Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin was born (September 21) October 3, 1895 in the village of Konstantinov, Ryazan province, into a peasant family.
I do not regret, do not call, do not cry,
Everything will pass like smoke from white apple trees.
Withering gold embraced,
I won't be young anymore.
Now you won't fight so much
Cold touched heart
And the country of birch chintz
Not tempted to wander around barefoot.
Wandering spirit! you are less and less
You stir the flame of your mouth
Oh my lost freshness
A riot of eyes and a flood of feelings!
Now I have become more stingy in desires,
My life, or did you dream of me?
Like I'm a spring echoing early
Ride on a pink horse.
All of us, all of us in this world are perishable,
Quietly pouring copper from maple leaves ...
May you be blessed forever
That came to flourish and die.
The evening furrowed black eyebrows.
Someone's horses are standing in the yard.
Was it not yesterday that I drank away my youth?
Did I fall out of love with you not yesterday?
Don't snore, belated trio!
Our lives have gone by without a trace.
Maybe tomorrow a hospital bed
Will put me at ease forever.
Maybe tomorrow will be different
I'll leave healed forever
Listen to the songs of rain and bird cherry,
How does a healthy person live?
I will forget the dark forces
That tormented me, ruining.
Sweet look! Cute look!
Only one I will not forget you.
Let me love another
But with her, with her beloved, on the other,
I'll tell you about you dear
That once I called dear.
I'll tell you how the past flowed
Our life that was not the former ...
Are you my daring head
What have you brought me to?
mother's letter
Are you still alive, my old lady?
I'm alive too. Hello you, hello!
Let it flow over your hut
That evening unspeakable light.
They write to me that you, concealing anxiety,
She was very sad about me,
What do you often go on the road
In an old-fashioned dilapidated shushun.
And you in the evening blue darkness
We often see the same thing:
Like someone is in a tavern fight for me
He put a Finnish knife under the heart.
Nothing, dear! Calm down.
It's just painful bullshit.
I'm not such a bitter drunkard,
To die without seeing you.
I'm still so tender
And I only dream about
So that rather from rebellious longing
Return to our low house.
I'll be back when the branches spread
In spring, our white garden.
Only you me already at dawn
Don't wake up like eight years ago.
Don't wake up what was noted
Don't worry about what didn't come true -
Too early loss and fatigue
I have experienced in my life.
And don't teach me to pray. No need!
There is no return to the old.
You are my only help and joy,
You are my only inexpressible light.
So forget your worries
Don't be so sad about me.
Don't go on the road so often
In an old-fashioned dilapidated shushun.
Poetry
All the warmth of the soul, its youth, all the love for life and the land of his beloved, Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin gave to poetry, sacrificing many joys, a stable position in society and in his very destiny.
The poet Sergei Gorodetsky, who knew the poet well, argued: “Yesenin was the only one of contemporary poets who devoted his whole life to writing poetry. For him there were no values in life, except for his poetry. All his antics, bravados and rages were caused only by the desire to fill the emptiness of life from one poem to another ... In this sense, he was not at all like that shepherd with a village pipe, whom the commemorators hastened to introduce to us. I remember very well his fury, with which he spoke to me in 1921 about such an interpretation of him. And about him: “... He brought the poems tied in a rustic scarf. From the very first lines it was clear to me what joy came to Russian poetry.
A curious review of the poetry of Yesenin, a poet of a completely different creative orientation and of a different time - Boris Pasternak:
“Since the time of Koltsov, the Russian land has not produced anything more fundamental, natural, appropriate and generic than Sergei Yesenin, giving him time with incomparable freedom and not burdening the gift with hundred-pound populist diligence. At the same time, Yesenin was a living, beating lump of that artistry, which, following Pushkin, we call the highest Mozart principle, the Mozart element.
And, by the way, about artistry. Yesenin skillfully read his poems, but he differed from skillful reciters in that he put his whole soul into it, leaving the brightest impression in the hearts of the listeners, which has a lot of documentary evidence. Here is what Boris Solovyov tells about the evening in the hall of the City Duma on Nevsky, which was led by Yesenin, releasing his Imagist friends one after another, who were rebuffed by the public in the form of sharp remarks and caustic remarks.
“This obviously annoyed and annoyed Yesenin, he began to argue with the audience ... and at one time it seemed to me that the evening might just break loose.
- And now I will read you my poems ... - ... and the audience, which had just made a displeased noise ... immediately calmed down; all those present held their breath, as if waiting for something extraordinary and wonderful, and this expectation was not in vain. —
Wake me up early tomorrow
Oh my patient mother!
I'll go for the road mound
Meet a dear guest.
(“Wake me up early tomorrow…”)
Yesenin read this poem as if confessing to us his most secret thoughts and feelings, sharing the experience of his whole life, revealing his fate ...
I did not have to hear anything similar and similar again - by the depth of the purest and most perfect lyricism, alien to any extraneous signs and signs, by the degree of complete dissolution of the artist himself in the radiance and flow of this lyricism, as if carrying him to some wonderful and yet unknown to him shores.
I don't know if that's how it was perceived and others), but each of those present answered them ( poetry) with thunderous applause and enthusiastic jubilation, and a storm of applause thundered after them for a long, long time.
The fact from Gorky's memoirs is also known that when, at his request, Yesenin read to him "The Song of the Dog" and uttered the last lines:
The eyes of a dog rolled
Golden stars in the snow.
Tears sparkled in Alexei Maksimovich's eyes.
And how relevant these words of Mikhail Osorgin sound today:
“Probably, the poet has many duties: to educate our soul, reflect the era, improve and elevate native language; maybe something else. But one thing is certain: a poet is not one whose poetry does not excite. Yesenin's poetry could annoy, infuriate, delight - depending on taste. But she could leave indifferent only a hopelessly indifferent and unreceptive person.
And it used to be, and now there is such an opinion: Sergei Yesenin was so gifted by nature that this alone was enough for his entire life. creative life, not for nothing that Gorky called it an organ created exclusively for poetry.
However, this is a very common misconception, and not only in relation to Yesenin. Here is just one example from the memoirs of Ilya Ehrenburg:
“We drank a little - the decanter was tiny; but I did not want to leave the cozy warm room. Yesenin surprised me: he spoke about painting; recently he looked at the Shchukin collection, he was interested in Picasso. It turned out that he had read Verlaine's translation, even Rimbaud. Then he began to recite Pushkin...
