The poem “I won’t deceive myself” written in 1922 is not only a poet’s appeal to his fans, but also a person’s appeal to power, which Yesenin actually did not need. What is the use of a poet with his lyrics when they write "Odes of the Revolution" (Mayakovsky) or "Wonderful collective" (Demyan Bedny).
Sergei Yesenin cannot write odes new government, "The Ballad of Twenty-Six" stands apart, the poem was written not for the soul, but to replenish the wallet - literally for every line.
In the lines below, Sergey shouts to the authorities that he is not like that, he is:
"I did not shoot the unfortunate in dungeons."
The scandalousness of the poet was rooted in Yesenin's character and addiction to alcohol. He is not ashamed of this, in this, in his opinion, there is no great sin, since he does not bring harm to others. The state, however, does not want to keep at its breast a poet who does not glorify those in power. The authorities do not need a reason - you can't, you don't want to, or you can't.
And so it turns out that:
"Each shabby horse
She nods her head towards me."
And there is no support from the state. Here you should not think that Yesenin is worried about material well-being and ready to bend. The poet is more confused by misunderstanding - he and those who build new life, live in different worlds, according to different laws.
It is important for a poet to realize that poetry is accepted and useful. Yesenin does not have this, hence the semi-confession “I will not deceive myself” comes to light.
I won't deceive myself
Concern lay in the misty heart.
Why am I known as a charlatan?
Why am I known as a brawler?
I am not a villain and I did not rob the forest,
He did not shoot the unfortunate in dungeons.
I am only street playboy,
Smiling at the faces.
I am a Moscow mischievous reveler.
All over the Tver region
In the lanes every dog
Knows my easy gait.
Every wretched horse
He nods his head towards me.
For animals, I'm a good friend,
Every verse heals my soul of the beast.
I wear a top hat not for women -
In a stupid passion, the heart is not strong enough to live, -
It is more comfortable in it, reducing your sadness,
Give the gold of oats to the mare.
Among people I have no friendship,
I submitted to another kingdom.
Every dog here on the neck
I'm ready to give away my best tie.
And now I won't get sick.
The slough in the heart cleared up like a mist.
That's why I was known as a charlatan,
That's why I was known as a brawler.
("I won't fool myself")
x x x
I won't deceive myself
Concern lay in the misty heart.
Why am I known as a charlatan?
Why am I known as a brawler?
I am not a villain and I did not rob the forest,
He did not shoot the unfortunate in dungeons.
I'm just a street rake
Smiling at the faces.
I am a Moscow mischievous reveler.
All over the Tver region
In the lanes every dog
Knows my easy gait.
Every wretched horse
He nods his head towards me.
For animals, I'm a good friend,
Every verse heals my soul of the beast.
I wear a top hat not for women -
In a stupid passion, the heart is not strong enough to live, -
It is more comfortable in it, reducing your sadness,
Give the gold of oats to the mare.
Among people I have no friendship,
I submitted to another kingdom.
Every dog here on the neck
I'm ready to give away my best tie.
And now I won't get sick.
The slough in the heart cleared up like a mist.
That's why I was known as a charlatan,
That's why I was known as a brawler.
Yesenin! golden name. The murdered boy. The genius of the Russian land! None of the Poets who came into this world possessed such spiritual power, charming, all-powerful, soul-grabbing childish openness, moral purity, deep pain-love for the Fatherland! So many tears were shed over his poems, so many human souls sympathized and empathized with every Yesenin line, that if it were calculated, Yesenin's poetry would outweigh any and much more! But this method of evaluation is not available to earthlings. Although one could see from Parnassus - the people have never loved anyone so much! With Yesenin's poems they went to battle in the Patriotic War, for his poems they went to Solovki, his poetry excited souls like no other ... Only the Lord knows about this holy love of the people for their son. Yesenin's portrait is squeezed into wall-mounted family photo frames, put on a shrine on a par with icons ...
And not a single Poet in Russia has yet been exterminated or banned with such frenzy and perseverance as Yesenin! And they forbade, and hushed up, and belittled in dignity, and poured mud on them - and they still do it. Impossible to understand why?
Time has shown: the higher the Poetry with its secret lordship, the more embittered the envious losers, and the more imitators.
Another great God's gift Yesenin - read his poems as uniquely as he created them. They sounded so in his soul! All that was left was to say it. Everyone was shocked by his reading. Note that great poets have always been able to recite their poems uniquely and by heart - Pushkin and Lermontov... Blok and Gumilyov... Yesenin and Klyuev... Tsvetaeva and Mandelstam... So, young gentlemen, a poet mumbling his lines from a piece of paper from the stage is not a Poet, but an amateur... A poet may not be able to do many things in his life, but not this!
Last poem"Goodbye, my friend, goodbye ..." - another secret of the Poet. In the same 1925 there are other lines: “You don’t know what life is worth living!”
Yes, in the deserted city lanes, not only stray dogs, "smaller brothers", but also big enemies listened to Yesenin's light gait.
We must know the true truth and not forget how childishly his golden head tossed back ... And again his last gasp is heard:
"My dear, good-roshie ..."
I won't deceive myself
Concern lay in the misty heart.
Why am I known as a charlatan?
Why am I known as a brawler?
I am not a villain and I did not rob the forest,
He did not shoot the unfortunate in dungeons.
I'm just a street rake
Smiling at the faces.
I am a Moscow, mischievous reveler.
All over the Tver region
In the lanes every dog
Knows my easy gait.
Every wretched horse
He nods his head towards me.
For animals, I'm a good friend,
Every verse heals my soul of the beast.
I wear a top hat not for women.
In a stupid passion, the heart is not strong enough to live.
It is more comfortable in it, reducing your sadness,
Give the gold of oats to the mare.
Among people, I do not have friendship.
I submitted to another kingdom.
Every dog here on the neck
I'm ready to give away my best tie.
And now I won't get sick.
The slough in the heart cleared up like a mist.
That's why I was known as a charlatan,
That's why I was known as a brawler.
1922
I will not deceive ourselves,
Concern lay in the heart of misty.
Why did I have the reputation of a charlatan?
Why was I known as a brawler?
Not a villain, and I do not rob the forest,
I never shot dungeons.
I "m just a street rake
Smiling counter parties.
I Moscow, naughty playboy.
Around Tver
In the alleys of every dog
Knows my tripping.
Each horse zadripannaya
Nods his head towards me.
For beasts buddy I "m good,
Every verse my soul heals the beast.
I go in the cylinder is not for women.
In the heart of the foolish passion to live not in force.
It is more convenient, reducing their sadness,
Gold oats give mare.
Friendship among people I do not know.
I surrendered to another realm.
Each dog is involved here on the neck
I am ready to give my best tie.
And now I am not going to hurt.
Cleared in the heart of the maelstrom misty.
Because I had the reputation of a charlatan,
Because I was known as a brawler.
1922
