson garden
The leaves rustle sadly.
Under the moon, under the dying willows
We looked at my favorite region
And again they rushed off, hasty,
And the dog's barking disappeared in the distance...
Nightfall
It's dawn again
It's getting dark and dawning
On the frozen snow,
On the roofs of villages,
And in the grave
Calm coasts
An unknown day has passed.
The light is fading...
That's it... a little more.
And, rising
In the fading distance,
All the horror of the night
Right outside the window
It's like it's going to get up
Suddenly from underground!
And so alarming
In the hour before the raid
Pitch darkness
Without life and trace,
It's like the sun
Red over the snow
Huge,
It's gone forever!
Didn't come
From the restaurant window -
green light,
swamp,
From asphalt to stars
shaded night
snowfall,
The snow is deaf,
candid,
impassive,
cold
Above me
over the Neva,
over the sailor
a tough squad.
Crazy,
along iron fences,
Surprising people
Why am I wandering around?
And why am I freezing?
You've come to me before
didn't come soon
But she didn’t come at all...
Strange light
poisonous,
swamp,
Snow and snow
without blizzard
whistling and howling.
The snow is deaf,
candid,
impassive,
cold,
Dead snow
won't you give me peace?
Autumn
It's time -
The joy of my soul:
Everything is shaky
But it’s already green!
It's time
Autumn decay,
Kindred to the soul!
Dirt all around
And he’s drawn to the swamp,
Rain all around
And it's drawn to the river,
And the hut is sad
Between the boats
On its stormy
The leaves are flying around,
They float away
Past the bare branches
These days
There are some dearer to me
And images of loss!
Don't shed any tears
Over a marsh hummock
Because it's too
I'm about to die -
And I'll become cold
Then, my love,
And although despair
You understand
In a new way already,
Autumn decay -
Kindred to the soul!
Autumn evening
Evening. Floats along the roads
Autumn is cold and groaning.
Croaks near a haystack
A flock of chilled crows.
Slippery uneven path
In the thickets of windy willows
The horse comes from the watering hole
Head down.
Summoned by a sky without measure,
As if from many sieves,
Rain, cold and fine,
Everything is drizzling, drizzling...
Reply to letter
How can I answer you about the deception?
That our long-standing meetings at the haystack?
When did you run away to Azerbaijan,
I didn’t say, “Good riddance!”
Yes, I loved it. So what? So be it.
It's time to leave the past alone.
I haven't felt sad for a long time now
And no desire to fix anything.
We will not repeat words of love
And we won’t make dates.
But if we do meet again,
Then together we will deceive someone...
Departure
Blurred path. Poplar curves.
I listened to the noise - it was time to take off.
And so I got up and walked out the gate,
Where the yellow fields stretched,
And he went into the distance... In the distance he sang sadly
The whistle of a foreign land, the whistle of separation!
But, looking into the distance and listening to the sounds,
I haven't regretted anything yet -
The pier was bleak at this late hour.
Cigarettes burned sparkling in the darkness,
And the gangway groaned, and the gloomy sailors
They hurried us wearily.
And suddenly there was such a whiff from the fields
Longing for love, longing for short dates!
To the misty shore of your youth.
In memory of mother
This is where the peace ends!
The blizzard howled, kicking up the snow.
The wolves howled across the river
In the darkness of the meadow.
I sit among my poems,
Papers and trash.
And somewhere in the darkness of the snow
Mom's grave.
There is a field, sky and haystacks,
I want to go there - oh, kilometers!
The snow will knock me off my feet,
The night winds will drive you crazy!
But I can, but I can
Of your own free will
Make a way through the blizzard
In the animal field!..
Who's knocking there?
Go away!
Tomorrow I'm expecting cherished guests...
Or maybe mom?
Maybe it's night -
Night winds?
First snow
Oh, who doesn't love the first snow?
In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,
In the fields, in villages and in the forest,
Slightly humming in the wind!
Dozhinki are celebrated in the village,
And snowflakes fly towards the accordion.
And all in glowing snow,
Moose freezes while running
On a distant shore.