On the street, when we said goodbye, Yesenin said: “Poetry is not cakes, you can’t pay for it with rubles ...” I remembered these words - they amazed me ... "
And here is a valuable observation of the writer Ivan Rakhilo: “His amazing memory and knowledge of the Slavic language amazed him. Without opening the book, he spoke from the "Words ( about Igor's regiment)” entire chapters by heart.” He knew and appreciated not only Russian poetry. In the Caucasus, he read Armenian poets with pleasure and great knowledge of the matter and really wanted to meet Charents, but it did not work out.
And again - from the memoirs of Ivan Rahillo:
“Moscow solemnly celebrates the 125th anniversary of the birth of Pushkin.
Writers gather near Herzen's house. Many acquaintances: Kazin, Oreshin, Kirillov, Gorodetsky. Yesenin in a gray suit, in his hands - a huge wreath of fresh flowers. Then someone touched him on the shoulder, and he quickly, with youthful readiness, turned to his friend, and a kind, broad smile immediately lit up on his face. It seemed that he was smiling at the whole world: at trees, the day, clouds, people, flowers - his smile was sincere and cheerful, as if he invited everyone around him to smile with him.
(At the monument to Pushkin Yeseninreads poetry) as if giving an oath to the one whose mighty gift became the Russian fate, who, having overcome all the cruel vicissitudes, remained "in the bronze of forged glory."
Yesenin reads, stretching his hands forward and as if conducting them over the heads of the audience:
And I stand, as before communion,
And I say to you:
I would die now of happiness
Blessed with such a fate.
But, doomed to persecution,
I will sing for a long time...
So that my steppe singing
Managed to ring bronze.
("Pushkin")
Pushkin - that's whose heart warmed Yesenin's dream, whose unfading image constantly shone in his own heart! And he once remarked: “To fully understand Pushkin, one must be a genius.” One must think how passionately he loved the very image of Alexander Sergeevich, how deeply he understood every line of it!
After traveling abroad, meeting with Ilya Selvinsky, Yesenin said: “I like civilization. However, I really don't like America. America is that stench where not only art disappears, but the best impulses of mankind in general. At a time when many people of art were delighted with the skyscrapers of New York, technical progress overseas, and so on, he published an essay in a newspaper where he dubbed America surprisingly accurately - Iron Mirgorod. The wide, loving, deep and subtle soul of the poet really had nothing to do there.
Yesenin did not want to exchange for anything in Russia either:
I will accept everything.
I accept everything as it is.
Ready to follow the beaten tracks.
I'll give my whole soul to October and May,
But I won't give you my sweet lyre.
("Soviet Rus'")
Yesenin did not want to “trim” his “dear lyre” under certain political or social views, just as, having the opportunity to stay abroad, he did not. “I sang when my land was sick,” with this line he seemed to respond to Ivan Bunin’s derogatory review addressed to him from there, from abroad. He understood that, leaving his beloved Rus', he would betray his talent - natural and organic, like his native field near Ryazan ... This spiritual feat was appreciated by Russia only at the end of the 20th century.
Yesenin wholeheartedly strove to understand the new time, to become one of those who believed in the future of the new Russia.
Now in the Soviet side
I am the most furious fellow traveler.
("Letter to a Woman")
He understood that the country must move forward, that this is an inevitable condition for survival, although he was sincerely sad about this, comparing the foal with a “cast-iron train”:
Dear, dear, funny fool
Well, where is he, where is he chasing?
Doesn't he know that living horses
Did the steel cavalry win?
("Sorokoust")
Love
From everything that we know about Yesenin (although no one can fully know the fate of the poet), the conclusion nevertheless suggests itself: most of all in his life he loved poetry, and somehow corrected his personal life for it.
In an effort to conquer both capitals - both the main and the northern - and nowhere having his own home and reliable rear, Yesenin was dependent on the circumstances of his stormy and sometimes unpredictable personal life. Such is the meeting with Isadora Duncan, who captivated the poet not only as a beautiful woman, but also as a European celebrity. He was constantly drawn to the rainbow of glory, which is quite natural for a talent from the provinces, and it seemed to him that the halo of fame of the same Isadora or the big name of Chaliapin's daughter, whom he had not been averse to marrying earlier, would help his name ascend to the starry sky. We now know that with such a talent as Yesenin, it was impossible not to take a worthy place on the Russian Parnassus. And then, with a far from even attitude towards his poems of heterogeneous literary movements in the person of their conceited representatives, everything was not at all simple, especially for yesterday's village boy, who was not experienced either in metropolitan literary or social life. In addition, the history of Russia is replete with dozens of examples when very talented poets, deprived of wide popularity by the will of fate, remained unrecognized and not truly appreciated by the fatherland. And in this sense it is not difficult to understand Yesenin.
But back to Isadora Duncan.
- Did Sergei Alexandrovich tell you about his life with Isadora Duncan? - asked Shagane Nersesovna Talyan at a personal meeting, lyrical heroine"Persian Motifs", literary critic V. G. Belousov.
- He told me, of course. I remember this detail. When he first came to Duncan, she was lying on the sofa; invited him to sit at her feet, began to stroke his head, said that he was very similar to her son. ( Her son and daughter had previously died in a car accident.) And I also remember that Yesenin spoke about frequent quarrels with her - always bitterly, hostilely, indicating that she was pushing him to drink. “If she,” complained Sergei Alexandrovich, “loved me as a person, as a friend, she would not allow me to do this, she would protect me from drunkenness. But she herself did not know how and did not want to do without wine. I cannot remember this time without shuddering,” he often repeated.
And here is what Ilya Ehrenburg wrote about them: “In Berlin, I met him several times with Isadora Duncan. She understood that it was hard for him, she wanted to help and could not. She possessed not only great talent, but also humanity, tenderness, tact; but he was a wandering gypsy; what frightened him most of all was the sedentary nature of the heart.
And Galina Serebryakova notes that at parting with Yesenin in the coffin of the poet was a telegram from Isadora Duncan with sincere words of loss ...
And therefore there are no final conclusions in this topic and never will be. Including in allegations that ambition played a major role in Yesenin's attitude towards women.
“When Yesenin met me in the company of other men, for example, my fellow teachers, he approached himself, got to know them, but always left with me.
He always came with flowers, sometimes roses, but more often violets. I loved flowers very much.
Once I got sick, and my sister went to work. All three days, while I was ill, Sergey Alexandrovich came to me in the morning, prepared tea , talked to me, read poems from the Anthology of Armenian Poetry. I do not remember the content of these conversations, but it can be noted that they were simple and calm.
Yesenin took my photo as a keepsake, and he himself chose it from among others, ”recalled Shagane Talyan.
My former wound subsided -
Drunk delirium does not gnaw at my heart.
Blue colors of Tehran
I am treating them today in a teahouse.
(“My former wound has subsided ...”)
