Christmas, listen closely, take a closer look, they are killing time. Gaft: “Exactly right.”

Ikolay Georgievich Garin-Mikhailovsky (born in St. Petersburg on February 8 (February 20), 1852, died there on November 27 (December 10), 1906) - Russian writer. The writer's father, Mikhailovsky Georgy Antonovich, came from Kherson nobles and served in the lancers. During the Hungarian Company, on July 25, 1849, he distinguished himself in the battle of Hermannstadt, attacking a square of Hungarians with a squadron of lancers. The lancers were briefly stopped from taking aimed shots with buckshot, but after that they were impressed by the example of the headquarters captain and squadron commander Mikhailovsky and took possession of the guns, cutting into the square. The hero of the day, who received a small wound, received the award of St. George. At the end of the Hungarian company, Georgy Antonovich Mikhailovsky with an “exemplary team” was introduced to Emperor Nicholas I, after which the sovereign transferred him to the Uhlan Regiment, to the Life Guards, and even became the successor of some of his children, among whom was Nicholas. A few years later, Mikhailovsky left the rank of major military service and resigned. Garin-Mikhailovsky's mother is Mikhailovskaya Glafira Nikolaevna (surname at birth - Tsvetinovich or Tsvetunovich). If you go by the surname, then Glafira most likely came from a Serbian noble family, which was not something unusual in Russia at that time. Nikolai Georgievich was born in 1852; he spent his childhood in the city of Odessa. He studied at the Richelieu Gymnasium in Odessa. After graduating from the Odessa gymnasium in 1871, Mikhailovsky entered St. Petersburg University at the Faculty of Law, but his studies here were short-lived, a year later he failed the exam, after which Nikolai decided that it was better to be not a bad lawyer, but a good craftsman. In 1872 he left the University and was enrolled in the Institute of Railways. It must be said that here, too, young Mikhailovsky did not particularly bother himself with education. Many years later, he admitted that he was one of the “false students,” as they were called then, who considered the goal of their education not to acquire solid theoretical knowledge, but to acquire a diploma that would give them the opportunity to work in their specialty. All of Garin-Mikhailovsky’s leisure time consisted mainly of friendship and love (at that time he was far from socio-political issues). For some time he tried to engage in writing, but the student's story, which the writer submitted to the editors of the magazine, was rejected without any motivation. This failure knocked the young author off his feet and long years discouraged him from pursuing literary creativity. In the summer of 1876, Garin-Mikhailovsky worked in Bessarabia as a fireman on the railway (one of the internship options for a student track engineer). Close acquaintance with the people who worked physical labor, performing the exhausting work of a driver and fireman, brought great benefit to the young Mikhailovsky and contributed to the development of his personality. The year the writer completed his studies at the Institute of Railways coincided with a major historical event, namely Russian-Turkish war, lasting from 1877 to 1878. He graduated and became an engineer while the war was still going on. Immediately after completing his course, he was sent to Bulgaria, occupied by Russian troops, to Burgas, as a senior technician. There he took part in the construction of the highway and port. He received one of his first orders relating to civil service in 1879 for the excellent execution of all orders during the last war. Twenty years later, impressions of the service in Burgas were reflected in the story “Clotilde,” published in 1899. As a young engineer, in the spring of 1879, Mikhailovsky, who had no practical experience in construction railways, was able to miraculously obtain a prestigious position in the construction of the Bendero-Galati Railway, which was carried out by the organization of the famous concessionaire S. Polyakov. This work greatly captured Mikhailovsky, the writer quickly showed himself to be the most the best side, established himself and began to earn decent money, advancing in his career. In the summer of 1879, while on business in the city of Odessa, Nikolai Georgievich met an acquaintance of his sister Nina, whose name was Nadezhda Valerievna Charykova, after which he married her. It was August 22, 1879. In winter he worked at the Ministry of Railways. Among others, engineer Mikhailovsky was distinguished by scrupulous honesty and was extremely sensitive to the tendency of many of his work colleagues towards unjust personal enrichment (bribes, participation in contracts). Three years