You're as simple as everyone else
Do you know the lonely dawn,
You know the blue cold of autumn.
In a funny way, I'm in trouble with my heart,
I thought stupidly.
Your iconic and stern face
He hung in chapels in Ryazan.
I didn't care about these icons
I honored rudeness and shouting in the rake,
And now suddenly the words grow
The most tender and meek songs.
I don't want to fly to the zenith,
The body needs too much.
Well so your name rings
Like the coolness of August?
I am not a beggar, nor pathetic, nor small
And I can hear behind the ardor:
Since childhood I understood being liked
Males and steppe mares.
That's why I didn't save myself
For you, for her and for this one.
The guarantee of gloomy happiness -
The crazy heart of a poet.
That’s why I’m sad, settled down,
Like leaves, slanted eyes...
You're as simple as everyone else
Like a hundred thousand others in Russia.
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DREAM (FROM THE BOOK “POEMS ABOUT LOVE”)
1
In a dark grove on green spruce trees
The leaves of the withered willows are turning golden.
I go out onto the high bank,
Where the bay splashes calmly.
Two moons, shaking their horns,
The swell was clouded with yellow smoke.
The surface of lakes and grass are not distinguishable,
A bittern is crying quietly in the swamp.
In this voice of the mown meadow
I hear a call familiar to my heart.
You are calling me, my friend,
To be sad on the sleepy shores.
I haven't been here for many years and
I saw joyful meetings and separations,
But I always kept it strictly to myself
The gentle fold of your misty hands.
2
A quiet youth, feeling meekly,
Kissing pigeons on the mouth, -
Slim figure with a slow gait
I loved in you, my dream.
I wandered through cities and villages,
I was looking for you, where do you live,
And with a laugh, frisky and cheerful,
Often you beckoned me into rye.
Hiding behind the monastery fence,
I once entered the white temple:
Washing the sun with blue water,
They threw their orar at my feet.
I stood like a monk in a scarlet glow,
Suddenly silence choked my throat...
You walked in under a black veil
And, drooping, she stood at the window.
3
From the porch under the buzzing bell
You went into the incense of the candles.
And I could not, trembling tenderly,
Do not touch your hands and shoulders.
I wanted to tell you so much
What tormented the soul from an early time,
But the quiet road was smoking
In the never-sunset hollow of lakes.
You looked quietly at the valleys,
Where a curly haze crawled in the grass...
And the rare gray hairs fell
From your withered brow...
The folds of the clothes were a little pale,
And, it seemed in the channel of dark waters, -
Leaving, chewed my hopes
Your toothless, muttering mouth.
4
But the cold did not torment my soul for long.
Like a wing, clinging to her feet,
I loaded a new box of feelings
And he walked along new shores.
The wound in the heart closed without a seam,
Passion faded and love passed.
But again you came from the fog
And she was beautiful and bright.
You whispered, shielding yourself with your hand:
“Look how young I am.
It was life that scared you,
I’m all like air and water.”
In the voices of the mown meadow
I hear a call familiar to my heart.
You are calling me, my friend,
To be sad on the sleepy shores.
YOU ARE AS SIMPLE LIKE EVERYONE...
You're as simple as everyone else
Do you know the lonely dawn,
You know the blue cold of autumn.
In a funny way, I'm in trouble with my heart,
I thought stupidly.
Your iconic and stern face
He hung in chapels in Ryazan.
I didn't care about these icons
I honored rudeness and shouting in the rake,
And now suddenly the words grow
The most tender and meek songs.
I don't want to fly to the zenith,
The body needs too much.
Why does your name ring like that?
Like the coolness of August?
I am not a beggar, nor pathetic, nor small
And I can hear behind the ardor:
Since childhood I understood being liked
Males and steppe mares.
That's why I didn't save myself
For you, for her and for this one.
The guarantee of gloomy happiness -
The crazy heart of a poet.
That’s why I’m sad, settled down,
Like leaves, slanted eyes...
You're as simple as everyone else
Like a hundred thousand others in Russia.
WELL, KISS ME, KISS...
Well, kiss me, kiss me,
Even to the point of bleeding, even to pain.
At odds with cold will
Boiling water of heart streams.
