“Sing, sing. On the damned guitar ... "Sergey Yesenin

Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
Would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.

Don't look at her wrists
And flowing silk from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And accidentally found death.

I didn't know love was contagious
I didn't know love was a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

Sing, my friend. call me again
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other
Young, beautiful bastard.

Ah, wait. I don't scold her.
Ah, wait. I don't curse her.
Let me play about myself
Under this bass string.

The days of my pink dome are pouring.
In the heart of dreams of gold sums.
I touched a lot of girls
Many women pressed in the corner.

Yes! there is the bitter truth of the earth,
I peeped with a childish eye:
Males lick in line
Bitch dripping juice

So why should I be jealous of her.
So why should I hurt like this.
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and a whirlpool.

Sing, sing! On a fatal scale
These hands are a fatal misfortune.
You know, fuck them...
I will not die, my friend, never.

Analysis of Yesenin's poem “Sing, sing. On the damn guitar ... "

The beginning of the twenties was marked for Yesenin by a serious mental crisis, largely due to disappointment in the Great October Revolution and the power of the Bolsheviks. The tragic attitude of the poet was reflected in the cycle "Moscow Tavern", included in the collection of the same name. The lyrical hero of the poetic series consciously turns to wine, trying to forget himself in an alcoholic frenzy, to distract himself from real life and its inherent problems. He seeks salvation from mental anguish in the world of drinking establishments. Similar motifs are found in Blok's poetry of 1907-1913. His hero also tried to forget himself in a tavern haze, to hide from reality, drunk to unconsciousness. The texts included in the "Moscow Tavern" are very different from most of Yesenin's previous poems. In them, the rainbow of colors and the chanting of nature were replaced by gloomy night urban landscapes, presented from the point of view of a fallen man. The place of cordial sincerity and deep emotionality was occupied by naked sensitivity, hysterical intonations, plaintive melodiousness inherent in gypsy romances.

The poem "Sing, sing. On the cursed guitar…” (1922) is included in the “Moscow Tavern” cycle. In the text, the lyrical hero demonstrates an ambivalent attitude towards a woman, to whom he is clearly not indifferent. In the second stanza, there is a frank admiration for the beauty of the lady. The hero calls on the interlocutor to look at her wrists, at "her silk flowing from her shoulders." Then there is a sharp change of mood. A man has a realization that the object of adoration of such strong feelings is not worthy. He calls the woman "a young beautiful rubbish." This representative of the weaker sex is not capable of bringing happiness, her passion threatens her with death. Fifth stanza - the intonation changes again. The lyrical hero does not seem to want to scold his beloved, does not want to curse her. However, his good fortune did not last long. In the following lines, he reduces love only to physical intimacy, and animal intimacy, it is not without reason that a vivid image of a bitch in heat appears in the poem. Bed victories are declared the meaning of life:
Our life is a sheet and a bed,
Our life is a kiss and a whirlpool.
The poem ends on an optimistic note as the hero proclaims his own immortality. At the same time, the work leaves a painful impression. The world that is depicted in it is a space with a distorted idea of ​​love, which does not give a holiday to the heart, but destroys a person like a plague.

Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
Would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.

Don't look at her wrists
And flowing silk from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And accidentally found death.

I did not know that love is an infection,
I didn't know that love is a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

Sing, my friend. call me again
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other
Young, beautiful bastard.

Ah, wait. I don't scold her.
Ah, wait. I don't curse her.
Let me play about myself
Under this bass string.

The days of my pink dome are pouring.
In the heart of dreams of gold sums.
I touched a lot of girls
Many women pressed in the corner.

Yes! there is the bitter truth of the earth,
I peeped with a childish eye:
Males lick in line
Bitch dripping juice

So why should I be jealous of her.
So why should I hurt like this.
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and into the pool.

Sing, sing! On a fatal scale
These hands are a fatal misfortune.
You know, fuck them...
I will not die, my friend, never.
<1923> Sing, old. The cursed guitar
Your fingers dance vpolukrug.
Would drown in this frenzy
My last only friend.

Don't look at her wrist
And with her arms flowing silk.
I was looking at this woman happiness
But I found perdition.

