Evgeny A. Yevtushenko (July 18, 1932 - April 1, 2017) Russian actor, poet, prose writer, publicist, director, screenwriter
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Voice on the phone
If only a voice could be kissed,
I would press my lips to yours
Rustling inside like a whole garden
Something whispering, embracing the darkness of the night.
If only the soul could be kissed,
I would cling to it, as if to a moonbeam.
How poor in the world are those whose goal is a bed,
My goal is your soul. I want her.
I want your voice. He is your soul.
In the dew I want to run barefoot with him,
And in a haystack, so gently stabbing, sinning,
To touch the skin of the voice with the tongue.
And, probably, in the world you have one
There is - at least forget about everything! -
This voice, intoxicatingly chesty,
The one that draws into the white pool - into the chest.
Unrequited love is terrible
but for those to whom the whole world is only an exchange, a fight,
unrequited love is funny
like the profile of Cyrano de Bergerac.
One of my businesslike compatriots
told his wife at the Sovremennik Theater:
“Well, what did you find in your Cyrano?
Here's a fool! For example, I would never
did not suffer so much because of some woman ...
I would have found another one - and that's it."
In the haunted eyes of his wife
something widowed peeped through.
Pearl from her husband - the seams were already cracking! -
deadly spiritual health.
Oh, how many of them, such healthy people,
suffering from the absence of suffering.
For them there are women: there is no beautiful lady.
Is it possible
to keep it all going?
It's kind of unfair...
Where and when did it become fashionable:
"Alive - indifference,
attention - dead?
People are slouching
drink.
people one by one
drop out
and pronounced
for history
tender words about them -
at the crematorium...
What took Mayakovsky's life?
What put the revolver into his hands?
He would -
with all his voice,
appearance -
to give in life
even a little tenderness.
People alive -
they bother.
tenderness
only death is rewarded.
liar boy
sticky,
little boy with anyone,
drinker,
zhalchik,
grip,
boy,
you are the soul of a finger,
albeit tall tall.
swindler,
salesman,
miner,
puncher,
carefree,
hamom ham,
you might be a killer
in the future somewhere.
Really,
overhead,
good books unreader,
if needed, -
then the screamer
if needed, -
then the silent
cowardly, like all cattle,
you are still clueless
Are you not a boy anymore?
We are chatting in crowded trams,
We are shaken by one maet,
The subway swallows us every now and then,
Releasing from a smoky mouth.
In noisy streets, in white flutters
People we walk next to people
Our breaths are mixed
Our tracks are mixed up, our tracks are mixed up.
From our pockets we pull smoke,
We moo popular songs,
Hitting each other with elbows,
Sorry or shut up.
Along Sadovy, Lebyazhy and Trubny
Each in a separate way
We don't know each other
Let's go hitting each other.
You will love me. But not at once.
You will love me secretly.
You will love me with a shudder of the body
It's like a bird flew through your window.
You will love me - clean, dirty
You will love me - even infectious.
You will love me famous
You will love me to the beaten blood.
You will love me old, erased
You will love me - even dead.
Will you love me?! Where is your mind?
You will fall in love with me. But not at once
Lost Russia in Russia Russia.
She is looking for herself
like a needle in a haystack
like a blind old woman
pointlessly spreading his arms,
looking for lamentations
his cow in the meadow.
We burned our icons.
We didn't trust our own books.
We knew how to fight only with the coming disaster.
Didn't we survive?
only under my own yoke,
becoming for yourself
worse than a foreign horde?
I'm afraid not to cope with the face,
when I see you somewhere
and it will all end
where there is no secret anymore.
I'm afraid not to cope with the soul,
I'm afraid not to cope with the body,
so that over you and over me
did not abuse the whole world.
I'm afraid - I don't know why -
you like secret wealth.
afraid - and most of all -
do not be afraid of his loss.
