“The long winters and summers will never merge:
they have different habits and a completely dissimilar appearance ... "
(B. Okudzhava)
Veronika Mikhailovna Tushnova was born on March 27, 1915 in Kazan in the family of Mikhail Tushnov, a professor of medicine at Kazan University, and his wife, Alexandra, née Postnikova, a graduate of the Higher Women's Bestuzhev Courses in Moscow. The house on Bolshaya Kazanskaya Street, now Bolshaya Krasnaya Street, in which the Tushnovs lived then, was located on a hill. Above, the Kremlin dominated the entire landscape. Here, the Suyumbeki tower was adjacent to the domes of churches. Below, under the mountain, the Kazanka River flowed, and near the mouth of the Kazanka and beyond it were suburbs-slobodas. Veronica loved to visit the Admiralteyskaya Sloboda, in the house of her grandfather Pavel Khrisanfovich, a hereditary Volzhan. Veronica did not find him alive, but the fate of the grandfather-captain occupied the girl's imagination.
Veronica's father, Mikhail Pavlovich, lost his parents early, embarked on an independent path early. He graduated from the Kazan Veterinary Institute, one of the oldest institutions in Russia. He passed the difficult service of a military doctor in the Far East ... Returning to Kazan, Mikhail Pavlovich began working at the Veterinary Institute, a few years later he defended his doctoral dissertation, became a professor, and later received the title of academician of the All-Russian Academy of Agricultural Sciences. Veronica's mother, Alexandra Georgievna, originally from Samara, was an amateur artist. Professor Tushnov was several years older than his chosen one, and everything in the family obeyed his desires and will, right up to serving lunch or dinner.
Veronika, a dark-eyed, thoughtful girl who wrote poetry from childhood, but hid them from her father, according to his undeniable "desire", immediately after graduation, she entered the Leningrad Medical Institute (the professor's family had settled there by that time). After graduating from the institute, she is doing postgraduate studies in Moscow at the Department of Histology of VIEM under the guidance of Professor B. I. Lavrentiev, a graduate of Kazan University. Preparing a dissertation. Her articles appear in the scientific collection.
Veronica is 14 years old.
She was seriously fascinated by painting, and poetic inspiration did not leave. In 1939, her poems appeared in print. She married the famous doctor Yuri Rozinsky and gave birth in 1939 to a daughter, Natalia. Tushnova's second husband is physicist Yuri Timofeev. The details of Veronika Tushnova's family life are unknown - much has not been preserved, lost, relatives also remain silent.
At the beginning of the summer of 1941, Tushnova entered the Moscow Literary Institute named after M. Gorky: Her desire to professionally and seriously engage in poetry and philology seems to be beginning to come true. But I didn’t have to study. The war began. Veronika Mikhailovna's father had died by that time. There was a sick mother and little daughter Natasha. In November 1941, military fate returned Veronika Mikhailovna to her native city. Here she works as a ward doctor at the neurosurgical hospital, created on the basis of the GIDUV neurological clinic. Before her eyes pass the fate of many people.
In February 1943, Veronika Mikhailovna returned to Moscow. Hospital again; she works as a medical resident. 1944 was of exceptional importance in the creative biography of the poet. In the "New World" appears her poem "Surgeon", dedicated to N. L. Chistyakov, a surgeon at the Moscow hospital where Veronika Tushnova worked. In the same year, Komsomolskaya Pravda published the cycle Poems about a Daughter, which received a wide response from readers.
In 1945, her poetic experiments came out of print, which she called "The First Book". The whole further life of Veronika Tushnova was connected with poetry - it is in her poems, in her books, because her poems, extremely sincere, confessional, sometimes resemble diary entries. From them we learn that her husband left her, but a green-eyed, father-like daughter was growing up, and Veronica hoped that he would return: “You will come, of course, you will come to this house where our child grew up.”
The main theme of Veronika Tushnova's poems is love, with all its sorrows and joys, losses and hopes, divided and unrequited ... whatever it is, life makes no sense without it.
Not renounce loving.
After all, life does not end tomorrow.
I will stop waiting for you
and you will come quite suddenly.