Thus begins one of the first poems that made up the famous Persian Motifs. And these lines are not at all the fantasy of a creative person, they are an echo of the long and morally difficult trips for the poet with Isadora Duncan around Europe and America, and between them - the hectic life of the capital, which is more than reflected in the "Moscow Tavern". Only knowing this, one can imagine and understand the full significance of Sergei Yesenin's meeting with the Caucasus in the autumn of 1924, his recovery, primarily spiritual, and the generous light of the meeting with the prototype of his captivating poems dedicated to Shagane.
And in Tiflis, and in Batum (as it was called then), and in Baku, Yesenin was met and accepted as a famous Russian poet, they published a lot.
Or again, no matter how much I ask,
There is no business for you forever
What is in the distant name - Russia -
I am a famous, recognized poet.
Talyanka rings in my soul,
In the moonlight, I hear a dog barking.
Don't you want, Persian,
See the distant blue edge?
I didn't come here out of boredom.
You called me, invisible.
And me your swan hands
Wrapped around like two wings.
(“I have never been to the Bosphorus”)
“One day in December 1924, I left school and headed home. On the corner I noticed young man above average height, slender, blond hair, wearing a soft hat and foreign mackintosh over a gray suit. His unusual appearance caught my eye, and I thought that he was a visitor from the capital, ”Shagane recalled.
In Batum, she rented a room with her sister Katya, also a teacher. That evening, a neighbor ran up to them and said that the famous Russian poet wanted to meet Shagane. Apparently, not only did the young teacher pay attention to him as she left the school, but he also noticed her. “We went,” Talyan said. - From us and the guests in Ioffe's tiny room ( neighbors) became impossibly cramped. After we met, I invited everyone to go for a walk in the park.
It is quite possible that Shagane could become another hobby of the poet. And it depended on her what these relationships would be. And, despite the fact that by this time she was free (she got married early, but soon her husband died, leaving her with her son), Shagane, by the purity of her soul, raised their acquaintance to a different level, higher and at the same time more sincere . And Yesenin seemed to have regained his former faith in the beauty of a woman (not only external!), In her mind and heartfelt devotion.
“The next day, leaving school, I saw him again on the same corner. It was cloudy and the sea was stormy. We greeted each other, and Yesenin offered to walk along the boulevard, saying that he did not like such weather and would rather read poetry to me. He read “Shagane you are mine, Shagane...” and immediately gave me two sheets of checkered notebook paper on which the poem was written. Under it is the signature: S. Yesenin.
At other meetings, which now took place almost daily, he read new verses from this cycle.
Sweet hands - a pair of swans -
Dive into the gold of my hair.
Everything in this world of people
The song of love is sung and repeated.
I sang and I was once far away
And now I sing about the same thing again
That's why I breathe deeply
Tenderness impregnated word.
I don't know how to live my life
Whether to burn out in the caresses of the sweet Steps
Or under old age anxiously grieve
About past song courage?
(“The hands of the sweetheart are a pair of swans ...”)
And on January 4, already new, 1925, the poet brought a collection of his poems “Moscow Tavern” with an autograph written in pencil: “My dear Shagane, you are pleasant and sweet to me. S. Yesenin. And, although he gave this book, obviously, with pleasure, but in his work a significant step had already been taken towards light and goodness, towards new hopes.
“Another time he told me that he would print “Persian Motifs” and put my photo on it. I asked not to do this, pointing out that his poems were already beautiful and my card would not add anything to them.
S. A. Yesenin is and until the end of days will be a bright memory of my life "( Shagane Talyan, 1959).
And we can only be eternally grateful to this young woman, whose image remained for a long time not only in the heart of Sergei Yesenin, but also in the treasury of world literature:
Shagane you are mine, Shagane!
Because I'm from the north, or something,
I'm ready to tell you the field
Shagane you are mine, Shagane.
Because I'm from the north, or something,
That the moon is a hundred times bigger there,
No matter how beautiful Shiraz is,
It is no better than Ryazan expanses.
Because I'm from the north, or something.
I'm ready to tell you the field
I took this hair from the rye,
If you want, knit on your finger -
I don't feel any pain at all.
I'm ready to tell you the field.
About wavy rye in the moonlight
You can guess by my curls.
Darling, joke, smile
Do not wake up only the memory in me
About wavy rye in the moonlight.
Shagane you are mine, Shagane!
There, in the north, the girl too,
She looks a lot like you
Maybe he's thinking about me...
Shagane you are mine, Shagane.
("Shagane you are mine, Shagane! ..")
Fate
Despite Yesenin's external "acclimatization" in the life of the capital, his soul - pure, loving, at first naive - became a battlefield between what he went to people with and what he met on his way. People appreciated his best qualities, reflected in poetry, and in life he was forced to respond in one way or another to envy, vulgarity, and sometimes outright persecution. This snowball of disappointments, insults, desperate attempts to swim out to the light and the sun became heavier every year, threatening to crush the poet himself under him.
A word to Sergei Gorodetsky: “The contradiction between the enchanted world of his work and everyday life has become aggravated. He was too integral in nature, so that, having broken, he would not break to the end”, “All his work was only a brilliant beginning. If he would have heard some of what is now being said and written about him during his lifetime, perhaps this beginning would have had the same continuation. But his stormy creativity did not find its Belinsky.
Many legends are associated with Sergei Yesenin, different people evaluated his actions differently. But those who knew him closely noted in him not only the breadth, but also the kindness of the soul, as natural as the lines of his poems. Whoever wanted to saw it. For example, Andrei Bely recalled: “The image of Yesenin, as he appeared before me, is very dear to me. Even before the revolution, in 1916, I was struck by one feature, which then passed through all the memories and all the conversations. This is extraordinary kindness, extraordinary gentleness, extraordinary sensitivity and heightened delicacy ... He always asked if a person has such and such, how he lives - this always touched me. I remember our meetings during the period when I was lying on Sadovo-Kudrinskaya. Yesenin came, sat down on the bed and began to provide a number of minor services. And there was a very cordial conversation.
And it is understandable psychologically, when a person was cruelly offended with such cordiality, then his reaction is stormy, his reaction is a challenge.
I think that some highly human humanity was offended in Yesenin ...
Yesenin is before us, indeed, an unusually gentle organization, and it was only necessary to be able to get along with him.
And the poet Pyotr Chikhachev told how, after seeing Yesenin after meeting with young writers in a hostel, he and his friends under a newspaper tablecloth, near the chair on which Yesenin was sitting, found as much as thirty rubles - at that time a very large amount. The poet realized that the students had spent a lot of money and thus wanted to help them. And, as they later did not persuade him to take the money back, Yesenin did not recognize the banknotes as his own and threatened to get angry properly if they did not close this topic.