I did not know what love is - an infection,
I didn't know what love is - the plague.
Came over and squinting eyes
Bully brought to mind.

Sing, my friend. Waft me again
Our previous violent early.
Let it drugova kisses
Young, beautiful stuff.

Oh wait. I did not scold.
Oh wait. I didn't wear.
Give you about myself I will play
Under this string bass.

Raining days my pink house.
At the heart of the golden dreams scrip.
A lot of girls I pereschupal
Many women in the corner pressed.

Yes! there is a bitter truth land
I spied childish eye:
Lick in all males
Expiring bitch juice.

So what am I jealous of her.
So what am I hurt this.
Our lives - yes bed sheet.
Our lives - yes kiss into the maelstrom.

Sing, old! In fatal sweep
These hands fatal trouble.
Only you know, went on their dick...
I will not die, my friend, never.

Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
Would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.

Don't look at her wrists
And flowing silk from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And accidentally found death.

I did not know that love is an infection,
I didn't know that love is a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

Sing, my friend. call me again
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other
Young, beautiful bastard.

Ah, wait. I don't scold her.
Ah, wait. I don't curse her.
Let me play about myself
Under this bass string.

The days of my pink dome are pouring.
In the heart of dreams of gold sums.
I touched a lot of girls
Many women pressed in the corner.

Yes! there is the bitter truth of the earth,
I peeped with a childish eye:
Males lick in line
Bitch dripping juice

So why should I be jealous of her.
So why should I hurt like this.
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and into the pool.

Sing, sing! On a fatal scale
These hands are a fatal misfortune.
You know, fuck them...
I will not die, my friend, never.
<1923> Sing, old. The cursed guitar
Your fingers dance vpolukrug.
Would drown in this frenzy
My last only friend.

Don't look at her wrist
And with her arms flowing silk.
I was looking at this woman happiness
But I found perdition.

I did not know what love is - an infection,
I didn't know what love is - the plague.
Came over and squinting eyes
Bully brought to mind.

Sing, my friend. Waft me again
Our previous violent early.
Let it drugova kisses
Young, beautiful stuff.

Oh wait. I did not scold.
Oh wait. I didn't wear.
Give you about myself I will play
Under this string bass.

Raining days my pink house.
At the heart of the golden dreams scrip.
A lot of girls I pereschupal
Many women in the corner pressed.

Yes! there is a bitter truth land
I spied childish eye:
Lick in all males
Expiring bitch juice.

So what am I jealous of her.
So what am I hurt this.
Our lives - yes bed sheet.
Our lives - yes kiss into the maelstrom.

Sing, old! In fatal sweep
These hands fatal trouble.
Only you know, went on their dick...
I will not die, my friend, never.

R. Kleiner reads

Sergey Yesenin
x x x

Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
Would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.

Don't look at her wrists
And flowing silk from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And accidentally found death.

I did not know that love is an infection,
I didn't know that love is a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

Sing, my friend. call me again
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other
Young beautiful bastard.

Ah, wait. I don't scold her.
Ah, wait. I don't curse her
Let me play about myself
Under this bass string.

The days of my pink dome are pouring.
In the heart of dreams of gold sums.
I touched a lot of girls
He pressed many women in the corners.

Yes! there is the bitter truth of the earth,
I peeped with a childish eye:
Males lick in line
Bitch dripping juice

So why should I be jealous of her.
So why should I hurt like this.
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and into the pool.

Sing, sing! On a fatal scale
These hands are a fatal misfortune.
Just know, send them to...
I will not die, my friend, never.