And you come when it's dark
when a blizzard hits the glass,
when you remember how long ago
we did not warm each other.
And so you want warmth,
never loved,
that you can't bear
three people at the machine.
... And in the house there will be sadness and silence,
the wheezing of the counter and the rustle of the book,
when you knock on the door,
running upstairs without a break.
For this you can give everything
and so far I believe in it,
it's hard for me not to wait for you,
all day without leaving the door.
And he really came. But everything happened not at all the way she imagined it for many years, dreaming of his return. He came when he was ill, when he became very ill. And she did not renounce ... She nursed him and his sick mother. “Here everyone condemns me, but I can’t do otherwise ... After all, he is the father of my daughter,” she once said to E. Olshanskaya.
There is another very important side of V. Tushnova's work - this is her tireless translation activity. She translated the poets of the Baltics, the Caucasus, and Central Asia, the poets of Poland and Romania, Yugoslavia and India ... Translation work was important and necessary: it made the poems of many, many foreign poets accessible to the Russian reader.
It is not known under what circumstances and when exactly Veronika Tushnova met the poet and writer Alexander Yashin (1913-1968), whom she fell in love with so bitterly and hopelessly and to whom she dedicated her most beautiful poems, included in her last collection "One Hundred Hours of Happiness". Hopeless - because Yashin, the father of seven children, was married for the third time. Close friends jokingly called the family of Alexander Yakovlevich "Yashinsky collective farm."
The poetess, with whose poems about Love under the pillow a whole generation of girls fell asleep, herself experienced a tragedy - the happiness of Feeling, which illuminated her last years on Earth with its Light and gave a powerful stream of energy to her Creativity: This Love was divided, but a secret, because, as Tushnova herself wrote: "There is between us Not a big sea - Bitter grief, A stranger's heart." Alexander Yashin could not leave his family, and who knows, could Veronika Mikhailovna, a person who understands everything, and perceives sharply and subtly, - after all, poets from God have "nerves at their fingertips", - decide on such a sharp turn of Fates, more tragic than happy? Probably not.
They were born on the same day - March 27, met secretly, in other cities, in hotels, went to the forest, wandered all day, spent the night in hunting lodges. And when they returned by train to Moscow, Yashin asked Veronica to get out two or three stops so that they would not be seen together. The relationship could not be kept secret. Friends condemn him, the family is a real tragedy. The break with Veronika Tushnova was predetermined and inevitable.
"The unsolvable cannot be resolved, the incurable cannot be healed...". And judging by her poems, Veronika Tushnova could only be healed of her love by her own death. When Veronica was in the hospital in the oncology department, Alexander Yashin visited her. Mark Sobol, who had been friends with Veronika for many years, became an unwitting witness to one of these visits: “When I came to her ward, I tried to cheer her up. She was indignant: no! They gave her evil antibiotics that tightened her lips, it hurt her to smile. She looked extremely bad. Unrecognizable. And then he came - he! Veronica ordered us to turn to the wall while she got dressed. Soon she called quietly: "Boys ...". I turned around and freaked out. There was a beauty in front of us! I will not be afraid of this word, for it is said precisely. Smiling, with glowing cheeks, a young beauty who has never known any ailments. And then I felt with special force that everything written by her was true. Absolute and irrefutable truth. Perhaps this is what is called poetry ... "
In the last days before her death, she forbade Alexander Yashin to be allowed into her ward - she wanted him to remember her beautiful, cheerful, alive.
Veronika Mikhailovna was dying in severe agony. Not only from a terrible illness, but also from longing for a loved one who finally decided to release bitterly sinful happiness from his hands: The poetess died on July 7, 1965. She was barely 50 years old. There were manuscripts left on the table: unfinished pages of the poem and the new cycle of poems...
Yashin, shocked by the death of Tushnova, published an obituary in Literaturnaya Gazeta and dedicated poetry to her - his belated insight, filled with the pain of loss. In the early 60s, on Bobrishny Ugor, near his native village of Bludnovo (Vologda region), Alexander Yashin built a house for himself, where he came to work, experienced difficult moments. Three years after the death of Veronica, on June 11, 1968, he also died. And also from cancer. On Ugor, according to the will, he was buried. Yashin was only fifty-five years old.