And again Pyotr Chikhachev: “Seeing my ( sick) mother for the first time, he kissed her. When we went for a walk in the city garden, he said:
Why don't you send your mother to the hospital? Let the experts take a look. She is not an old person yet. She can be cured. Can't arrange? Okay, I'll help you."
And soon Pyotr Chikhachev received a note. It contained only a few words: “Agreed with Professor Kozhevnikov, who treated V. I. Lenin. Take mom to the Semashko hospital ( Pinch, 8). Sergey".
Such help from the mother of a barely familiar, still "green" poet, speaks volumes. Only a very kind and, as they would say now, decent person is capable of this.
Despite many acquaintances and friends in the literary workshop, Yesenin, by and large, was lonely. Viktor Shklovsky wrote about this: “Yesenin did not start at home in the city. There were only admirers and friends who ironically basked in the rays of his glory. Ironically! And it was not by chance that Alexander Serafimovich was indignant: “Yesenin died, and the province went to write! So much nonsense (with delight and tears), so much hypocrisy, so much public lies - ears wither. Why, who needs it? Nothing but evil, except perverted notions.” And Yesenin also had to go through this - already there, in heaven, in order to show his clear and loving face to his homeland.
But the most sighted people who did not stop loving their homeland even in those troubled times, already clearly understood what a loss Russia had suffered.
Alexei Tolstoy: "Dead greatest poet... He left the village, but did not come to the city. Last years his lives were a waste of his genius.
His poetry is, as it were, the scattering of the treasures of his soul by both handfuls.
And again, Alexander Serafimovich: “It is difficult for a poet, his legs get tired, he is tired of the way; his companions are often random. He passes by glorified and not seen, and when you remember him, you remember poetry.
We are now leaving little by little
In the country where peace and grace.
Maybe soon I will be on my way
To collect mortal belongings.
I thought a lot of thoughts in silence,
I composed many songs about myself,
And on this gloomy earth
Happy that I breathed and lived.
Happy that I kissed women
I crumpled flowers, rolled on the grass,
And the beast, like our smaller brothers,
Never hit on the head.
I know that in that country there will be no
These fields, golden in the mist.
That's why people are dear to me
that live with me on earth.
(“We are now leaving a little…”)
It remains to be added that Yesenin's dream came true - his "steppe singing" rang out like bronze, stood on a par with Pushkin's work ... And it is no coincidence that in Moscow at the funeral, the coffin with his body was surrounded three times around the monument to Alexander Sergeevich, which was in eminently humane and fair, opened the door to the most important meeting of two Russian geniuses.
And we can only thank fate for a gift that is luxurious for every living heart - the poetry of Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin, who at one time sincerely exclaimed:
Rejoicing, raging and tormented,
Life is good in Rus'!
(“The feather grass is sleeping. Dear plain ...”)
Sergey Yesenin
Beloved edge! Dreaming of the heart
Stacks of the sun in the waters of the womb.
I would like to get lost
In the greens of your bells.
Along the border, at the crossroads,
Reseda and riza porridge.
And call the rosary
Willows are meek nuns.
The swamp smokes with a cloud,
Burn in the heavenly yoke.
With a quiet secret for someone
I kept my thoughts in my heart.
I meet everything, I accept everything,
Glad and happy to take out the soul.
I came to this earth
To leave her soon.
If Mayakovsky was a thunder trumpet, then Yesenin was her golden flute.
Both of these voices will always resound for readers of the future...
Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin was born in the village of Konstantinov, Ryazan province,
in a peasant family. From childhood he was brought up by his maternal grandfather,
an enterprising and prosperous man, a connoisseur of church books.
He graduated from a four-year rural school, then a church teacher's school
in Spas-Klepiki. In 1912 the poet moved to Moscow.
He worked in a printing house, joined the literary and musical circle named after Surikov,
attended lectures at the Shanyavsky People's University.
Yesenin's poems first appeared in Moscow magazines in 1914.
In 1915, he traveled to Petrograd, where he met A. Blok, S. Gorodetsky,
N. Klyuev and other poets. Enthusiastically received by the literary environment
the then capital as a messenger of the Russian village, Russian fields, Yesenin
quickly gained resounding fame.
In 1916, the first collection of his poems, Radunitsa, was published. It was time
rapid spiritual growth and improvement of the skill of the poet.
Yesenin served in the tsarist army for a short time.
He collaborated in Socialist-Revolutionary publications, publishing in them the poems "Transfiguration",
Oktoih, Inonia.
In March 1918, the poet again settled in Moscow, where he acted as one of the
founders of the Imagist group.
In 1919-1921. traveled a lot (Solovki, Murmansk, Caucasus, Crimea).
Working on dramatic poem"Pugachev",
in the spring of 1921 he travels to the Orenburg steppes, gets to Tashkent.
In 1922-1923. together with the American dancer A. Duncan, who lived in Moscow,
who became the wife of Yesenin, visited Germany, France, Italy, Belgium,
Canada, USA.
He often visited his native Konstantinovo, never breaking ties with him.
In 1924-1925. visited Georgia and Azerbaijan three times, working there with a huge
rise and created "The Poem of Twenty-Six", "Anna Snegina", "Persian Motifs".
“My lyrics are alive with one big love, love for the motherland. Feeling of home
the main thing in my work, ”Yesenin said.
Yesenin's poetry is unusual in its utmost sincerity.
As Gorky wrote, “Sergey Yesenin is not so much a person as an organ,
created by nature exclusively for poetry.
The best pages of Yesenin vividly captured the spiritual beauty of the Russian people.
The finest lyricist, the magician of the Russian landscape, surprisingly sensitive to earthly
colors, sounds and smells, Yesenin was a great and bold master of verse.
His capacious and stunningly fresh images are almost always a real artistic discovery.
Pushkin's simplicity and transparency - this is the ideal that guided Yesenin in the last years of his work.
Evgeny Glebov-Krylov.
Thank you for a short but capacious story about life and work. There is a lot of good and wise, a lot of sadness in his poetry. A self-taught nugget, he went down in history as a national poet of the first half of the 20th century. My father and uncle were convicted at the institute for "Yeseninism". Uncle Zhenya was expelled from the Komsomol, and his father was left ... And, apparently, my father conveyed to me his love for Yesenin's muse ...
Reading the biography of Yesenin, you see his pettiness, characteristic of Virgos. This pettiness, prudence was especially manifested in life with Duncan. On the other hand, in his work, throwing characteristic of Libra is visible, and androgyny is again characteristic of Libra. He dissolved the myth about his hooliganism himself. He himself was a showman of peasant ingenuity who conquered the public of St. a short time. Short fate, bright as the life of a supernova...