Overturned mug
Among the merry ones is not for us.
Understand, my friend,
They only live once on earth!
Look around with calm eyes,
Look: damp in the darkness
The month is like a yellow raven
Circling, hovering above the ground.
Well, kiss me! That's how I want it.
Decay sang a song to me too.
Apparently he sensed my death
The one who soars on high.
Fading Power!
Die like that!
Until the end of my sweetheart's lips
I would like to kiss.
So that all the time in blue slumbers,
Without being ashamed and without hiding,
In the gentle rustle of bird cherry trees
It was heard: “I am yours.”
And so that the light over the full mug
It didn’t go out with a light foam -
Drink and sing, my friend:
They only live once on earth!
1925
BLUE SWEATSHIRT. BLUE EYES...
Blue jacket. Blue eyes.
I didn’t tell any sweet truth.
My dear asked: “Is the snowstorm blowing?
I'd like to light the stove and make the bed."
I answered my dear: “Today from above
Someone is showering white flowers.
Light the stove, make the bed,
There’s a blizzard in my heart without you.”
October 1925
FLOWERS SAY TO ME - GOODBYE...
Flowers tell me goodbye
Heads bowing lower,
What I won't see forever
Her face and her father's land.
Darling, well, well! Well!
I saw them and I saw the land,
And this deathly trembling
I accept it like a new affection.
And because I realized
All my life, passing by with a smile, -
I speak for every moment
That everything in the world is repeatable.
Does it really matter if someone else comes?
The sadness of the departed will not be swallowed up,
Abandoned and dear
Coming better song will fold
And, listening to the song in silence,
Beloved with another beloved,
Maybe he'll remember me
Like a unique flower.
WHAT A NIGHT! I CAN'T...
What a night! I can't.
I can't sleep. So lunar.
It’s still as if I’m shore
Lost youth in my soul.
Friend of the cool years,
Don't call the game love
Let this moonlight be better
It flows towards me towards the headboard.
Let the distorted features
He outlines boldly, -
After all, you can’t stop loving,
How you failed to love.
You can only love once,
That's why you're a stranger to me,
That the linden trees beckon us in vain,
I plunge my feet into the snowdrifts.
Because I know and you know,
What is in this moonlight, blue
There are no flowers on these linden trees -
There is snow and frost on these linden trees.
What we fell out of love for a long time,
You are not me, but I am someone else,
And we both don't care
Play cheap love.
But still caress and hug
In the crafty passion of a kiss,
May your heart forever dream of May
And the one that I love forever.
I'M SAD TO LOOK AT YOU...
It makes me sad to look at you
What a pain, what a pity!
Know, only willow copper
We stayed with you in September.
Someone else's lips were torn apart
Your warmth and trembling body.
It's like it's drizzling rain
From a soul that is a little deadened.
Well! I'm not afraid of him.
A different joy was revealed to me.
After all, there's nothing left
As soon as yellow decay and dampness.
After all, I didn’t save myself either
For quiet life, for smiles.
So few roads have been traveled
So many mistakes have been made.
Funny life, funny discord.
So it was and so it will be after.
The garden is dotted like a cemetery
There are gnawed bones in birch trees.
That's how we will bloom too
And let's make noise like guests of the garden...
If there are no flowers in the middle of winter,
So there is no need to be sad about them.
1923
LET YOU BE DRINKED BY OTHERS...
Let others drink you,
But I have left, I have left
Your hair is glassy smoke
And the eyes are tired in autumn.
O age of autumn! He told me
More precious than youth and summer.
I started to like you twice as much
The poet's imagination.
I never lie with my heart,
And therefore to the voice of swagger
I can confidently say
That I say goodbye to hooliganism.
It's time to part with the mischievous
And rebellious courage.
My heart is already drunk,
Blood is a sobering mash.
And he knocked on my window
September with a crimson willow branch,
So that I am ready and meet
His arrival is unpretentious.
Now I put up with a lot
Without coercion, without loss.
Rus' seems different to me,
Others are cemeteries and huts.
Transparently I look around
And I see whether there, here, somewhere,
That you are alone, sister and friend,
Could have been the poet's companion.
What could I do for you alone?