She called her feeling "a storm that I can't handle" and trusted its slightest shades and modulations to her poems, like diary lines. Those who read (published after the death of the poetess, in 1969!) Poems inspired by this deep and surprisingly tender feeling, could not get rid of the feeling that in their palm lies "a pulsating and bloodied heart, tender, trembling in the hand and tries to warm his palms with his warmth": A better comparison cannot be imagined. Maybe that's why Tushnova's poetry is still alive, books are republished, placed on Internet sites and Tushnova's lines, light as wings of a butterfly, by the way, created "in extreme suffering and acute happiness" (I. Snegova) know more than details her complex, almost tragic, biography: However, such are the Fates of almost all true Poets, it is a sin to complain about this.
What did I refuse you, tell me?
You asked to kiss - I kissed.
You asked to lie - as you remember, and in a lie
I have never refused you.
It's always been the way I wanted it.
I wanted to - I laughed, but I wanted to - I was silent ...
But mental flexibility has a limit,
and there is an end to every beginning.
Blaming me alone for all the sins,
having discussed everything and thought it over soberly,
you want me not to be...
Don't worry, I've already disappeared.
Alexander Yakovlevich Popov (Yashin)
Alexander Yashin is a poet with a special gift for words. I am almost sure that the modern reader is not familiar with the work of this remarkable Russian poet. I assume that readers from the former USSR will not agree with me, and they will be right. After all, Alexander Yakovlevich created his most famous works in the period from 1928 to 1968.
The life of the poet was short. A. Ya. Yashin died of cancer on July 11, 1968 in Moscow. He was only 55 years old. But his memory is still alive and will live on. In part, this was facilitated by a poem by a "little-known" poetess - Veronika Tushnova. Little known only at first glance. The fact is that such popular songs were written on her poems as: “You know, there will still be! ..”, “One Hundred Hours of Happiness” ...
But the most famous poem by Tushnova, which immortalized her name, is "Not renounce loving" . This poem was dedicated to the poet Alexander Yashin, with whom she was in love. It is believed that the poem was written in 1944, and was originally addressed to another person. Nevertheless, it is believed that it was dedicated to Yashin at the time of parting - in 1965. It was included in a cycle of poems dedicated to their love story. Sad, happy, tragic love...
Poems became popular after the death of the poetess. It all started with the romance of Mark Minkov in 1976 in the performance of the Moscow Theater. Pushkin. And already in 1977, the poems sounded in the usual version for us - performed by Alla Pugacheva. The song became a hit, and the poetess Veronika Mikhailovna Tushnova gained her cherished immortality.
For decades, enjoys the same success with listeners. Pugacheva herself later called the song the main one in her repertoire, she admitted that a tear breaks through during her performance, and that a Nobel Prize can be given for this miracle.
"Do not renounce, loving" - the history of creation
Veronica's personal life did not develop. She was married twice, both marriages broke up. The last years of her life, Veronica was in love with the poet Alexander Yashin, which had a strong influence on her lyrics.
According to testimonies, the first readers of these poems could not help feeling that they had in their palms “a pulsating and bloodied heart, tender, trembling in the hand and trying to warm the palms with its warmth.”
However, Yashin did not want to leave his family (he had four children). Veronica was dying not only from illness, but also from longing for her beloved, who, after painful hesitation, decided to let sinful happiness out of her hands. Their last meeting took place in the hospital, when Tushnova was already on her deathbed. Yashin died three years later, also from cancer.
Veronika Mikhailovna Tushnova In the spring of 1965, Veronika Mikhailovna fell seriously ill and ended up in the hospital. Gone very quickly, burned out in a few months. On July 7, 1965, she died in Moscow from cancer. She was only 54 years old.
The love story of these two wonderful creative people touches and delights to this day. He is handsome and strong, already established as a poet and prose writer. She is an “oriental beauty” and a smart girl with an expressive face and eyes of extraordinary depth, a fine feeling, a wonderful poetess in the genre of love lyrics. They have a lot in common, even their birthday was on the same day - March 27th. And they left in the same month with a difference of 3 years: she - on July 7, he - on the 11th.
