Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin
I'm tired of living in native land
In longing for buckwheat expanses,
Leave my hut
I will leave as a vagabond and a thief.
I'll walk through the white curls of the day
Look for poor housing.
And my beloved friend
He sharpens a knife for the bootleg.
Spring and sunshine on the meadow
entwined yellow road
And the one whose name I keep
I will be driven from the threshold.
And I will return to Father's house,
I will be comforted by someone else's joy,
In the green evening under the window
I will hang myself on my sleeve.
Gray willows at the wattle fence
Gently bow their heads.
And unwashed me
Under the barking of a dog will be buried.
And the month will swim and swim,
Dropping oars across the lakes...
And Russia will still live,
Dance and cry at the fence.
In 1915, young Sergei Yesenin arrived in Petrograd, where he read his poems to Gorodetsky, Blok and others. famous poets. Creative intelligentsia northern capital enthusiastically accepted the new talent. For example, Blok called Yesenin's poems clean, fresh, vociferous, noting their verbosity among the shortcomings. The very first collection "Radunitsa" made the aspiring poet a real celebrity.
In 1916, in the journal Severnye Zapiski, Sergei Alexandrovich published “I am tired of living in my native land ...”. Three motifs are developed in this work - vagrancy, suicide, inner emptiness. Interestingly, for early creativity Yesenin, they are considered uncharacteristic. In a poem lyrical hero peers into the face with special intentness and vigilance native land begins to understand a high degree its downtroddenness and abandonment. This is how an inescapable longing is born, the result of which is a craving for antisocial image life: “I will leave my hut, I will leave a vagabond and a thief.” The sadness related to the homeland will later be in poems either bright, or painful, or peaceful.
The suicide mentioned in the second part of the work looks like a prediction. This kind of foresight of the tragic end was inherent in many brilliant poets- Lermontov, Mayakovsky, Pushkin. Approximately twenty years before his own tragic death, Yesenin very accurately describes it: "... on a green evening under the window, I will hang myself on my sleeve."
Sergei Alexandrovich was found dead at the end of 1925. The poet hanged himself in the Leningrad hotel "Angleterre", being in a deep depression.
Hotel Angleterre (left)
Posthumous photo of Yesenin
Shortly before that, he was undergoing treatment at a neuropsychiatric hospital. Last poem Yesenin - "Goodbye, my friend, goodbye ..." - was written in blood, since there was allegedly no ink in the Angleterre issue. Initially, there were no other versions of death other than suicide. They appeared in the 1970s and 80s. The death of the poet was often blamed on employees of the United State political management at the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR. This variant entered popular culture. In particular, it is the murder that is shown in the 2005 TV series Yesenin. Currently generally accepted version death of Sergei Alexandrovich among academic researchers of his creative heritage remains suicide.
"I'm tired of living in my native land ..." Sergei Yesenin
I'm tired of living in my native land
In longing for buckwheat expanses,
Leave my hut
I will leave as a vagabond and a thief.I'll walk through the white curls of the day
Look for poor housing.
And my beloved friend
He sharpens a knife for the bootleg.Spring and sunshine on the meadow
entwined yellow road
And the one whose name I keep
I will be driven from the threshold.And I will return to my father's house again,
I will be comforted by someone else's joy,
In the green evening under the window
I will hang myself on my sleeve.Gray willows at the wattle fence
Gently bow their heads.
And unwashed me
Under the barking of a dog will be buried.And the month will swim and swim,
Dropping oars across the lakes...
And Russia will still live,
Dance and cry at the fence.
Analysis of Yesenin's poem "I'm tired of living in my native land ..."
In 1915, young Sergei Yesenin arrived in Petrograd, where he read his poems to Gorodetsky, Blok and other famous poets. The creative intelligentsia of the Northern capital enthusiastically accepted the new talent. For example, Blok called Yesenin's poems clean, fresh, vociferous, noting their verbosity among the shortcomings. The very first collection "Radunitsa" made the aspiring poet a real celebrity.