Brought up in constancy,
Sing about the twilight of the roads
And the disappearing hooliganism.
I REMEMBER, darling, I REMEMBER...
I remember, darling, I remember
The shine of your hair.
It’s not happy and it’s not easy for me
I had to leave you.
I remember autumn nights
Birch rustle of shadows,
Even if the days were shorter then,
The moon shone longer for us.
I remember you told me:
"Blue years will pass,
And you will forget, my dear,
With the other one forever."
Today the linden blossoms
I reminded my feelings again,
How tenderly then I poured
Flowers on a curly strand.
And the heart, not preparing to cool down,
And sadly loving another.
Like a favorite story,
On the other hand, he remembers you.
YOU DON ' T LOVE ME, YOU DON ' T SORRY ME...
You don't love me, you don't regret me,
Am I not a little handsome?
Without looking in the face, you are thrilled with passion,
He placed his hands on my shoulders.
Young, with a sensual grin,
I am neither gentle nor rude with you.
Tell me how many people have you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?
I know they passed by like shadows
Without touching your fire,
You sat on the knees of many,
And now you're sitting here with me.
Let your eyes be half closed
And you're thinking about someone else
I don’t really love you very much myself,
Drowning in the distant dear.
Don't call this ardor fate
A frivolous hot-tempered connection, -
How I met you by chance,
I smile, calmly walking away.
Yes, and you will go your own way
Sprinkle joyless days
Just don’t touch those who haven’t been kissed,
Just don’t lure those who haven’t been burned.
And when with another in the alley
You'll walk away talking about love,
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet again with you.
Turning your shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a little,
You will tell me quietly: “ Good evening...»
I will answer: “Good evening, miss.”
And nothing will disturb the soul,
And nothing will make her tremble, -
He who loved cannot love,
You can't set fire to someone who's burned out.
ANNA SNEGINA (EXTRACTS FROM THE POEM)
……
I'm walking through an overgrown garden,
The face is touched by lilac.
Aged wattle fence.
Once upon a time at that gate over there
I was sixteen years old
And a girl in a white cape
She told me affectionately: “No!”
They were distant and dear.
That image has not faded away in me...
We all loved during these years,
But they loved us little.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Luna laughed like a clown.
And at least in the heart there is no former one,
Strangely I was full
An influx of sixteen years.
We parted with her at dawn
With the mystery of movements and eyes...
There's something beautiful about summer
And with summer there is beauty in us.
…….
I'm walking through an overgrown garden,
The face is touched by lilac.
So sweet to my flashing glances
A hunched fence.
Once upon a time at that gate over there
I was sixteen years old.
And a girl in a white cape
She told me affectionately: “No!”
They were such distant darlings!..
That image has not faded away in me.
We all loved during these years,
But that means
They loved us too.
January 1925
...
Do not wander, do not crush in the crimson bushes
Swans and don't look for a trace.
With a sheaf of your oat hair
You belong to me forever.
With scarlet berry juice on the skin,
Tender, beautiful, was
You look like a pink sunset
And, like snow, radiant and light.
The grains of your eyes have fallen off and withered,
The subtle name melted like a sound,
But remained in the folds of a crumpled shawl
The smell of honey from innocent hands.
In a quiet hour, when the dawn is on the roof,
Like a kitten, it washes its mouth with its paw,
I hear gentle talk about you
Water honeycombs singing with the wind.
Let the blue evening sometimes whisper to me,
What were you, a song and a dream,
Well, whoever invented your flexible waist and shoulders -
TO bright secret put his mouth.
Do not wander, do not crush in the crimson bushes
Swans and don't look for a trace.
With a sheaf of your oat hair
You belong to me forever.
On the ancient Ryazan land, the fabulous days of golden autumn are firmly associated with the name of Sergei Yesenin, who left a bright mark on Russian poetry, charming musicians, artists, writers, and translators with his poems. People read, reread, and know his works by heart. different professions, representatives of many nationalities, diverse cultural traditions. Yesenin’s lyrics captivate once and for all; unique images remain in the memory. And the soul can no longer live without new meeting with the poet...