Their story, told in verse, was read by the whole country. Soviet women in love copied them by hand into notebooks, because it was impossible to get collections of Tushnova's poems. They were memorized, they were kept in memory and heart. They were sung. They became a lyrical diary of love and separation not only for Veronika Tushnova, but also for millions of women in love.
Where and when the two poets met is unknown. But the feelings that flared up were bright, strong, deep and, most importantly, mutual. He was torn between a sudden strong feeling for another woman, and duty and obligations to his family. She loved and waited, as a woman hoped that together they could come up with something to be together forever. But at the same time, she knew that he would never leave his family.
Kislovodsk, 1965 in the editorial office of the newspaper "Caucasian health resort" At first, like all such stories, their relationship was secret. Rare meetings, painful expectations, hotels, other cities, general business trips. But the relationship could not be kept secret. Friends condemn him, the family is a real tragedy. The break with Veronika Tushnova was predetermined and inevitable.
What to do if love came at the end of youth? What to do if life has already developed, how has it developed? What to do if a loved one is not free? Forbid yourself to love? Impossible. Breaking up is tantamount to death. But they broke up. So he decided. And she had no choice but to obey.
A black streak began in her life, a streak of despair and pain. It was then that these piercing lines were born in her suffering soul: not renounce loving… And he, handsome, strong, passionately loved, renounced. He tossed between duty and love. The sense of duty won...
Not renounce loving.
After all, life does not end tomorrow.
I will stop waiting for you
and you will come quite suddenly.
And you come when it's dark
when a blizzard hits the glass,
when you remember how long ago
we did not warm each other.
And so you want warmth,
never loved,
that you can't bear
three people at the machine.
And it will, as luck would have it, crawl
tram, subway, I don't know what's there.
And the blizzard will sweep the way
on the far approaches to the gate ...
And in the house there will be sadness and silence,
the wheezing of the counter and the rustle of the book,
when you knock on the door,
running upstairs without a break.
For this you can give everything
and so far I believe in it,
it's hard for me not to wait for you,
all day without leaving the door.
Do not renounce loving, Veronika Tushnova In the last days of the poetess's life, Alexander Yashin, of course, visited her. Mark Sobol, who had been friends with Tushnova for many years, became an unwitting witness to one of these visits.
“When I came to her room, I tried to cheer her up. She was indignant: no! She was given antibiotics, which tightened her lips, it hurt her to smile. She looked extremely bad. Unrecognizable. And then he came - he! Veronica ordered us to turn to the wall while she got dressed. Soon she called quietly: "Boys ..." I turned around - and was stunned. There was a beauty in front of us! I will not be afraid of this word, for it is said precisely. Smiling, with glowing cheeks, a young beauty who has never known any ailments. And then I felt with particular force that everything she wrote was true. Absolute and irrefutable truth. Perhaps this is what is called poetry ... "
After his departure, she screamed in pain, tore the pillow with her teeth, ate her lips. And she moaned: "What a misfortune happened to me - I lived my life without you."
The book "One Hundred Hours of Happiness" was brought to her in the ward. She stroked the pages. Good. Part of the circulation was stolen in the printing house - so her poems sunk into the soul of the printers.
One hundred hours of happiness... Isn't that enough?
I washed it like golden sand,
collected lovingly, tirelessly,
bit by bit, drop by drop, spark, sparkle,
created it from fog and smoke,
accepted as a gift from each star and birch ...
How many days spent in pursuit of happiness
on a chilled platform,
in a rattling wagon
at the hour of departure overtook him
at the airport
hugged him, warmed him
in an unheated house.
Spelled over him, conjured ...
It happened, it happened
that from bitter grief I got my happiness.
It is said in vain
that it is necessary to be born happy.
It is only necessary that the heart
not ashamed to work on happiness,
so that the heart is not lazy, arrogant,
so that for a small little it says "thank you."
Hundred hours of happiness
purest, without deceit ...
One hundred hours of happiness!
Is this not enough?