After reading his biography, Maslov's book "The Noose and the Bullet", Khlystalov's essay, put by Vitaly Bezrukov as the basis for the scenario of the Yesenin series of 2005, after reading, finally, the last verses, you come to the conclusion that Sergei fell into a trap: alcoholism is a disease of bohemian existence. Personal life crumbled to nothing, the power in literature was taken by such peasant-philistine origin people as Demyan Poor, wiped him away from the benefits. He roamed like Bobik through the apartments, and he felt that ... WRITTEN OFF, losing his gift - such is the opinion of the biographer whom I read.
That's what happens with writers. Those who are more experienced know that time will pass and the laboratory will start working. And Sergey was only 30 years old and all the summer he was preparing to leave. All creativity is permeated with this ("I'll hang myself on my sleeve"), these demonstrative attempts in public to commit suicide, to be hugged, consoled, pitied...
Many poets killed themselves, writers are stronger, but Fadeev, for example, could not stand it and Gorky tried to commit suicide in his youth ... Yesenin's dying poem written in blood was studied by graphologists and suggests that it was not written in a state of alcoholic intoxication in his usual handwriting . Yesenin did not write poetry while intoxicated. And yet, many of us really want to be sure that the Chekists and certainly the Trotskyist are to blame for the death of Yesenin.
Reviews
Olya, thank you for the interesting publication about Sergei Yesenin for his birthday.
That's who knew how to show in Russian native nature and reflect life in its positive and negative.
Yesenin. sensitive strings
Singing Yeseninskaya Russian talyanka
Has a different mood
Now daring, then, like wounded animals,
Weeping with deep sadness.
Red thread with Yesenin's sadness
Associated vernacular:
Aspiring upwards over bright Russia,
It flows like a spring.
Touched the soul of Russia
The designs of things line
And to the tunes, simple in Russian,
Close to every heart.
Poetry sprinkles with cherry juice,
The spring garden blooms
Sensitive string and honed word
He sings about the Russian fate.
Landscapes emerge from under the pen:
Clusters of rowan on fire;
The moon dances like a lamb on the lake,
Horns raised in depth;
Or, brought on the wings of spring,
The wind flutters ringing;
In a distant village, immersed in snow,
Mother drinks sadness at the wattle fence;
And above the outskirts of the dome of heaven,
Herbs in dew diamonds;
Weaved a snowdrop on the surrounding fields
Lace of rare beauty.
All this is Rus'! In the spring - blue-eye,
In summer in flowering carpets,
In the autumn with a transparent-deep distance,
In the snowy winter - in long dreams.
* * *
The poet's heart is illuminated by Russia:
God marked look
Her from the origins to the very mouth
Embroidered a luxurious outfit.
Illuminated - the expression of S. Yesenin
The poet, who sang in his poems the beauty of the Russian land, was born in the most beautiful place - in the ancient village of Konstantinovo, Ryazan region, picturesquely located among forests and fields: Goy you, Rus', my dear, Huts - in the robes of the image ... Do not see the end and edge - Only blue sucks his eyes. Like a visiting pilgrim, I look at your fields. And at the low outskirts of the ringing poplars wither. It smells of apple and honey In the churches, your meek Savior. And buzzing behind the tree-tree In the meadows, a merry dance. I'll run along the crumpled stitch To free the green lekh, To meet me, like earrings, A girl's laughter will ring out. If the holy army shouts: “Throw Rus', live in paradise!” I will say: "There is no need for paradise, Give me my homeland." Sergey Yesenin
Sergei Yesenin's father, Alexander Nikitich, came from a peasant family, but did not feel any desire to work on the land. Shortly after his marriage to Tatyana Titova, he went to Moscow to work as a clerk in a butcher's shop, and left his wife in the care of his parents. When their son, the future poet, was 2 years old, Tatyana quarreled with her husband and his relatives and left to work in Ryazan. Sergei stayed with his maternal grandparents, who raised him for about five years. Mom sent a message every month and 3 rubles for his maintenance. Nothing was heard from my father. Grandfather taught Sergei to read at the age of 5, and grandmother told a lot fairy tales. In 1904, the parents reconciled, got back together, and then he grew up in a complete family.
Sergei Yesenin was officially married three times, and each of his marriages, according to the poet, was unsuccessful. With the first, Zinaida Reich, he married in 1917. The couple had a daughter, but when the wife became pregnant for the second time, a crisis arose in the family and the couple broke up before the birth of the child. The second wife of the poet was the American dancer Isadora Duncan, a woman of a completely different way of thinking, who was 18 years older than him. Duncan came to Moscow at the invitation of the new Soviet government to open a dance school, danced in front of Yesenin under the "Internationale" a revolutionary dance in a red tunic. He did not speak English, she knew only a few Russian words and therefore they could hardly communicate, but both were immensely talented and fell in love with each other at first sight. In 1922 Yesenin married Isadora. He went on tour with her, but suffered greatly from the status of her husband. great woman. The couple fought a lot. After 2 years they divorced.
The last wife of Yesenin was the granddaughter of Leo Tolstoy Sophia. Yesenin's secretary Galina Benislavskaya objected to this marriage, and Yesenin's disputes with her ended in a break. Yesenin, together with Tolstoy, went to Azerbaijan, where they spent a little more than a month at the former khan's dacha in the suburbs of Baku. There Yesenin intended to complete the so-called "Persian cycle". During this period, poems were created: “Being a poet means the same thing ...”, “Stupid heart, don’t beat ...”, “Hands of a sweetheart are a pair of swans ...”, “Why the moon shines so dimly ...”, “A sea of voices of sparrows ... ".. In 1925, the poet created the work "Well, kiss me, kiss ...", dedicated to Sophia: Well, kiss me, kiss, Even to the point of blood, even to the point of pain. Out of tune with the cold will Boiling water of the heart jets. Overturned mug Among the fun is not for us. Understand, my girlfriend, On earth they live only once! Look around with a calm gaze, Look: in the damp darkness, the Moon, like a yellow raven, Circling, hovering over the earth. Well, kiss me! So I want. The song of decay sang to me. It can be seen that my death was sensed by the One who winds in the sky. Withering power! To die is to die! Until the end of my dear lips I would like to kiss. So that all the time in blue slumbers, Not ashamed and not melting, In the gentle rustle of bird cherry trees It was heard: "I am yours." And so that the light over a full mug Does not go out with light foam - Drink and sing, my girlfriend: On earth they live only once!