“Big things are seen from a distance...” In the first half of the 1920s, Yesenin became more and more famous: his books were printed and quickly sold out in significant editions, poetry evenings - both his own and with his participation - caused a wide resonance, critics wrote about numerous followers of Yesenin, his imitators, foreign publications savor the details of the trip of Yesenin and Isadora Duncan to Europe and America. Newspapers and magazines publish poems he has just written. It was Yesenin, during the celebration of the 125th anniversary of Pushkin’s birth on June 6, 1924, who read his poems dedicated to him and, on behalf of the writers, laid flowers at the poet’s monument. During his lifetime, Yesenin’s works were translated into 17 languages, and now, as reported by the Russian state library, – already in 160 languages of the world.
On tragic death Many of his contemporaries respond to the poet – with obituaries, poems, memoirs. Hundreds of non-professional poets dedicate their works to Yesenin and, hoping for publication, send them to local and central newspapers and magazines, and read them at funeral ceremonies. At Yesenin's grave Vagankovsky cemetery fans leave notes addressed to him. In the 1930s and 1940s, when Yesenin was little published, his works were copied by hand. Yesenin's collections traveled with the soldiers of the Red Army along the firing lines of the Great Patriotic War.
And recently a volume of Yesenin’s poems visited space, at the International space station, returning safely to earth. We can say that wherever a Russian person finds himself, he seeks and finds an opportunity to touch the work of his favorite author.
Yesenin is a poet who strengthens and heals the Russian soul, helps us survive in the most difficult conditions. He unites people with the sincerity of his poetic words different nationalities, becoming a conductor of Russian poetry and Russian culture in the world. There are many examples of this. Every year, fate brings me together with more and more connoisseurs of Yesenin’s poetry, translators, researchers from Azerbaijan, Belarus, Bulgaria, Brazil, Vietnam, Germany, Georgia, Spain, Italy, Canada, Kyrgyzstan, China, Latvia, Mongolia, Poland, Turkey, Uzbekistan, from Ukraine, from France, the USA...
Let me give you one very illustrative example from the biography of a famous Vietnamese translator, Deputy Chairman of the Center for Literary Translation of the Union of Writers of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam Hoang Thuy Toan. In 1954, as a 16-year-old boy, he came to Soviet Union, studied Russian language and Russian literature - first in preparatory courses, and then as a student at Moscow State University pedagogical institute them. IN AND. Lenin. While studying in my third year, I learned that one of the special courses was taught by a young teacher, Yu.L. Prokushev, enthusiastically telling students about the wonderful Russian poet Sergei Yesenin, whose work was not fully discussed in the textbooks of that time. A fellow student gave Toan a volume of Yesenin’s works, published by that time by the Kyiv publishing house “Radyansky Pissennik” - this book was given to her by the director of one of the Moscow schools where the girl did her internship. Fascinated by Yesenin, Toan purchased Prokushev’s book about him, published in the Ogonyok library, and upon returning to his homeland he became a real propagandist of Yesenin’s creativity in Vietnam. He enthusiastically told Vietnamese writers and translators - members of the Vietnamese Writers' Union about the Russian genius that captivated him. At Toan's suggestion, translations from Yesenin were included in the book "Poems of Soviet Poets", published in 1962.
Even after taking refuge from the then war in a remote village, the translator did not stop working. At a time when the Americans were bombing Vietnam, Toan was translating poems by Pushkin and Yesenin - a book of translations “Pushkin’s Lyrics” was published on Vietnamese language in 1966. And at the turn of 1972 - 1973, Toan returned from forced evacuation to Hanoi and received new book Prokusheva about Yesenin’s creativity. Since then, he has literally never parted with Yesenin, translating his works. Toan is the leading translator of Yesenin’s works, the poetry collection “Poems of Blok and Yesenin” published in Vietnamese in 1983. It is significant that this fall he is going to our country to participate in the celebrations dedicated to the 123rd anniversary of the birth of his beloved Russian poet.