Today I don't like the increased anger of people towards each other and the greatly increased feeling of envy. This can only partly be explained by social inequality. I have never seen such overbitterness, especially when you read the Internet. Need to get rid of this. We must not only learn to love others, but also ourselves. We offend each other very easily.
Think of me on a spring night
and think of me on a summer night
think of me on an autumn night
and think of me on a winter night.
Let me not be there with you, but somewhere outside,
as far away as in another country,
on a long and cool sheet
rest as if in the sea on your back,
surrendering to the soft slow wave,
with me, as with the sea, all alone.
Long live movement, and hotness,
and greed, triumphant greed!
Borders bother me... I feel embarrassed
not to know Buenos Aires, New York.
I want to roam as much as necessary, London,
to speak with everyone - let it be broken.
As a boy hanging on a bus,
I want to drive through Paris in the morning!
I want art different, like me!
Probably, you and I are just cowards,
when we customize our tastes
under what is more accessible, simpler.
More than once whispered to me the inner bastard
from dirty subconscious darkness:
“Eh, brother, this is a complex material ...” -
and I cowardly slipped into simplicity
and maybe a great opportunity
lost unrequited love.
No, I don't need half of anything
Give me the whole sky. Put the whole earth
Seas and rivers, mountain avalanches
-My! I do not agree to share!
I don't want half of happiness
I don't want half the pain!
I just want half of that pillow
Where gently pressed to the cheek
Helpless falling star
The ring flickers on your hand
As I said above, my father was a well-read man. This applied to history as well. My father could spend hours telling me, still a completely unintelligent child, about the fall of Babylon, and about the Spanish Inquisition, and about the war of the Scarlet and White Roses, and about William of Orange ... My father read me a lot and poems by heart - he had an amazing memory! He especially loved Lermontov, Goethe, Edgar Poe, Kipling. He read Kipling's "Testament to his Son" to me as penetratingly as only one's own poetry can read. My father wrote poetry himself. No doubt he possessed a genuine talent. Four lines, written by him at the age of fourteen, still amaze me with their perfection: ... Shooting back from longing, I wanted to run away somewhere, But the stars are too high, And the price for the stars is high. Thanks to my father, I learned to read and write at the age of six, and at the age of eight I read indiscriminately - Dumas, Flaubert, Schiller, Balzac, Dante, Maupassant, Tolstoy, Boccaccio, Shakespeare, Gaidar, London, Cervantes and Wells. There was an unimaginable vinaigrette in my head. I lived in an illusory world, not noticing anyone and nothing around.
Evgeny Alexandrovich Yevtushenko is a legendary Soviet director, publicist and poet, who was born in the summer of 1932 in one of the towns of the Irkutsk region. After receiving a secondary education, he entered the Literary Institute. M. Gorky. After five years of study, he was expelled for supporting one of Dudintsev's novels, as well as for violations of discipline. He published his first book in 1952, it was a collection of poems called Scouts of the Future, later, the author admitted that this work was published ahead of time, and looked immature and youthful. In the same year, he became a member of the Writers' Union of the USSR. It is worth noting that he was accepted even before he received a matriculation certificate, and the book he wrote served as an argument in favor of his admission. A few years later, Yevtushenko published several collections at once, which brought him popularity among thousands of readers. In 1955, he published his work called "The Third Snow", a year later, he published "Highway of Enthusiasts", and a year later, a collection called "Promise". Two years after the release of his last work, the author again pleases his fans, and publishes the collection "Apple", and two years later, he publishes two works at once, "Wave of the Hand" and "Tenderness". In his works, he touches on a wide variety of topics, he writes about love, and about people of different professions, whether they are geologists, builders or even St. John's wort. Some of his poems were on an anti-war theme. It is worth noting that Yevtushenko also spoke in public, reading his own works. By the way, such speeches by the author at times increased his fame in the USSR. A little later, he managed to release his own audiobook and several CDs. In 1991, Yevgeny Yevtushenko signed a contract with one of the universities in America, and together with his family moved to the States to teach at the University of Oklahoma. In 2007, at the Olimpiysky, composer Gleb May staged a rock opera called White Snows, based on Yevtushenko's poems. Today, Yevtushenko is known throughout the world not only as a poet, but also as an intelligent playwright, a great actor and screenwriter. Not so long ago, he opened his own photography exhibition called "Invisible Threads". Most of Yevtushenko's works have been set to music.