Why are you holding a whip in your palm?
Horses gallop easily in harness,
And along the roads between the fields,
Like a flock of white doves,
Snow flies up from under the sleigh...
Oh, who doesn't love the first snow?
In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,
In the fields, in villages and in the forest,
Slightly humming in the wind!
In the evenings
From the bridge there is a road going uphill.
And on the mountain - what sadness! -
The ruins of the cathedral lie
It’s as if the old Rus' is sleeping.
Former Rus'! Wasn't it in those years
Our day is like it’s on our chest,
Was nourished by the image of freedom,
Always flashing ahead!
What a joyful life
I burned out and moved away!
And yet I hear from the pass,
How it blows here, how Rus' lived.
Still as fun and powerful
Here the guys get along stirrups,
It's warm and clear in the evenings,
Just like in those old days...
Through wet squares
autumn passes,
Frowning face!
On loud violins
dense pines
The storm is playing!
Embracing the wind
I'm walking through the park
In the dark of the night.
I'm looking under the roof
your cave -
It's very quiet.
The desert is burning
electric flame,
In the same place
Like some kind of precious stone,
The ring sparkles -
And the thought, flying,
looking for someone
Around the world...
Who's knocking there?
to my home?
There is no peace!
Oh, this evil old woman is autumn,
Frowning face
It's knocking on me
and in the needles of pine trees
The storm will not be silent!
Where from the storm,
from bad weather
Will I hide myself?
I remember the past years
And I'm crying...
The story of first love
I served in the Navy too!
I'm full of memory too
About that incomparable work -
On the crests of monstrous waves.
By you - ah, sea, sea! -
I'm pumped up to the core,
But, apparently, he’s in trouble
Served you for so long...
My beloved almost died, -
Oh, mother, native land! -
Sobbing, she beat on my chest,
Like the sea on the chest of a ship.
In your endless sadness,
As if following a ship,
Whispered: “I’m waiting for you... forever,”
She whispered: “I... love you.”
I love you! What sounds!
But the sounds are neither this nor that, -
And somewhere at the end of separation
She forgot about everything.
One day from some road
I sent a few words:
“My dear! After all, this is the case for many
Now love is passing..."
And yet on cold nights
Sadder than the visions of others
Her eyes, very close,
And the sea that took them away.
about relationships
Under the branches of hospital birches
Under the branches of weeping trees
In the clean windows of hospital wards
Woven entirely from purple feathers
For some, the last sunset...
It seems strong, like a fresh vegetable,
Man, and his life is easy, -
Suddenly an ambulance rushes by,
And the siren shouts: “Make way!”
Here I am at the hospital.
And they sing such speeches to me,
What kind of sinful participation is this?
Don't fall in love with hospital comfort!
On a bright evening to the music of Grieg
In a quiet grove of hospital birches
I would probably die without screaming
But I probably couldn’t do it without tears...
No, not everything, I say, flew by!
We are stronger than this disaster!
So, the sweetest thing is
This is to drink some water,
Whistle like a canary
And think about life seriously
On some old bench
Under the branches of hospital birches...
Train
The train rushed with a roar and howl,
The train rushed along with clanging and whistling,
And towards him a yellow swarm
Lights rushed across the misty expanse.
The train was racing at full speed
Powerful forces, incomprehensible to the mind,
In the midst of indestructible worlds.
The train rushed with the same intensity
Somewhere in the very wilds of the universe
Just before the crash, perhaps,
In the midst of phenomena without names...
Here he is, his fiery eye sparkling,
Takes off... Make way, on foot!
At a junction somewhere near a barn
He picked me up and carried me like crazy!
Together with him I am in the misty expanse
I don’t dare think about peace, -
I'm rushing somewhere with clanging and whistling,
I'm rushing somewhere with a roar and a howl,
I'm rushing somewhere with full tension,
I, as I am, am a mystery of the universe.
Just before, perhaps, the crash
I shout to someone: “Goodbye!”