Yesenin's anniversary is celebrated widely this year. So, in Moscow and the Ryazan region will host an international scientific symposium “Sergei Yesenin: Personality. Creation. Epoch", the Russian State Library hosts the exhibition "My Poems, Calmly Tell My Life." round table"on the topic "Sergei Aleksandrovich Yesenin in translation: history and modernity." On the poet’s birthday, October 3, the traditional All-Russian Yesenin poetry festival will be held in Ryazan’s Konstantinov. The main organizers of Yesenin Days are the Institute of World Literature named after. A.M. Gorky Russian Academy Sciences, Russian State Library, State Museum of S.A. Yesenina (Moscow), Ryazansky State University them. S.A. Yesenin and the State Museum-Reserve S.A. Yesenina.
A lot of gifts have already been made for the anniversary. The Moscow Museum of the Poet is getting a new building this year, the construction of a storage facility for exhibits of the museum-reserve is being completed in Konstantinov, and the Yesenin Museum is opening after a major renovation in Mardakan (Azerbaijan). The exhibition “Your Acquaintance Sergei Yesenin” is traveling around Russia. The publication of the seven-volume “Dictionary of the Yesenin Language”, prepared by G.I., was completed in Baku. Shipulina. An illustrated edition was also published there, including all currently known translations into Azerbaijani of the poems of the Yesenin cycle “ Persian motifs“- Isakhan Isakhanly collected 61 translations made by nine translators, including himself. This book was noticed and appreciated in Russia: Isakhan Isa-khanly was awarded the Ryazan Region Prize named after S.A. Yesenin in the field of literature and art. And in Granada, Spain, the exhibitions “Sergei Yesenin and Garcia Lorca: two poets, two destinies” and “Results of modern Yesenin studies” were successfully held. It’s impossible to list everything. Yesenin's birthday is celebrated in different parts of Russia and in many countries of the world!
And this is not surprising. Now, 123 years after his birth and 93 years after Yesenin’s death, continuing to learn new details of his life and work, we never cease to be amazed at the depth of poetic revelations, the powerful sound of his voice, and we find reflections of Yesenin’s images in the works of our contemporaries.
“Live as the star leads you...” These lines can be considered one of the poet’s testaments to many generations of readers. A person’s thoughts about his life, its essence and goals, about his path in this world should not just be dreams and thoughts - they should be translated into real deeds and actions, into conscious service to the people and country in his chosen field. Such service is possible only if a person is engaged in a job that he likes, if it reveals his abilities. Among the people about whom it can be said that they have done a lot in their chosen field, there are many who devoted themselves to studying Yesenin’s work. Among them is Yuri Lvovich Prokushev, mentioned by Hoang Thuy Toan.
When building the story of the triumphant march of Yesenin’s work to readers, you first of all remember Prokushev, a unique and multifaceted personality. A teacher, publisher, publisher, organizer, connoisseur of Russian literature, collector of Yesenin's rarities, he conceived and brilliantly implemented many projects, and not only Yesenin's. But it is extremely important that Yuri Lvovich actively contributed to the creation of Yesenin museums, primarily in Yesenin’s native Konstantinov and Moscow, at the poet’s first capital address; He did a lot to preserve Yesenin’s heritage. Prokushev formed and largely managed to implement a comprehensive program for studying the life and work of Yesenin: academic Complete collection his works, “Chronicle of Life and Creativity”, “Yesenin Encyclopedia”, annual international Yesenin conferences and scientific collections based on their results. Monuments to Yesenin near the Ryazan Kremlin and on Tverskoy Boulevard in Moscow appeared largely thanks to Prokushev’s persistence and determination.
Yuri Lvovich was not alone; he had many associates, followers, like-minded people, as he himself called them. A unique movement arose in the Soviet Union - folk Yesenin studies. Fans of Yesenin’s poetry not only met each other, but also held conferences, organized exhibitions, wrote articles, and published books. Through their efforts, several dozen folk Yesenin museums were created throughout the Union, most of which are still in operation. Among the creators of these museums is a teacher of Russian language and literature Roslyakovskaya high school Murmansk region Valentina Evgenievna Kuznetsova, process engineer, employee of a defense enterprise in the “closed” city of Seversk, Tomsk region Vladimir Ivanovich Nikolaev, milling operator at the Vyazemsky machine-building plant Pavel Nikiforovich Propalov, Oryol local historian and public figure Georgy Alexandrovich Agarkov. These people and other similar enthusiasts spent many decades, sometimes their whole lives, disinterestedly collecting their Yesenin collections, which can be the envy of respectable state museums. They collected them to make them public, so that Yesenin’s word would win new souls. Forgive me, friends and colleagues, for not naming everyone here - an interesting and informative article could be written about each member of the International Yesenin Society “Radunitsa”! And they will be, these articles: we will definitely tell about all Yesenin’s museums and their creators in the “Yesenin Encyclopedia” and “Encyclopedia literary museums Russia."