EVTUSHENKO, Evgeny Alexandrovich
(b. 1933), poet
30 And it's snowing, and it's snowing.
“And it’s snowing”, song from the movie “Dima Gorin’s Career” (1961), music. A. Eshpay
31 There are no monuments above Babi Yar.
"Babi Yar" (1961)? Yevtushenko, 1:316
32 I am to all anti-Semites, / as a Jew,
and therefore - / I am a real Russian!
"Babi Yar" Yevtushenko, 1:318
33 Ah, I have enough gentlemen,
But I don't have good love.
"River Runs" (1960), music. E. Kolmanovsky
The song was written for the performance of the theater "Sovremennik" "Miracle".
34 A poet in Russia is more than just a poet.
The beginning of the poem "Bratskaya HPP" (1964–1965)
Yevtushenko, 1:443
35 Poets are often killed,
To quote later.
In a later edition: “You kill all the poets, /
to quote later! ? Yevtushenko, 1:300.
37 The intelligentsia / sings thieves' songs.
She sings / not the songs of Krasnaya Presnya.
"The intelligentsia sings thieves' songs" (1975)
Yevtushenko, 1:204
38 He knew that the earth was turning,
but he had a family.
"Career" (1957; published in 1962)? Yevtushenko, 1:188
39 There are no uninteresting people in the world.
"There are no uninteresting people in the world ..." (1961)
Yevtushenko, 1:323
40 Stalin's heirs.
Yevtushenko E. Citizens, listen to me. -
M., 1989, p. 415
Immediately after Stalin's death, Konstantin Fedin wrote in his article "Stalin's Heirs": "Stalin's legacy of genius is owned and managed by loyal, strong and infinitely talented heirs. These Stalinist heirs are the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and our great Soviet people.” ? "Lit. newspaper, March 7, 1953, p. four.
41 The poet stood.
"Poet in the Market" (1974) ? Yevtushenko, 3:83
42 Other times have come. / Other names have risen.
“Other times have come ...” (1963)? Yevtushenko, 1:405
43 This is what happens to me:
My old friend doesn't visit me.
"That's what's happening to me..." (1957)
Yevtushenko, 1:181
The poem was set to music by M. Tariverdiev for the film The Irony of Fate (1975).
44 You asked in a whisper:
“And then what? / And then what?
The bed was made up
And you were confused.
"You asked in a whisper..." (1957)
Yevtushenko, 1:189
45 You're leaving like a train.
Name and a line of a song from the movie "To Love" (1968), music. M. Tariverdieva