Sergei Yesenin and Sofia Tolstaya. But this marriage did not last long. Sophia, brought up in an intelligent family, was distinguished by a restrained disposition and chastity. These qualities insanely annoyed Yesenin, who was always impressed by passionate and temperamental women. In a poem dedicated to her, he notes: "The boiling water of the heart jets is out of tune with the cold will." The freedom-loving poet was greatly strained by her increased demands on the norms of decency and etiquette. Yesenin always took casual love affairs lightly and stated that there were more than 3,000 women in his life. True, when they asked him if he was lying, he said: “Well, three hundred. Well, thirty. With all his beloved, the poet was unbearably jealous, and with some he even let go of his hands. Then he fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness, promising that this would not happen again. He kept his word ... until the next big drinking party. Nevertheless, he dedicated many delightful, tender and passionate poems to his beloved women. Against the backdrop of promiscuous love affairs, the first phobia arose. Once, while drunk, it seemed to the poet that his gums were bleeding heavily, and he was terribly afraid that this could be the first sign of an incurable disease. Since then, this fear has not left him. Sing, sing. On the cursed guitar Your fingers dance in a semicircle. Would choke in this frenzy, My last, only friend. Don't look at her wrists And her 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 did not know that love is a plague. She came up and with her squinted eye drove the Hooligan crazy. Sing, my friend. Bring me again Our former violent early. Let her kiss each other, Young, beautiful rubbish. Ah, wait. I don't scold her. Ah, wait. I don't curse her. Let me play to you about myself Under this bass string. The days of my pink dome are pouring. In the heart of dreams of gold sums. I felt many girls, I pressed many women in the corner ... The poem “Sing, sing. On the cursed guitar…” (1922) is included in the “Moscow Tavern” cycle. In general, 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. 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 cycle "Moscow Tavern", included in the collection of the same name, reflects the poet's tragic worldview. Lyrical hero poetic series deliberately turns to wine, trying to forget himself in an alcoholic frenzy, distract from real life and its inherent problems. He seeks salvation from mental anguish in the world of drinking establishments. He tries to forget himself in the tavern haze, to hide from reality, drunk to the point of 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. Yesenin drank a lot and drunkenly. They say that he started drinking for the sake of PR, trying to create for himself the image of a carefree brawler, suitable for his popular poems. He arrived in the capital almost a non-drinker, often pretending to be in companies and during his performances well drunk, but then this game became a reality - Yesenin began to drink for real. The poet also changed outwardly: from a simple peasant poet he turned into a dude in lacquered boots. I was left with one fun: Fingers in the mouth - and a cheerful whistle. A bad reputation swept, That I am a brawler and a brawler. Oh! what a ridiculous loss! There are many funny losses in life. I'm ashamed that I believed in God. I'm sorry that I don't believe it now. Golden distant gave! Everything burns worldly dream. And I was foul and scandalous In order to burn brighter. The gift of the poet - to caress and scribble, Fatal seal on it. I wanted to marry a white rose with a black toad on earth. Let them not succeed, let these thoughts of pink days not come true. But if the devils nested in the soul - So, the angels lived in it. It's for this joy of turbidity, Going with her to another land, I want at the last minute To ask those who will be with me - So that for everything for my grave sins, For disbelief in grace They put me in a Russian shirt Under the icons to die. A lot of unpleasant stories are connected with alcoholic libations. In a drunken state, he somehow sent obscenities to the Chekists who were nearby and ran into trouble. During Duncan's tour of America, where "dry law" reigned at that time, Yesenin came to the use of all obscene, semi-poisonous chemicals. In Berlin, according to friends, he kept a bucket of beer under his bed, from which he tried to treat all the guests. In 1924, Moscow newspapers began to publish exposé articles about his drinking, and the police were ordered to send him to the police station until he sobered up. I'm not going to deceive myself, Concern lay in the misty heart. Why am I known as a charlatan? Why am I known as a brawler? I'm not a villain, and I didn't plunder the forest, I didn't shoot the unfortunate in dungeons. I'm just a street rake Smiling at oncoming faces. I am a Moscow mischievous reveler. All over the Tver neighborhood In the lanes, every dog Knows my light gait. Each shabby horse head nods towards me. I am a good friend for animals, Every verse heals the soul of my beast. I walk in a top hat not for women - In a stupid passion, the heart cannot live, - It is more convenient in it, having reduced my sadness, To give gold of oats to a mare. I have no friendship among people, I have submitted to a different kingdom. To every male here on the neck I am ready to give 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. The poet has another phobia. He began to fear law enforcement officers: after an incident in southern Russia, when, after a verbal skirmish, he was almost shot by an employee of the GPU Blyumkin. Since then, Yesenin carried a revolver with him everywhere, but, according to the recollections of friends, he could still panic at the sight of a man in uniform. As for fights during parties, in the last years of his life, Yesenin became a defendant in four criminal cases of hooliganism. And this despite the fact that the authorities preferred to turn a blind eye to many things, simply taking the raging poet to the police department until he sobered up. Mayakovsky called Yesenin a “decorative peasant” and a “voiced bastard”, and his poems were called “revived lamp oil”. Mayakovsky assessed the "Persian motifs" as exotic "oriental sweets" and "blue Turkic", contrasting their themes with the tasks of socialist construction. About how two great poets argued during public speaking , there are legends. But both perfectly understood how talented the opponent was, and recognized it. In the last few months before his suicide, which happened at the end of December 1925, Yesenin wrote actively. Researchers of the poet's work combined a number of poems into the so-called "winter" cycle. The wind whistles, the silver wind, In the silky rustle of snowy noise. For the first time I noticed in myself - So I never thought before. Let there be rotten dampness on the windows, I do not regret, and I am not sad. I still fell in love with this life, So I fell in love, as if at the beginning. Will a woman look with a quiet smile - I'm already excited. What shoulders! A troika will ride on an expensive unsteady - I'm already in it and I'm jumping far. Oh, my happiness and all good luck! Human happiness is loved by the earth. The one who at least once on earth will cry - So, luck rushed past. You need to live easier, you need to live easier, Accepting everything that is in the world. That is why, stunned, over the grove the wind whistles, the silver wind. In 1925, his wife and friends persuaded Yesenin to go to a private neuropsychiatric clinic to try to overcome his passion for alcohol. The poet left a month later, withdrew all the money from his accounts and suddenly went to Leningrad, where he rented a room at the Angleterre Hotel. It was there that on December 28 he was found hanging from a heating pipe. Shortly before that, he wrote his last poem - "Farewell my friend, farewell ...". When friends were surprised why it was necessary to write with his blood, Yesenin complained that he could not find ink. The generally accepted version