But enough! Fast movement
The world is getting bolder every year,
And what a disaster it could be,
What if there are so many people on the train?
philosophical
I remember how along the path
barely noticeable
In the thick sedge, where the ducks quacked,
We went with a prison in the summer
Catching burbot
under river snags.
Catching burbot was not easy.
One desire is not enough.
We were tired and shivering
From a long swim,
But we were brave: “A fisherman doesn’t cry!”
Splashed in the water
to the point of dizziness
And finally onto the hot sand
Together they fell exhausted!
And long after we dreamed while lying down
About something very big and bold,
We looked at the sky, and the sky too
Through the eyes of the stars
looked at us...
Port night
In the snow, like seals,
Boulders lie
Seagulls splash in the foam
The oncoming wave.
The port becomes silent at night,
Everyone finished their work
The lights are flashing
Their home comfort...
Suddenly the water starts to rumble
On the sides of ships,
It will bubble, it will bubble,
Waking up again
There will be sailors' wives
Turn on the lights in the houses.
Will be anxious again
Their midnight comfort
And excited too
Children will cling to the windows.
Know, therefore, to the squalls,
Creating horror
To the swept rocks
The ships cannot be turned around.
Dedication to a friend
My dahlias are freezing.
And the last nights are near.
And on lumps of yellowing clay
Petals are flying over the fence...
No, I won’t be happy - what are you saying! -
Lonely wandering star.
My planes have flown by
My trains whistled.
My steamships sounded their horns,
My carts creaked, -
I came to you in days of bad weather,
So please, at least give me some water!
Do not break the chains of life for me,
Don't rush away with eyes of grief,
To the Pugachev free steppes,
Where the soul of a rebel walked.
Do not break the painful connection for me
Happy long autumn of our land,
With a tree by a damp hitching post,
With cranes in the cold distance...
But I love you on days of bad weather
And I wish you forever
So that your ships hum,
May your trains whistle!
about friends
Poetry
Singing flight through the winds
And waves of thunderous applause
The ship of my life is sailing
to demobilization.
The fleet will not be forgotten all my life,
And you, ship's quarters,
And the sea, where the service takes place
Under the flag of the Soviet Republic.
But the time is near when I
I'll get off the train at the station.
My youth will continue
In the alleys with flowers and dancing.
In labor and among piles of stones,
In canteens where prices are reduced
And beer is served on the table
Simple beautiful women.
Everything will become a golden reality,
What did the sailors dream of at night...
The ship of my life is sailing
On the sea of love and poetry.
Holiday in the village
How much vodka was drunk!
How many glasses have been broken!
How much money has been lost!
How many women are abandoned!
Someone's children were crying
Somewhere the finches were tinkling...
Eh, gray lion!
Life was... beautiful!
Hello Russia
Hello, Russia is my homeland!
How joyful I am under your foliage!
And there is no singing, but I hear clearly
The choral singing of invisible singers...
It was as if the wind was driving me along it,
All over the earth - in villages and capitals!
I was strong, but the wind was stronger
And I couldn't stop anywhere.
Hello, Russia is my homeland!
Stronger than storms, stronger than any will
Love for your barns by the stubble,
Love for you, hut in the azure field.
I won't give up all the mansions
Your own low house with nettles under the window.
How peaceful it is in my upper room
The sun was setting in the evenings!
Like all the space, heavenly and earthly,
I breathed happiness and peace through the window,
And the glorious air of antiquity emanated,
And he rejoiced under the showers and heat!..
Nature
Rings, laughs like a baby,
And looks after the sun.
And between houses, birches, woodpiles
The heavenly light burns and flows.
Like over a crying baby,
Playing with her, after thunderstorms
Patterned clean towel
A rainbow hangs from the birches,
And peaceful
the smell of honey
A wave rolls through the grass, -
All nature eats it
And generously shares with me!
And breathes freely
starry night
To the lullaby creaking of carts...
And suddenly he becomes terribly angry
Just like an adult.
about nature
Farewell song
I will leave this village...
The river will be covered with ice,
The doors will creak at night,
The mud in the yard will be deep.
Mother will come and fall asleep without a smile...