In 1916, in the journal Severnye Zapiski, Sergei Alexandrovich published “I am tired of living in my native land ...”. Three motifs are developed in this work - vagrancy, suicide, inner emptiness. Interestingly, for Yesenin's early work, they are considered uncharacteristic. In the poem, the lyrical hero peers into the face of his native land with special intentness and vigilance, begins to understand the high degree of its downtroddenness and abandonment. This is how an inescapable longing is born, the result of which is a craving for an asocial lifestyle: “I will leave my hut, I will leave as a vagabond and a thief.” The sadness related to the homeland will later be in poems either bright, or painful, or peaceful.
The suicide mentioned in the second part of the work looks like a prediction. This kind of foresight of the tragic end was inherent in many brilliant poets - Lermontov, Mayakovsky, Pushkin. Approximately twenty years before his own tragic death, Yesenin very accurately describes it: "... on a green evening under the window, I will hang myself on my sleeve."
Sergei Alexandrovich was found dead at the end of 1925. The poet hanged himself in the Leningrad hotel "Angleterre", being in a deep depression. Shortly before that, he was undergoing treatment at a neuropsychiatric hospital. Yesenin's last poem - "Goodbye, my friend, goodbye ..." - was written in blood, since there was allegedly no ink in the Angleterre issue. Initially, there were no other versions of death other than suicide. They appeared in the 1970s and 80s. Often, employees of the United State Political Administration under the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR were accused of the death of the poet. This variant has penetrated popular culture. In particular, it is the murder that is shown in the 2005 TV series Yesenin. At present, the generally accepted version of the death of Sergei Alexandrovich among academic researchers of his creative heritage remains suicide.
// Read by Sergey Bezrukov
I'm tired of living in my native land
In longing for buckwheat expanses,
Leave my hut
I will leave as a vagabond and a thief.
I'll walk through the white curls of the day
Look for poor housing.
And my beloved friend
He sharpens a knife for the bootleg.
Spring and sunshine on the meadow
entwined yellow road
And the one whose name I keep
I will be driven from the threshold.
And I will return to my father's house again,
I will be comforted by someone else's joy,
In the green evening under the window
I will hang myself on my sleeve.
Gray willows at the wattle fence
Gently bow their heads.
And unwashed me
Under the barking of a dog will be buried.
And the month will swim and swim,
Dropping oars across the lakes...
And Russia will still live,
Dance and cry at the fence.
// Sergey Yesenin // Reads Sergei Bezrukov
I am tired of living in my native land
Longing for buckwheat expansions,
Leave my hut
Leave a stroller and a thief.
I "ll go over the white curls of the day
Search wretched housing.
And another favorite for me
Sharpen his knife in his ankle.
Spring and the sun on the meadow
Wrapped yellow road
And the one whose name is the shore,
I drive out from the threshold.
And once again I "ll be back in the fold,
Another man's joy to be comforted,
In the evening under the green window
On the sleeve of his hang myself.
Gray willow at the fence
Softer than the head is tilted .
And I neobmytogo
The barking of a dog buried.
A month would swim and swim
Dropping the paddle on the lakes ...
And Russia will still live
Dance and cry at the fence.
// Yesenin [1915-1916]
Yesenin S. A. - "I'm tired of living in my native land"
I'm tired of living in my native land
In longing for buckwheat expanses,
Leave my hut
I will leave as a vagabond and a thief.
I'll walk through the white curls of the day
Look for poor housing.
And my beloved friend
He sharpens a knife for the bootleg.
Spring and sunshine on the meadow
entwined yellow road
And the one whose name I keep
I will be driven from the threshold.
And I will return to my father's house again,
I will be comforted by someone else's joy,
In the green evening under the window
I will hang myself on my sleeve.
Gray willows at the wattle fence
Gently bow their heads.
And unwashed me
Under the barking of a dog will be buried.
And the month will swim and swim,
Dropping oars across the lakes...
And Russia will still live,
Dance and cry at the fence.
Read by S.Leontiev
Yesenin Sergey Alexandrovich (1895-1925)
Yesenin! golden name. The murdered boy. The genius of the Russian land! None of the Poets who came to 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!
The last poem "Goodbye, my friend, goodbye ..." is 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 ..."