Yesenin Sergey Alexandrovich (1895-1925)
Yesenin was born into a peasant family. From 1904 to 1912 he studied at the Konstantinovsky Zemstvo School and at the Spas-Klepikovskaya School. During this time, he wrote more than 30 poems, compiled a handwritten collection "Sick Thoughts" (1912), which he tried to publish in Ryazan. The Russian village, the nature of central Russia, oral folk art, and most importantly, Russian classical literature had a strong influence on the formation of the young poet, directed his natural talent. Yesenin himself at different times named different sources that fed his work: songs, ditties, fairy tales, spiritual poems, “The Tale of Igor's Campaign”, the poetry of Lermontov, Koltsov, Nikitin and Nadson. Later he was influenced by Blok, Klyuev, Bely, Gogol, Pushkin.
From Yesenin's letters of 1911-1913, the complex life of the poet emerges. All this was reflected in the poetic world of his lyrics in 1910 - 1913, when he wrote more than 60 poems and poems. Yesenin's most significant works, which brought him fame as one of the best poets, were created in the 1920s.
Like any great poet, Yesenin is not a thoughtless singer of his feelings and experiences, but a poet - a philosopher. Like all poetry, his lyrics are philosophical. Philosophical lyrics are poems in which the poet speaks about the eternal problems of human existence, conducts a poetic dialogue with man, nature, earth, the universe. An example of the complete interpenetration of nature and man is the poem “Green Hairstyle” (1918). One develops in two plans: a birch is a girl. The reader will never know who this poem is about - about a birch tree or about a girl. Because a person here is likened to a tree - the beauty of the Russian forest, and she - to a person. Birch in Russian poetry is a symbol of beauty, harmony, youth; she is bright and chaste.
The poetry of nature, the mythology of the ancient Slavs, are imbued with such poems of 1918 as “Silver Road...”, “Songs, songs about what are you shouting about?”, “I left my dear home...”, “Golden foliage spun...” etc.
Yesenin's poetry of the last, most tragic years (1922 - 1925) is marked by a desire for a harmonious worldview. Most often, in the lyrics one feels a deep understanding of oneself and the Universe (“I don’t regret, I don’t call, I don’t cry ...”, “The golden grove dissuaded ...”, “Now we are leaving a little ...”, etc.)
The poem of values ​​in Yesenin's poetry is one and indivisible; everything is interconnected in it, everything forms a single picture of the “beloved homeland” in all its diversity of shades. This is the highest ideal of the poet.
Having passed away at the age of 30, Yesenin left us a wonderful poetic legacy, and as long as the earth lives, Yesenin, the poet, is destined to live with us and “sing with his whole being in the poet the sixth part of the earth with the short name “Rus”.

Alexander Novikov I didn't know that love is an infection verses by S. Yesenin - Sergei Lyubavin - Farewell to Isadora Song to verses by S. Yesenin Ships are sailing to Constantinople. Trains leave for Moscow. Whether from human noise, or from the osprey Every day I feel longing. That's why when I meet a foreigner, To the creak of schooners and ships I hear the voice of a weeping talyanka And the distant cry of cranes. Let you be drunk by others, But I have left, I have left Your glass smoke Hair And eyes autumn fatigue!!! The days of my pink dome are pouring. In the heart of dreams of golden sum. I felt a lot of girls, I pressed a lot of women in the corners. So why should I be jealous of her. So why should I hurt like this. Our life is a sheet and a bed. Our life is a kiss and into the pool. I did not know that love is an infection, I did not know that love is a plague. She came up and with her squinted eye drove the Hooligan crazy. I would have forgotten taverns forever, And I would have abandoned writing poetry, Only to thinly touch your hand And your hair is the color in autumn. Let you be drunk by others, But I have left, I have left Your glass smoke Hair And eyes autumn fatigue!!! Let... you're drunk... by others...

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Full text of the ode and free of charge:

Sing, sing. On the damn guitar
Your fingers dance in a semicircle.
Would choke in this frenzy,
My last, only friend.

Don't look at her wrists
And flowing silk from her shoulders.
I was looking for happiness in this woman,
And accidentally found death.

I didn't know love was a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

Sing, my friend. call me again
Our former violent early.
Let her kiss each other
Young, beautiful bastard.

Ah, wait. I don't scold her.
Ah, wait. I don't curse her.
Let me play about myself
Under this bass string.

I didn't know love was contagious
I didn't know love was a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

The days of my pink dome are pouring.
In the heart of dreams of gold sums.
I touched a lot of girls
He pressed many women in the corners.

So why should I be jealous of her.
So why should I hurt like this.
Our life is a sheet and a bed.
Our life is a kiss and a whirlpool.

I didn't know love was contagious
I didn't know love was a plague.
Came up with a slitted eye
The bully went crazy.

Sing, sing on a fatal scale
These hands are a fatal misfortune.
You know, fuck them...
I will not die, my friend, never.