46 Do Russians want wars?
Name and 1st line of the song (1961), music. E. Kolmanovsky
This text is an introductory piece. From the book All masterpieces of world literature in brief. Plots and characters. Russian literature of the XX century the author Novikov V IYevgeny Alexandrovich Yevtushenko [b. 1933] Bratsk HPP Poem (1965) PRAYER IN FRONT OF THE DAM "A poet in Russia is more than a poet." The author sums up everything that happened before, humbly kneeling down, asking for help from the great Russian poets ... Give, Pushkin, your melodiousness and
From the book All Monarchs of the World: Greece. Rome. Byzantium author Ryzhov Konstantin VladislavovichEUGENE, Flavius Roman emperor in 392-394. He died in 394. At first, Eugene was a grammarian and taught Roman literature, and then, after leaving school, he entered the court military service and became the royal secretary. Respected more than others for his eloquence, he could not
From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (BE) of the author TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (BO) of the author TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (KA) of the author TSB TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (KO) of the author TSB TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (EB) of the author TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (LA) of the author TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (ZhD) of the author TSB From the book Great Soviet Encyclopedia (MR) of the author TSB From the book Russian Literature Today. New guide author Chuprinin Sergey IvanovichYEVGENY YEVTUSHENKO Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko was born on July 18, 1933 at the Zima station in the Irkutsk region. He graduated from 7 classes of secondary school, studied at the Literary Institute (1951–1954), but did not graduate from it (after passing the state exams, a diploma of graduation from the Literary Institute was issued
From the book Famous Press Secretaries author Sharypkina MarinaTsirlin Evgeny Alexandrovich Press Secretary of the Basketball Club CSKA Tsirlin began his career in 1971 with a job at the Research Institute of Information
authorWEINER Arkady Alexandrovich (b. 1931); WEINER Georgy Alexandrovich (b. 1938), writers 1 A thief should be in prison. “The meeting place cannot be changed”, TV series (1979) based on the novel by A. and G. Vainers “The Era of Mercy” (1976), dir. S. Govorukhin In the story "The Era of Mercy": "It is only important that
From the book Dictionary of Modern Quotes author Dushenko Konstantin VasilievichEVTUSHENKO Yevgeny Alexandrovich (b. 1933), poet 2 And it's snowing, and it's snowing. BUT.
(born: July 18, 1932, Zima, East Siberian Territory, RSFSR, USSR - died: April 1, 2017, Tulsa, Oklahoma, USA)
Russian poet. He also gained fame as a prose writer, director, screenwriter, publicist, orator and actor. Was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature.
The more I live in this world,
The more ash knocks in my heart.
I am driven by love for humanity and for my homeland.
Poets in Russia were born
with a dante's bullet in the chest.
We need to cultivate love in people.
And only that tired shoulder
Forgive me now, and forgive me again
And only those sad eyes
Forgive all that cannot be forgiven...
True love for the motherland is inseparable from love for all mankind.
Nothing brings people together like a fire. He has the face of our thoughts. The fire gives freedom of different thoughts when looking at the same fire. Why do people love looking at fire so much? Maybe because all living things were once born from fire? To delve deeply into the soul of every fisherman, hunter, and you can see that the most important thing for them is not fish, black grouse or ducks, but a fire. When you are silent by the fire, you still talk to him with your eyes, and he talks to you with crackling branches, sparks, bitter smoke, and you get what people can’t do - you both talk and listen to each other at the same time ...
A poet in Russia is more than just a poet.
It is destined to be born poets
the one in whom the proud spirit of citizenship roams,
for whom there is no comfort, there is no rest.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko in his youth
Why is true love and tragedy like two convicts bound in one chain? Because love is such a perfection that all the imperfection of the world envies and strives to strangle it.
But who, if not us, turns loved ones
in such as we are no longer able to love?
A poet in Russia is more than just a poet.
You can't handle music
Music will handle you!
They do not choose their homeland - they give their homeland with life.
…No more sacred
natural craving to be happy ...
Each generation has its own misconceptions, the main thing is that people should be ready to correct the mistakes made, to draw the right conclusions from what happened.
Self-confidence is blissful
and uncertainty is wrong.
Souls of latent fermentation
she twitches with ice.
A teacher is also a writer who writes not books, but living people.
There are executioners and victims in the world,
but there are still others - wrestlers!
I have visited almost a hundred countries of the world. I saw a lot of scoundrels, but did not see a single nationality that would entirely consist of scoundrels.
This is how you should live - do not have fun idly!
Go to death, forgetting peace, comfort,
And speak - at least three minutes - the truth!
At least three minutes! Let them kill you later!
…end of talent
There is the impossibility of rebellion.
I teach - all of humanity.
Premonition of the verse
with a real poet
there is a sense of sin
that was done sometime, somewhere.
I am a poet of the people, and not of some individual people, groups or parties.
…But be truthful. I love your fake
They may consider it a falsity of communism.