And in the lost gray land
That night by the birch bark
You will pay for my betrayal.
So why, squinting your eyelashes,
At a deaf swamp stump
Ripe cranberries, like a good bird,
Did you feed me from your palm?
Do you hear the wind rustling through the barn?
Do you hear your daughter laughing in her sleep?
Maybe the angels are playing with her
And they fly away into the sky with her...
Don't be sad! On the chilling pier
Don't expect a steamer in the spring!
Let's have a drink and say goodbye
For a short tenderness in the chest.
You and I are like different birds!
What should we wait on the same shore?
Maybe I can return
Maybe I never can.
You don't know how it is at night on the paths
Behind my back, wherever I go,
Someone's angry, overtaking stomp
I hear everything as if in delirium.
But one day I will remember about cranberries,
About your love in the gray land
And I will send you a wonderful doll,
Like your last fairy tale.
So that the girl, rocking the doll,
I never sat alone.
Mom, mommy! What a doll!
And she blinks and she cries...
Farewell
Sad Vologda
On a dark sad land
And the people of the ancient outskirts
They pass anxiously in the darkness.
Darling! What else will happen
With me? Native dawn
Tomorrow won't wake me up,
Playing in the window and grief.
The merry trumpets have fallen silent
And dancing all over the floor
And the door of an empty club
Sadly it has already closed.
Darling! What else will happen
With me? Native dawn
Tomorrow won't wake me up,
Playing in the window and grief.
And restrained speech is sad
On a dark sad porch.
Everything was fun at the beginning
Everything turned sad at the end.
At the dark junction of separation
And in a dark farewell car
I hear sad sounds
Which no one hears...
Let the poets sing!
It's hard for me to think:
So much noise.
I want a speech
Simple, human
What's the fuss about?
My friends, poets,
In a restless house until late?
I hear an argument
I see silhouettes
Against the dim background of a late window.
Already their thoughts
Filled with strength!
Where will they start?
What word will they say?
They're screaming
They wave their hands
It's like they were just born!
In what words
Sing your praises, O companion!
Your proud rise is my fall.
A literary officer told me about this,
Directing the pen into poetry,
Like a spear.
Like, the rocket age,
The automobile age,
And the muse is so calm and quiet!
And the ink cross,
Like a grave cross
Confidently put it in verse.
Rest in peace on this one
And we should part,
But why
In harmony with the “Left March”
Quiet Yesenin iambs
They beat and sound so loud in the heart!
With cheerful singing
In the serene sky,
With all my love and longing
No match for the eagle
Tender lark,
But they both fly high!
And, praising the takeoff
space rocket,
Getting ready to fly to the skies in it,
Let them not make noise
Let the poets sing
Discord
We met
At the mill dam.
And I told her right away
He said it all!
To whom, he said,
Need your quirks?
Why, - said -
Did you go to the station?
She said:
It's not my fault.
Answer, I said,
Who is to blame? -
She said:
I met my brother.
Ha ha, I said,
Is this brother?
There was something missing in my brain:
Giving up on everything
I started laughing.
I laughed
And the echo laughed
And it rumbled
Mill road.
She said:
What do you want?
I want, I said,
So I want to laugh! -
She said:
You never know what you want!
I don't want to listen to this anymore.
Of course I don't
I wasn't scared
Like everyone else
Who is not to blame for anything,
And in vain that night
Burnt and fluttered
At the end of a deserted street
Pay
I forgot what love is
And under the moonlight over the city
I blurted out so many oath words,
I get gloomier when I remember this.
And one day, pressed against the wall
The ugliness that follows the trail,
Lonely I'll cry out in my sleep
And I’ll wake up, and I’ll leave, and I’ll leave...
Late at night the door will open,
It will be a sad moment.
At the threshold I will stand like an animal,
Wanting love and comfort.
He will turn pale and say: “Go away!”
Our friendship is now over!
I don't mean anything to you!
Leave! Don't look at me crying!..
And again along the forest road
Where weddings used to fly,
Restless, gloomy, nocturnal,
I'm anxiously leaving in the snowstorm...