But not only museums are opened by Yesenin scholars. Thanks to their penetrating power and perseverance, their irrepressible energy, monuments to the poet appeared in many cities and villages. I'm not even talking about the streets, alleys and boulevards named after Yesenin. Do you know how many there are in Russia? More than six hundred. Some of them, unfortunately, Lately lost due to the destruction of villages or the construction of new highways. It is difficult to imagine how many people fought to give their native places the name of the poet. We do not know exactly how many memorial signs there are on houses with “Yesenin” addresses. Dozens of memorial plaques are installed in the places visited by the poet. People's love for Yesenin lives on!
Now that not only Yesenin’s poems, but also memories of the poet, studies of his life and work, biographical books can be freely read on the Internet, when in social networks There are many groups united by an interest in Yesenin; we can talk about a kind of Yesenin field. And everyone can become an employee there. Some write poems inspired by the poet’s work, others draw to illustrate his works. Amazing paintings– illustrations for Yesenin’s works were collected as a result of several Yesenin competitions in the funds of the Firebird Children’s Literary and Art Gallery. Dozens of works sent young artists from different cities and countries, and each has its own interpretation of Yesenin’s poems! You can delve into each picture for a long time, each time rejoicing at a deep understanding of poetry young talents. Some of them have already become professional artist, others find themselves in other areas, but Yesenin’s poetry continues to live in their souls.
Many people go to Yesenin’s places on exciting routes. They come to Konstantinovo, Moscow, Ryazan, Baku, Tashkent and other places associated with the poet, coming from different parts of Russia and the world. And, of course, they read poetry. Re-read them too, dear reader. Yesenin is now more modern than ever!
But most of all, love for the native land
I was tormented, tormented and burned.
S.A. ESENIN.
Oh, Rus', the raspberry field and the blue that fell into the river, I love Your lake melancholy to the point of joy and pain.
Cold sorrow cannot be measured, You are on a foggy shore. But not to love you, not to believe - I can’t learn.
I am more than anything
I love spring.
Love the spill
With a rushing stream,
Where every sliver
Like a ship
Such space
What you can't overlook.
But I call the spring that I love a great revolution! And I only suffer for her
and I mourn, I wait for her alone and call upon her!
I want to be a singer
And a citizen
So that everyone
Like pride and example,
Be real
And not a stepson -
In the great states of the USSR.
I do not know what will happen
with me…
Maybe to a new life
I'm no good
But I still want steel
See poor, beggarly Rus'.
Darling!
I'm pleased to say:
I avoided falling off the cliff.
Now in the Soviet side
I am the fiercest travel companion.
I see everything.
And I understand clearly
What a new era -
Not a pound of raisins for you,
What is the name Lenin
It rustles like the wind along the edge,
Letting my thoughts go,
Like mill wings.
You are one of our own, a peasant,
our…
Say: Will the peasants go
Without ransoming the masters' arable land?
The steps trembled and swayed,
But I remember
To the sound of your head:
“Tell me, Who is Lenin?” I quietly replied: “He is you.”
I am not seduced by Hymns to the Hero...
I'm happy that
What gloomy times
Just feelings
I breathed with him
And he lived.
Among the roar of the waves
In its clearing,
Slightly harsh and tenderly sweet,
He thought a lot
In a Marxist way,
Quite Leninist
Created.
"Captain of the Earth"
Shy, simple
and darling,
He's like a sphinx in front of me.
I don't understand by what force
He managed to shake the ball
terrestrial? "Lenin".