says that the poet decided to die under the influence of severe depression, which developed on the basis of alcoholism. Modern doctors note that his eternal irascibility and impulsiveness could contribute to this. In addition, it is known that shortly before his death, Yesenin tried to lie under the train, and also jumped out of the window. However, not everyone believes in this version. His friends believed that he was too cheerful the day before, was looking forward to the release of a new collection of poems, and he simply had no reason for pessimistic thoughts. In the room he had a mess (possibly signs of a fight and resistance), his body froze in an unusual state for hanging, and there were signs of beating on his face. We are now leaving little by little In that country where peace and grace. Maybe soon I'll be on the road Mortal belongings to collect. Lovely birch thickets! You earth! And you, plains sands! In front of this departing host, I am unable to hide my anguish. I loved too much in this world Everything that clothes the soul in flesh. Peace to the aspens, which, spreading their branches, Peered into the pink water. I thought many thoughts in silence, I composed many songs to myself, And on this gloomy earth I am happy that I breathed and lived. I am happy that I kissed women, I crumpled flowers, lay on the grass, And animals, like our smaller brothers, Never hit on the head. I know that thickets do not bloom there, Rye does not ring with a swan's neck. That is why I always tremble before the departing host. I know that in that country there will be no These fields, golden in the mist. That's why people are dear to me, That they live with me on earth. The children of Sergei Yesenin from Zinaida Reich were adopted and raised by her new husband, the famous director Vsevolod Meyerhold. In 1940 he was shot. Yesenin's first illegitimate son, Yuri, was shot on charges of a counter-revolutionary crime in 1937. Yuri was not averse to taking a walk and having a drink with friends, and then he became intemperate with his tongue. Another illegitimate son poet, Alexander Yesenin-Volpin, also had problems with the secret services. For anti-Soviet speeches, he was sent several times for compulsory treatment to a psychiatric clinic and was dragged to the Lubyanka for interrogations. In 1972 he emigrated to America and taught mathematics there at universities for several decades. Alexander Yesenin-Volpin lived to be 91 - he died in the USA in 2016. Galina Benislavskaya - literary secretary and close friend of the poet (for some time, between the first and second wives, the poet lived with her and she tried to become something more for him), a loving and devoted woman, on December 3, 1926, shot herself at his grave at the Vagankovsky cemetery, leaving a suicide note. According to the will, she was buried a stone's throw from the poet. Isadora Duncan died tragically in Nice in September 1927, suffocating herself with her own scarf, which fell into the axle of the wheel of the car in which she took a walk. Life is a deceit with enchanting anguish, That is why it is so strong, That with its rough hand Fatal letters are written. I always, when I close my eyes, I say: "Just disturb your heart, Life is a deceit, but sometimes it adorns lies with joys. you need." It's good in a bird cherry blizzard To think that this life is a path Let light friends deceive, Let light friends change. Let them caress me with a gentle word, Let an evil tongue be sharper than a razor, I live for a long time on everything ready, I'm ruthlessly used to everything. These heights chill my soul, There is no heat from the star fire. Those whom I loved, denied Whom I lived - forgot about me. But still, pressed and persecuted, I, looking at the dawn with a smile, On the earth, close and beloved to me, I thank this life for everything. Sergey Yesenin
The name of the great Russian poet - expert folk soul, singer peasant Rus', familiar to every person, poems have long become Russian classics, and admirers of his work gather on the birthday of Sergei Yesenin.
Hey sled!
What a sled!
Ringing frozen aspens.
My father is a peasant
Well, I'm a peasant's son.
Sergei Yesenin: biography of the Russian poet:
Ryazan Oblast. Village Konstantinovo. In 1895, the poet was born, whose works are still admired by admirers of his work. From childhood, the boy was raised by a prosperous and enterprising maternal grandfather, a great connoisseur of church literature.
Therefore, among the first impressions of the child are spiritual poems sung by wandering blind men, and fairy tales of his beloved grandmother, which prompted the future poet to his own work, which started at the age of 9. 11 signs that you were visited by a guardian angel 15 shocking plastic surgeries that ended in failure 35 wisest Jewish sayings Sergey graduated from the 4th grade of the local Zemstvo school, although he studied for 5 years: due to unsatisfactory behavior, he was left for the 2nd year. He continued to acquire knowledge at the Spas-Klepikovskaya parochial school, which trained rural teachers.
The capital of Russian cities: the beginning of a new life:
At the age of 17 he left for Moscow, got a job in a butcher's shop, where his father served as a clerk. After a conflict with a parent, he changed jobs: he moved to a book publishing house, and then to a printing house as a proofreader. There he met Anna Izryadnova, who gave birth to him, 19-year-old, in December 1914, the son of Yuri, who was shot in 1937 under a false sentence of an attempt on Stalin's life. During his stay in the capital, the poet took part in the literary and musical circle named after. Surikov, joined the rebellious workers, for which he received the attention of the police.
In 1912, as a volunteer, he began to attend classes at the A. Shanyavsky People's University in Moscow. There, Yesenin received the basics of a liberal education, listening to lectures on Western European and Russian literature.
His works have been translated into many languages, are included in the mandatory school curriculum. To this day, many are interested in what kind of relationship the poet built with the fair sex, did the women love Sergei Yesenin, did he reciprocate? What (or who) inspired him to create; to create in such a way that after a century his poems are relevant, interesting, loved.
The life and work of Sergei Yesenin:
The first publication of Yesenin's works took place in 1914 in the capital's magazines, and the poem "Birch" became the beginning of a successful debut. Literally in a century, the birthday of Sergei Yesenin will be known to almost every schoolchild, but for now the poet has set foot on his thorny path leading to fame and recognition.
In Petrograd, where Sergei moved in the spring of 1915, believing that all literary life is concentrated in this city, he read his works to Blok, to whom he personally came to get acquainted. The warm welcome of the famous poet's entourage and the approval of his poems inspired the envoy of the Russian village and endless fields for further work.
Recognized, published, read:
The talent of Sergei Yesenin was recognized by Klyuev N.A., Gorodetsky S.M., Remizov A.M., Gumilyov N.S., with whom the young man was acquainted with Blok. Almost all the poems brought were published, and Sergei Yesenin, whose biography to this day is of interest to fans of the poet's work, has become widely known.
In joint poetic performances with Klyuev before the public, stylized as a folk, peasant style, the young golden-haired poet appeared in morocco boots and an embroidered shirt. He became close to the society of "new peasant poets" and himself was fond of this direction. The key theme of Yesenin's poetry was peasant Rus', the love for which permeates all his works. In 1916, he was drafted into the army, but thanks to the anxiety and troubles of his friends, he was appointed as an orderly to the military hospital train of Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, which allowed the poet to visit literary salons without interference, perform at concerts, attend receptions from patrons.