Native village
Although the passerby curses
The roads of my coasts,
I love the village of Nikola,
Where did you graduate from primary school?
It happens that a dusty boy
We will follow the guest
He's in too much of a hurry to get on the road:
“I’ll leave here too!”
Among the surprised girls
Brave, barely out of diapers:
- Well, why wander around the province?
It's time to go to the capital!
When will he grow up in the capital,
Looks at life abroad
Then he will appreciate Nikola,
Where did you graduate from primary school...
Russian light
Immersed in languid frost,
The snow around me has become numb!
The little spruce trees became numb,
And the sky was dark, without stars.
What a wilderness! I was alone alive
One alive in an endless dead field!
Suddenly a quiet light - a dream, or what? —
Flashed in the desert like a sentry...
I was just like Bigfoot
Entering the hut - the last hope! —
And I heard, shaking off the snow:
- Here's a stove for you... And warm clothes... -
Then the hostess listened to me,
But there was little life in the dim look,
And, sitting motionless by the fire,
She seemed to have completely dozed off...
How many yellow photographs are there in Rus'?
In such a simple and careful frame!
And suddenly he opened up to me and amazed me
The orphan meaning of family photos!
The earth is full of fire and hostility,
And the soul will not forget everyone’s loved ones...
- Tell me, dear, will there be a war?
And I said:
- Probably won't.
- God willing, God willing... you can’t please everyone,
But no good will come from discord... -
And suddenly again: “It won’t happen, you say?”
“No,” I say, “probably won’t happen!”
- God forbid, God forbid...
And long on me
She looked like a deaf-mute
And, without raising his gray head,
Again she sat quietly by the fire.
What did she dream about? All this white light
Perhaps he stood before her at that moment?
But I am the dull jingle of coins
Interrupted her ancient visions.
- The Lord is with you! We don't take money.
“Well,” I say, “I wish you health!”
For all the good we will pay with good,
Let's pay for all the love with love...
Thank you, humble Russian light,
Because you are in an anxious premonition
You burn for those who are in the roadless field
Desperately far from all my friends,
For being friends with good faith,
Among great anxieties and robbery
You burn, you burn like a kind soul,
You are burning in the darkness, and you have no peace...
The rain hasn't stopped for seven days...
For seven days the rain has not stopped.
And there is no one to stop him.
More and more often a gloomy thought flashes,
That the whole village could be flooded.
The haystacks are floating. The boards are spinning and flying.
And slowly sank to the bottom
Forgotten carts on the shore,
And the black threshing floor sank.
And the roads become rivers,
Lakes turn into seas
And the water breaks through the rapids,
Family breaking anchors...
It's been pouring for a week. The second one is pouring... Picture
This is something we have never seen sadder!
Lifeless water plain
And the sky is hopeless above her.
The graves in the cemetery are flooded,
Fence posts are still visible,
They toss and turn like crocodiles
Between the thickets of flooded coffins,
They break, floating up, and into the darkness
Under the harsh, relentless rain
Terrible debris is being carried away
And they are remembered for a long time later...
The hills and groves became islands.
And it’s fortunate that the villages are on the hills.
And the men, shaking their heads,
They exchanged rare words,
When the boats moved in the dark,
And they shouted sternly at the children,
We saved livestock, saved every house
And they said in a dull voice: “Thank God!”
The rain is weakening... just about... a little more.
And everything will go as usual.
September
Glory to you, heavenly one
Joyful brief peace!
Your sunshine is wonderful
He plays with our river,
The crimson one plays with the grove,
With a scattering of berries in the entryway,
As if a holiday had arrived
On golden-maned horses!
I rejoice in loud barking,
Leaves, cow, rook,
And I don't wish for anything
And I don't want anything!
And no one knows
That, speaking with winter,
The heavenly one lurks in the abyss
Wind and sadness of October...
about autumn
Sergey Yesenin
The rumors were stupid and harsh:
Who is Yesenin Seryoga, they say,
Judge for yourself: hanged himself out of boredom
Because he drank a lot.