Yashin's wife, Zlata Konstantinovna, answered with her poems - bitterly:
Hundred hours of happiness
Neither more nor less
One hundred hours only - took and stole,
And show the world
To all people -
One hundred hours only, no one will judge.
Oh, it is happiness, stupid happiness -
Doors, and windows, and souls wide open,
Children's tears, smiles -
All in a row:
If you want - admire
If you want, steal.
Stupid, stupid happiness!
To be incredulous - what it cost him,
What did he have to be careful about?
Keep the family holy
As it should.
The thief turned out to be stubborn, skillful:
A hundred hours just from a block from a whole ...
Like hitting a plane over the top
Or the water washed away the dam -
And shattered, shattered into pieces
Stupid happiness collapsed to the ground.
1964
In the last days before her death, Veronika Mikhailovna forbade Alexander Yakovlevich to be allowed into her ward. She wanted her beloved to remember her beautiful and cheerful. And in parting she wrote:
I'm standing at the open door
I say goodbye, I'm leaving.
I don't believe in anything anymore...
doesn't matter
write,
ask!
So as not to be tormented by late pity,
from which there is no escape
write me a letter please
forward a thousand years.
Not for the future
so for the past
for peace of mind,
write good things about me.
I have already died. Write!
Veronika Tushnova at work The famous poetess was dying in great agony. Not only from a terrible disease, but also from longing for a loved one. At the 51st year of her life - July 7, 1965 - Veronika Mikhailovna Tushnova died. After it, the manuscripts remained on the table: unfinished pages of the poem and the new cycle of poems.
Alexander Yashin was shocked by the death of his beloved woman. He published an obituary in the Literary Gazette - he was not afraid - and composed poems:
"Now that's what I love"
You're nowhere from me now
And no one has power over the soul,
Until then, happiness is stable,
That any trouble is not a problem.
I don't expect any changes.
Whatever happens to me in the future
Everything will be like in the first year,
Like last year,
Our time has stopped.
And there will be no more quarrels:
Today our meetings are calm,
Only lindens rustle and maples ...
Now that's what I love!
"You and I are no longer under jurisdiction"
You and I are no longer under jurisdiction,
Our case is closed
crossed,
Forgiven.
It's not difficult for anyone because of us,
Yes, and we don't care.
Late in the evening,
Early in the morning
I don’t bother to confuse the trail,
I don't hold my breath
I'm coming to meet you
Into the dusk of the leaves
When I want.
Yashin realized that love had not gone away, had not escaped from the heart by order. Love only hid, and after the death of Veronica, it flared up with renewed vigor, but in a different capacity. Turned into longing, painful, bitter, indestructible. There was no dear soul, truly dear, devoted ... I recall the prophetic lines of Tushnova:
Only my life is short
I only firmly and bitterly believe:
you did not like your find -
love loss.
You will fall asleep with red clay,
drink for peace...
You return home - it's empty,
you leave the house - it's empty,
look into the heart - it's empty,
forever empty!
Probably, in these days, he fully, with frightening clarity, understood the woeful meaning of age-old folk wisdom: what we have, we do not appreciate, having lost, we weep bitterly.
1935 Tushnova on sketches After her death, Alexander Yakovlevich, for his remaining three years on earth, seemed to understand what kind of love fate bestowed on him. (“I repent that I timidly loved and lived ...”) He composed his main poems, in which there is a deep repentance of the poet and a testament to readers who sometimes think that courage and recklessness in love, openness in relationships with people and the world bring only misfortunes.
The books of lyrical prose by A. Ya. Yashin of the 1960s “I Treat Rowan” or the high lyrics “Day of Creation” return readers to an understanding of values that have not been crushed and eternal truths. As a covenant, everyone hears the lively, anxious and passionate voice of the recognized classic of Soviet poetry: “Love and hasten to do good deeds!” Grieving at the grave of a woman who became his bitter, predicted loss (Tushnova died in 1965), in 1966 he writes:
But, perhaps, you are somewhere?
And not a stranger
My ... But what?
Beautiful? Good? Maybe evil?
We would not miss each other with you.