Peasant Rus in the works of the poet:
He accepted the October Revolution joyfully in his own way and enthusiastically wrote a number of small poems "Heavenly Drummer", "Inonia", "Jordan Dove", imbued with a premonition of future changes; the life and work of Sergei Yesenin were at the beginning of a new, still unknown path - the path of fame and recognition.
In 1916, Yesenin's debut book "Radunitsa" was published, enthusiastically received by critics who discovered in it a fresh direction, the author's natural taste and his youthful spontaneity. Further, from 1914 to 1917, “Dove”, “Rus”, “Marfa-Posadnitsa”, “Mikola” were published, marked by some special Yesenin style with the humanization of animals, plants, natural phenomena, forming together with man , connected by roots with nature, a holistic, harmonious and beautiful world. Pictures of Yesenin's Rus' - reverent, evoking almost a religious feeling in the poet, are painted with a subtle understanding of nature with a heating stove, a dog's coop, unmowed hay, marshy swamps, the snoring of a herd and the hubbub of mowers.
The second marriage of Sergei Yesenin:
In 1917, the poet married Reich Zinaida Nikolaevna, from whose marriage the children of Sergei Yesenin were born: son Konstantin and daughter Tatyana.
At this time, real popularity comes to Yesenin, the poet becomes in demand, he is invited to various poetry evenings. In 1918 - 1921 he traveled a lot around the country: Crimea, the Caucasus, Arkhangelsk, Murmansk, Turkestan, Bessarabia. He worked on the dramatic poem "Pugachev", in the spring he traveled to the Orenburg steppes.
In 1918-1920, the poet became close to Mariengof A.B., Shershenevich V.G., Ivnev R. and became interested in Imagism - a post-revolutionary literary and artistic movement, which was based on Futurism, which claimed to build an "art of the future", completely new, denying all previous artistic experience. Yesenin became a frequent visitor to the Pegasus Stall literary cafe in Moscow near the Nikitsky Gate. The poet, who sought to cognize the "commune rearing Rus'", only partially shared the desire of the newly created direction, the purpose of which was to cleanse the form from the "dust of content." He also continued to perceive himself as a poet of the "Departing Rus'". In his poems, the motives of everyday life appeared, “torn apart by the storm”, drunken prowess, which is replaced by hysterical melancholy.
The poet appears as a brawler, a hooligan, a drunkard with a bloody soul, wandering from a brothel to a brothel, where he is surrounded by "alien and laughing rabble" (collections "Moscow Tavern", "Confessions of a Hooligan" and "Poems of a Brawler").
In 1920, a three-year marriage with Z. Reich broke up. The children of Sergei Yesenin each went their own way: Konstantin became a famous football statistician, and Tatiana became the director of her father's museum and a Member of the Writers' Union.
Isadora Duncan and Sergei Yesenin:
In 1921, Yesenin met the dancer Isadora Duncan. She did not speak Russian, the poet, who read a lot and was highly educated, did not know foreign languages, but from the first meeting, when looking at the dance of this woman, Sergei Yesenin irreversibly reached out to her. The couple, in which Isadora was 18 years older, was not stopped by the age difference. Most often she called her beloved "angel", and he called her "Isidora".
The immediacy of Isadora, her incendiary dances drove Yesenin crazy. She, on the other hand, perceived him as a weak and unprotected child, treated Sergei with trembling tenderness, and even learned a dozen Russian words over time. In Russia, Isadora's career did not work out because the Soviet authorities did not provide the field of activity that she was counting on. The couple registered their marriage and took the common surname Duncan-Yesenin.
After the wedding, Yesenin and his wife traveled extensively in Europe, visited France, Germany, Canada, Italy, Belgium, and the USA. Duncan tried her best to create PR for her husband: she organized translations of his poems and their publication, arranged poetry evenings, but abroad he was recognized only as an attachment to a famous dancer.
The poet yearned, felt unclaimed, useless, he began to feel depressed. Yesenin began to drink, there were frequent heartbreaking quarrels between the spouses with departures and subsequent reconciliations. Over time, Yesenin's attitude towards his wife, in whom he already saw not an ideal, but an ordinary aging woman, changed. He still got drunk, occasionally beat Isadora, complained to his friends that she stuck to him and did not come off. The couple broke up in 1923, Yesenin returned to Moscow.
The last years of Yesenin's work
In further work, the poet very critically denounces Soviet power("Country of scoundrels", 1925). After that, the persecution of the poet begins, accusing him of fighting and drunkenness. The last two years of his life were spent in regular traveling; Sergei Yesenin, a Russian poet, hid from judicial persecution, traveled three times to the Caucasus, traveled to Leningrad and constantly visited Konstantinovo, never interrupting communication with him.
The life and work of Sergei Yesenin
During this period, the works “Poem about 26”, “Persian Motifs”, “Anna Snegina”, “Golden Grove Dissuaded” were published. In the poems, the main place is still occupied by the theme of the motherland, which is now acquiring shades of drama. This period of lyrics is increasingly marked by autumn landscapes, motives for summing up and saying goodbye. Goodbye, my friend, goodbye ... In the autumn of 1925, the poet, trying to start anew family life, combined with marriage to Sofya Andreevna - the granddaughter of Leo Tolstoy. But this union was not happy.
The life of Sergei Yesenin was going downhill: alcohol addiction, depression, pressure from the ruling circles caused the poet to be placed in a neuropsychiatric hospital by his wife. Only a narrow circle of people knew about this, but there were well-wishers who contributed to the establishment of round-the-clock monitoring of the clinic. The Chekists began to demand from P.B. Gannushkin, a professor at this clinic, the extradition of Yesenin. The latter refused, and Yesenin, after waiting for an opportune moment, interrupted the course of treatment and left the psycho-neurological institution in the crowd of visitors and left for Leningrad.
On December 14, he finished work on the poem "The Black Man", on which he spent 2 years. The work was published after the death of the poet. December 27 from the pen of Sergei Yesenin came out his final work "Goodbye, my friend, goodbye." The life and work of Sergei Yesenin was coming to an end, terrible and incomprehensible. The Russian poet died, whose body was found hanged in the Angleterre Hotel on the night of December 28, 1925.
On the birthday of Sergei Yesenin, they gather to honor his memory in all corners of Russia, but the most large-scale events are held in his native Konstantinov, where thousands of admirers of the poet's work come from all over the world. - Read more at