Yes, he did not look at Rus' for long
With the blue eyes of a poet.
But was there tavern sadness?
There was sadness, of course... But not this one!
Miles of ever-shaken earth,
All earthly shrines and bonds
As if entered by the nervous system
Into the waywardness of Yesenin's muse!
This is not a muse of yesterday.
I love her, I’m indignant and I cry.
She means a lot to me
If I myself mean anything.
Is the wedding jumping...
Does the wedding gallop in the wilderness of the shocked forest,
Or, like a weasel, in moments of inclement weather
Somewhere you can hear the singing of a children's choir, -
This is how I remember it happened in previous years!
Will the stars flare up - I will remember that they shone before
These are the same stars. And by chance I’ll go out to the ferry, -
Before - I think - these same oars splashed...
It’s as if you can’t think about life any other way!
You speak, you speak, as in the homeland of the moon
Illuminated snow flew under the crow’s feet,
How, without looking back, excited, strong and young,
In an open field you rushed down the road!
You believed in happiness, as they believe in simple luck,
I listened to the infant talk of nature about happiness, -
Well, speak up! But don't think that if I cry,
This means that I myself regret the same years.
The gusty wind brings sad thoughts.
But not about that. And I remembered that sadly
I never thought before: “I remember this happened!”
Before he was brave: “Will such a thing happen in the world!”
Will the stars flare up - will this happen in the world! -
That's what I said. And by chance I’ll go out to the ferry, -
“Soon,” I thought, “they will wake me up at dawn,
How far can I sail from my boring home!..”
Oh, if only I could rise up tomorrow with renewed spirit,
With childlike faith in countless eternal years,
Oh, if only I could believe that the years will seem like fluff, -
How the ships would deceive me again!..
It's hot
It's hot. Flies are flying.
The garden withers under the sultry sky.
Sleepy old women at the church
They jostle, rave, squeal.
I look gloomily at the cripple,
I can imagine how this can happen -
I can't give to a person
Is he entitled to a nickel?
And how is it that I am less and less
I worry, cry and love?
It's like I'm dreaming too
And in this dream I wander anxiously...
Secret
A wonderful month is burning over the river,
Over the places of adolescence,
And in a homeland full of peace,
The light is burning wide...
This month is not burning by chance
Rubtsov Nikolay Mikhailovich
Born: January 3, 1936.
Died: January 19, 1971 (age 35).
Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov (January 3, 1936, village of Yemetsk, Northern Territory - January 19, 1971, Vologda) - Russian lyric poet.
Born on January 3, 1936 in the village of Yemetsk, Kholmogory district of the Northern Territory (now Arkhangelsk region). In 1937 he moved with his large family to Nyandoma. In 1939-1940, Rubtsov’s father Mikhail Andrianovich worked as the head of the Nyandoma Gorpo. In January 1941, “Mikhail Rubtsov left Nyandoma for the Vologda City Party Committee. In Vologda, the Rubtsovs were caught up in the war. In the summer of 1942, Rubtsov’s mother and younger sister died, the father was at the front, and the children were sent to boarding schools. This summer, 6-year-old Nikolai wrote his first poem.
Nikolai and his brother first ended up in the Krasovsky orphanage, and from October 1943 until June 1950, Nikolai lived and studied in an orphanage in the village of Nikolskoye, Totemsky district, Vologda region, where he graduated from seven classes of school (now the House is located in this building). Museum of N. M. Rubtsov). In the same village, his daughter Elena was subsequently born in a civil marriage with Henrietta Mikhailovna Menshikova.
In his autobiography, written upon entering Tralflot in 1952, Nikolai writes that his father went to the front and died in 1941. But in fact, Mikhail Adrianovich Rubtsov (1900-1962) survived, after being wounded in 1944 he returned to Vologda and in the same year he married again and lived in Vologda. Due to the loss of documents in the Krasovsky orphanage, he could not find Nikolai and met him only in 1955.