Yashin's friends recalled that after the death of Veronica, he walked as if lost. A big, strong, handsome man, he somehow immediately passed, as if the light inside that illuminated his path went out. He died three years later from the same incurable disease as Veronica. Shortly before his death, Yashin wrote his "Waste":
Oh how hard it will be for me to die
On a full breath, stop breathing!
I regret not leaving
Leave,
I'm afraid of not possible meetings -
Parting.
Uncompressed wedge life lies at the feet.
The earth will never rest in peace for me:
Didn't save anyone's love before the deadline
And he responded to suffering deafly.
Has anything come true?
Where to put yourself
From the bile of regrets and reproaches?
Oh, how hard it will be for me to die!
And no
it is forbidden
learn lessons.
They say you don't die of love. Well, maybe at 14, like Romeo and Juliet. It is not true. Are dying. And they die at fifty. If love is real. Millions of people thoughtlessly repeat the formula of love, not realizing its great tragic power: I love you, I can't live without you... And they live on peacefully. But Veronika Tushnova could not. Couldn't live. And she died. From cancer? Or maybe from love?
The main hit of Alla Pugacheva “Do not renounce, loving”, in addition to the singer herself, was also performed by Alexander Gradsky, Lyudmila Artemenko, Tatyana Bulanova and Dmitry Bilan ...
Not renounce loving.
After all, life does not end tomorrow.
I will stop waiting for you
and you will come quite suddenly.
And you come when it's dark
when a blizzard hits the glass,
when you remember how long ago
we did not warm each other.
And so you want warmth,
never loved,
that you can't bear
three people at the machine.
And it will, as luck would have it, crawl
tram, subway, I don't know what's there.
And the blizzard will sweep the way
on the far approaches to the gate ...
And in the house there will be sadness and silence,
the wheezing of the counter and the rustle of the book,
when you knock on the door,
running upstairs without a break.
For this you can give everything
and so far I believe in it,
it's hard for me not to wait for you,
all day without leaving the door.
Analysis of the poem "Do not renounce loving" Tushnova
V. Tushnova is still a "little-known" Russian poetess, although several popular Soviet pop songs have been written on her poems. Among them - "Do not renounce, loving ...". At one time, millions of Soviet girls copied this work into notebooks. The poetess gained all-Union fame just after the poem was set to music by M. Minkov.
The product has its own real history of origin. For a long time, Tushnova had a passionate affair with A. Yashin. The lovers were forced to hide their relationship because Yashin was married. He could not leave his family, and the poetess herself did not want such a sacrifice from her beloved. Nevertheless, there were secret meetings, walks, and overnight stays in hotels. The unbearability of such a life Tushnova expressed in one of her most famous poems.
All the work of the poetess is somehow saturated with love. Tushnova literally lived this feeling and knew how to express it with heartfelt and warm words. Even in modern times, when "free love" reigns, the poem is able to touch the most delicate strings of the human soul.
Love for Tushnova is the most important and lofty feeling. It is high, because there is not a drop of egoism in it. There is a willingness to sacrifice oneself to a loved one, and leave oneself only the hope of one's own true happiness.
The main theme and meaning of the poem are the refrain "Do not renounce, loving ...". The lyrical heroine is sure that true love cannot die. Therefore, she never loses hope for the return of her beloved. In simple but surprisingly touching words, she convinces herself that happiness can come at any moment. This can happen quite suddenly: "when it's dark", "when ... a blizzard hits." It's just that love will flood lovers so much that any barriers will fall and become useless. It is not clear to today's generation, but for a Soviet person it meant a lot what it meant - "you can't wait it out ... three people at the machine gun." The lyrical heroine is ready to “give everything” for her love. Tushnova uses a very beautiful poetic exaggeration: "all day without leaving the door."
The ring composition of the poem emphasizes the nervous state of the lyrical heroine. The work even in some way resembles a prayer addressed to that power that will never let love perish.
Many poets wrote about love: good or bad, monotonous or conveying hundreds of shades of this feeling. Tushnova's poem "Do not renounce, loving ..." is one of the highest achievements of love lyrics. Behind the most ordinary words, the reader literally “sees” the naked soul of the poetess, for whom love was the meaning of her whole life.