Maxim Skorokhodov,
laureate of the Ryazan region award named after S.A. Yesenina
in Literature and Art 2015
You are as simple as everyone else, Like a hundred thousand others in Russia. You know the lonely dawn, You know the blue cold of autumn. I got my heart in a funny way, I occupied my thoughts in a stupid way. Your iconic and stern face hung in chapels in Ryazan. I didn’t care about these icons, I honored rudeness and screaming in the rake, And now suddenly the words of the most tender and meek songs grow. I don’t want to fly to the zenith, The body needs too much. Why does your name ring like that, Like the cool of August? I am not a beggar, nor pitiful, nor small, And I can hear behind the ardor: Since childhood, I understood that Males and steppe mares were liked. That’s why I didn’t save myself For you, for her, and for this one. The key to gloomy happiness is the crazy heart of a poet. That’s why I’m sad, settling down, Like leaves, slanting eyes You’re as simple as everyone else, Like a hundred thousand others in Russia.
I believe in God as I believe in the sun. I believe not because I see Him, but because in His light I see everything else.
I am like little kitty, which you need to take by the scruff of the neck, sit on your lap and say: you are mine now and I won’t let you go, and then I will lie down and purr gently.
All the people and all the events in your life came into it because you attracted them. Now you have to choose what to do with them.
You know, I used to think you were strange. And now I understand that everyone is strange except you.
So who are you, finally?
- I am part of that force that always wants evil and always does good.
In your life you need to leave room for your own life. It seems like such a simple truth, but you can live a century and not know.
When your face is cold and bored,
When you live in irritation and argument,
You don't even know what a torment you are
And you don’t even know how sad you are.When are you kinder than the blue in the sky,
And in the heart there is light, and love, and participation,
You don't even know what song you are
And you don’t even know how lucky you are!
Don't talk to me about your spirituality, buddy. I'm not that interested... Please don't talk to me about "pure awareness" or "living in the absolute."
I want to see how you feel about your partner. To your children, parents, to your precious body.
Please don't lecture me about the illusion of a separate self or how you achieved permanent bliss in just 7 days. I want to feel the genuine warmth emanating from your heart. I want to hear how good of a listener you are. Accept information that does not correspond to your personal philosophy. I want to see how you deal with people who disagree with you.
Don't tell me that you are awakened and free of ego. I want to know you beyond words. I want to know how you feel when bad things happen to you. If you can fully immerse yourself in the pain and not pretend to be invulnerable. If you feel your anger, but do not become violent. If you can calmly allow yourself to experience your grief without becoming a slave to it. If you can feel your shame and not shame others. If you can screw up and admit it. If you can say "I'm sorry" and really mean it. If you can be fully human in your glorious divinity.
Don't talk to me about your spirituality, buddy. It's not that interesting to me. I just want to meet YOU. To know your precious heart. To understand a beautiful person fighting for the light.
Until the words "oh" spiritual person" Until all the skillful words.
Do you believe in God? I did not see him…
How can you believe in something you haven't seen?
I'm sorry that I offended you,
After all, you didn’t expect such an answer...
I believe in money, I’ve definitely seen it...
I believe in a plan, in a forecast, in career growth...
I believe in a house that was built strong...
Of course... Your answer is quite simple...
Do you believe in happiness? You haven't seen him...
But your soul saw him...
Sorry, I probably offended you...
Then we have one - one... Draw...
Do you believe in love, in friendship? How about your eyesight???
After all, this is all at the level of the soul...
Are there bright moments of sincerity?
Don’t rush to see everything with your own eyes...
Do you remember how you rushed to the meeting then,
But traffic jams... didn't make it on time for the plane?!
Your plane blew up that same evening
You drank and cried all day long...
And at that moment when the wife gave birth,
And the doctor said: “Sorry, there’s no chance...”
Do you remember, life flashed like slides,
And it was as if the light had gone out forever,
But someone shouted: “Oh, God, a miracle...”
And a loud baby scream was heard...
You whispered: “I will believe in God”
And my soul smiled sincerely...
There is something that the eyes cannot see,
But the heart sees more clearly and clearly...
When the soul fell in love without falsehood,
Then the mind objects more and more strongly...
Refers to pain, bitter experience,
Includes egoism, the big “I”...
You saw God every day and so much
How deep is your soul...
Each of us has our own path...
And faith and love are most important...
I didn’t ask you, “Have you seen God?”
I asked if I believed in him...