From 1950 to 1952, Rubtsov studied at the Totemsky Forestry College. From 1952 to 1953 he worked as a fireman in the Arkhangelsk trawl fleet of the Sevryba trust, from August 1953 to January 1955 he studied at the mine surveying department at the Mining and Chemical College of the Ministry of Chemical Industry in Kirovsk, Murmansk Region. In January 1955, he failed the winter session and was expelled from the technical school. Since March 1955, Rubtsov was a laborer at an experimental military training ground.
From October 1955 to October 1959, he served as a rangefinder on the Northern Fleet destroyer Ostry (with the rank of sailor and senior sailor). On May 1, 1957, his first newspaper publication took place (the poem “May has come”) in the newspaper “On Guard of the Arctic.” After demobilization, he lived in Leningrad, working alternately as a mechanic, fireman and charger at the Kirov plant.
Rubtsov begins to study at the literary association “Narvskaya Zastava”, meets young Leningrad poets Gleb Gorbovsky, Konstantin Kuzminsky, Eduard Shneiderman. In July 1962, with the help of Boris Taigin, he published his first typewritten collection, “Waves and Rocks.”
In August 1962, Rubtsov entered the Literary Institute. M. Gorky in Moscow and met Vladimir Sokolov, Stanislav Kunyaev, Vadim Kozhinov and other writers, whose friendly participation more than once helped him both in his creativity and in the matter of publishing poetry. Problems soon arose with his stay at the institute, but the poet continued to write, and in the mid-1960s his first collections were published.
In 1969, Rubtsov graduated from the Literary Institute and was accepted into the staff of the Vologda Komsomolets newspaper.
In 1968, Rubtsov’s literary merits received official recognition, and in Vologda he was allocated a one-room apartment No. 66 on the fifth floor of a five-story building No. 3 on a street named after another Vologda poet - Alexandra Yashina.
Writer Fedor Abramov called Rubtsov the brilliant hope of Russian poetry.
He died on the night of January 19, 1971 in his apartment, as a result of a domestic quarrel with the aspiring poetess Lyudmila Derbina (Granovskaya) (born 1938), whom he was going to marry (on January 8 they submitted documents to the registry office). The judicial investigation established that the death was of a violent nature and resulted from suffocation - mechanical asphyxia from squeezing the neck organs with hands. Derbina, in her memoirs and interviews, describing the fateful moment, claims that a heart attack occurred - “his heart simply could not stand it when we grappled.” She was found guilty of the murder of Rubtsov, sentenced to 8 years, released early after almost 6 years, as of 2013 she lived in Velsk, did not consider herself guilty and hoped for posthumous rehabilitation. Publicist and deputy editor-in-chief of the newspaper “Zavtra” Vladimir Bondarenko, pointing out in 2000 that Rubtsov’s death was somehow the result of Derbina’s actions, called her memoirs “senseless and vain attempts at justification.”
Biographers mention the poem Rubtsova“I will die in the Epiphany frosts” as a prediction of the date of my own death. The Vologda Museum of Nikolai Rubtsov contains the poet’s will, found after his death: “Bury me where Batyushkov is buried.”
Nikolai Rubtsov was buried in Vologda at the Poshekhonskoye cemetery.
The Vologda “small homeland” and the Russian North gave him the main theme of his future work - “ancient Russian identity”, became the center of his life, “sacred land!”, where he felt “both alive and mortal” (see Borisovo-Sudskoe) .
His first collection, “Waves and Rocks,” appeared in 1962 in samizdat; his second book of poems, “Lyrics,” was officially published in 1965 in Arkhangelsk. Then the poetry collections “Star of the Fields” (1967), “The Soul Keeps” (1969), and “The Noise of Pines” (1970) were published. “Green Flowers”, which were being prepared for publication, appeared after the poet’s death.
Rubtsov's poetry, extremely simple in its style and themes, associated primarily with his native Vologda region, has creative authenticity, internal scale, and a finely developed figurative structure.
The House-Museum of N. M. Rubtsov has been operating in the village of Nikolskoye since 1996.
In the city of Apatity, Murmansk region, on January 20, 1996, on the facade of the library-museum building, where Rubtsov’s readings have been held in Apatity since 1994, a memorial plaque in memory of the poet was installed.