Today I don't like the increased anger of people towards each other and the greatly increased feeling of envy. This can only partly be explained by social inequality. I have never seen such overbitterness, especially when you read the Internet. Need to get rid of this. We must not only learn to love others, but also ourselves. We offend each other very easily.
Let each one enter into life with this vow:
help that which should bloom,
and take revenge without forgetting about it,
everything that deserves revenge!
Tales of woman's jealousy do not affect,
And hatched as revenge.
Real art is not based on evil.
People have gone berserk with hatred towards each other.
The poet is always driven by shame,
throwing him into immensity,
and he bridges bridges with bones,
paying for non-payment.
Nationalism is a moral dead end.
Exchanging the spirit for particulars,
we run away from generalizations.
Self-confidence is necessary. He is talented who is not afraid to be horrified by his painful mediocrity.
Children are secret adults.
Hatred is the antithesis of internationalism.
Stepmother, let with a good soul, -
She is clearly not a mother.
Do not disappear. Give me your palm.
I am written on it - I believe in it.
That's why last love is terrible,
that this is not love, but the fear of loss.
Is it the fault of the nail that goes into the wall?
He is driven with a butt into her.
Believe gossip rather than loved ones.
There are no bad people. But without mercy
I'll tell you, not blaming the owners:
Every nation has its own bastards.
We, the older, the more frank.
For this we are grateful to fate.
And the changes in life coincide
with big changes.
I sing and I drink
not thinking about death
arms outstretched,
I fall into the grass
and if I die in this world,
then I will die of happiness that I live.
The early charms are beautiful.
Charm wounds are dangerous.
And the drama of Rome is the drama of the temple,
who is in the turmoil of centuries
full of gods, like trash,
and at the same time - without gods.
Saying "I love you" won't be true
It will not be true - 'I do not like.
From everyday life, from everyday calculation,
from pale skeptics and pink slippers
we are pulled into the distance by a flickering something,
transforming the world with reflections.
It's shameful to be free
when it's honorable to go to jail.
Do not seek happiness to be loved, -
know how to love when you are unloved.
But the vicissitudes of fate
but also blows and losses,
life, for the beauty in you
is that a big fee?
The one who did not know grief
don't judge love.
Self-preservation instinct
does not save us, but kills us.
It is impossible for love for the motherland to come into conflict with love for humanity. Then this is not real, but fake patriotism.
Artists are independent of death.
Art - stunt shooting, that stunt, fatal,
where full throttle is pressed.
Be in love.
To be eternal in the moment.
All those who love -
these are geniuses.
Music is for flight.
Everything in music is sacred.
If someone is fake
music is not to blame.
Don't turn talent into an ace of trumps.
Not trump cards - neither honesty, nor courage.
Who boasts of generosity - a hidden miser,
Who boasts of courage is a hidden coward.
Take care of these lands, these waters
Even a small bylinochku loving.
Take care of all the animals inside nature,
Kill only the beasts within you!
I dream of an old friend
who became an enemy
but dream not of the enemy,
but the same friend.
It's time to save love at the very beginning
from ardent "never!", From children's "forever!".
"Don't promise!" - trains shouted to us,
"Don't promise!" - mumbled wires.
I didn't know jealousy.
you awakened
it is in me, bleeding my whole soul.
Now I am your forever.
You win.
You won by
which is not mine.
Be free with money, like a beggar,
never be a beggar without money!
I do not like beautiful anguish.
Lament near death is not a trace.
But out of many injustices
The biggest one is death.
Happiness is like a glance from an airplane.
Grief sees the earth without embellishment.
There is something treacherous in happiness -
grief will not betray a person.
Do not disappear. You can disappear instantly
but how can we meet after centuries?
Is your doppelgänger possible?
and my doppelgänger? Only in our children.
I don't need to be loved
I love enough.
We,
ashamed of loneliness
from longing
rush to some companies,
and friendship worthless obligations bondage
persecuted to the grave.