In Vologda, a street was named after Nikolai Rubtsov and a monument was erected (1998, sculptor A. M. Shebunin).
In 1998, the name of the poet was assigned to St. Petersburg Library No. 5 (Nevskaya Central Library) (Address 193232, St. Petersburg, Nevsky district, Shotmana St., 7, building 1). In the library. Nikolai Rubtsov there is a literary museum “Nikolai Rubtsov: Poems and Fate”.
A monument by sculptor Vyacheslav Klykov was erected in Totma.
In Kirovsk, on the facade of the new building of the Khibiny Technical College (formerly the Kirov Mining and Chemical College, where the poet studied in 1953-1955), on January 19, 2000, a memorial plaque in memory of the poet was installed.
In 2001, in St. Petersburg, on the building of the administrative building of the Kirov plant, a marble memorial plaque was installed, with the famous cry of the poet: “Russia! Rus! Protect yourself, protect yourself! A monument to Rubtsov was also erected in his homeland, in Yemetsk (2004, sculptor Nikolai Ovchinnikov).
Since 2009, the All-Russian Poetry Competition named after. Nikolai Rubtsov, whose goal is to find and support young aspiring poets from among the pupils of orphanages.
In Vologda there is a museum “Literature. Art. Century XX" (branch of the Vologda State Historical, Architectural and Art Museum of the Reserve), dedicated to the work of Valery Gavrilin and Nikolai Rubtsov.
In Yemetsk secondary school named after. Rubtsov, Yemetsk Museum of Local Lore. N. M. Rubtsov, a monument to Rubtsov was erected.
In the village of Nikolskoye, a street and a secondary school are named after the poet; a house-museum of the poet was opened on Nikolai Rubtsov Street (in the building of a former orphanage). There is a memorial plaque on the facade.
A bust of Nikolai Rubtsov was erected in Cherepovets.
On January 19, 2010, at the Kirov Plant (St. Petersburg) in workshop 420, a musical and literary performance “Songs of the Russian Soul” was held, dedicated to the memory of the poet.
On November 1, 2011, the Nikolai Rubtsov Literary and Local History Center opened in the House of Knowledge in Cherepovets. It recreates the apartment of Galina Rubtsova-Shvedova, the poet’s sister, whom he often visited when coming to Cherepovets. The Center hosts literary and musical evenings and conducts research work related to the biography and work of Rubtsov.
Rubtsovsky centers operate in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Saratov, Kirov, and Ufa.
In the village of Pargolovo a street is named after the poet.
In Dubrovka a street is named after the poet.
In Murmansk, on the Writers' Alley, a monument to the poet was erected.
In Vologda, since 1998, an open festival of poetry and music “Rubtsovskaya Autumn” has been held.
In St. Petersburg, a street in a microdistrict near the Parnas metro station is named after the poet.
Collected works in 3 volumes. - M., Terra, 2000
"Lyrics". Arkhangelsk, 1965. - 40 pp., 3,000 copies.
"Star of the Fields" M., Soviet writer, 1967. - 112 pp., 10,000 copies,
"The soul keeps." Arkhangelsk, 1969. - 96 pp., 10,000 copies,
"Pine noise." M., Soviet writer, 1970, - 88 pp., 20,000 copies,
“Poems. 1953-1971" - M., Soviet Russia, 1977, 240 pp., 100,000 copies.
“Green Flowers”, M., Soviet Russia, 1971. - 144 pp., 15,000 copies;
“The Last Steamship”, M., Sovremennik, 1973, - 144 pp., 10,000 copies.
“Selected Lyrics”, Vologda, 1974. - 148 pp., 10,000 copies;
“Plantains”, M., Young Guard, 1976. - 304 pp., 100,000 copies.
First snow. - Vologda, 1975
First snow. - Barnaul, 1977
Poems. - M., Children's literature, 1978
With all my love and longing. - Arkhangelsk, 1978
Green flowers. - Barnaul, 1978
Martin. - Kemerovo, 1978