later, he resigned, citing the fact that he was unable to sit surrounded by two chairs, that is, on the one hand, state interests, on the other hand, personal interests. Garin-Mikhailovsky in 1883 purchased Gundurovka (Samara province), an estate in the Buguruslan district, for 75 thousand rubles, and with his wife settled in a landowner’s estate. Nikolai and Nadezhda Garin-Mikhailovsky, who by this time already had two small children of their own, lived here for about 2.5 years. During the reform of 186, as is known, peasant communities acquired part of the landowners' lands, but the nobles still remained the major owners. In order to feed themselves, the former serfs were constantly forced to cultivate the lands of the landowners, playing the role of hired workers, for a meager wage. The economic condition of peasants after the reform in many places only worsened. Having quite a large capital in circulation (about 40 thousand rubles), Nikolai Georgievich intended to create an exemplary farm on the estate on noble lands. As a role model, he took a settlement of colonists located not far from Gundurovka, who received fabulous harvests, according to the ideas of Russian peasants. In this way the couple wanted to improve financial situation local peasants: raise the overall level of their culture and teach them how to properly cultivate the land. In addition, Nikolai Georgievich, under the influence of populist trends, wanted to modify the system of social relations that had developed in the countryside. The writer’s program was simple: “the destruction of the kulaks and the restoration of the community.” Garin-Mikhailovsky’s wife, Nadezhda Valerievna, had to do a lot of work in the village: she treated the peasants who lived on their estate with all sorts of “commonly used means”, organized a school in which she herself conducted classes for all the girls and boys of the village. Two years later, her school already contained fifty students, in addition, she herself had two young assistants who themselves graduated from a rural school in a large neighboring village. Economically, the writer’s affairs on the estate were going wonderfully, but the peasants accepted all the innovations of the compassionate landowner with grumbling and distrust, and he was forced to constantly overcome the opposition of the inert masses, and with the local fists he generally had to enter into a big conflict, the result of which was a whole series of arson . First he lost his thresher and mill, and then his entire harvest. When Nikolai Georgievich almost went bankrupt, he decided to leave the village and return to his engineering activities. The estate itself was entrusted to a tough manager. In subsequent years, Nikolai Georgievich appeared on his estate only on short visits and rarely stayed here for long, preferring Samara, a provincial city, instead of the rural wilderness. Gundurovka was rebuilt and mortgaged, but it still didn’t come to the point of selling it, and it was still a long time coming. But the biography of Garin-Mikhailovsky does not end there. The writer's literary debut took place in 1892. The manuscript of the work “Several Years in the Village,” which was delivered to Moscow by a friend of Mikhailovsky, found its first reader in a circle of Moscow prose writers in the apartment of N. N. Zlatovratsky. It must be said that the feedback from listeners of the work was sympathetic. But especially valuable for the writer was the approval of the ideological leader of popular writers, who was Nikolai Konstantinovich Mikhailovsky, who proposed publishing the manuscript of his namesake in “Russian Thought,” a popular magazine at that time. All kinds of travel, expeditions, and research left Mikhailovsky little time to engage in literary creativity; it happened that he wrote on the road, “at the radiation station,” in fits and starts. However, there was also positive side. Directly close connection with everyday life inspired the writer to write literary works, giving them a certain unique originality. The main part of the writer’s literary heritage consists of essays - an endless series works of art from the life surrounding the author, a bright and colorful presentation of immediate feelings and emotions, often with journalistic digressions. The element of fiction is more noticeable in stories, but even here the plot is almost always based on some fact from real life. Despite Nikolai Georgievich’s love for the so-called “small genre” of short stories and essays, it was not them that brought the writer the greatest literary popularity, but a series of autobiographical stories (in Gorky’s words, constituting an entire epic). In 1893, the story “Gymnasium Students” appeared - a continuation of “Tema’s Childhood”. Two years later, the third part, called “Students,” was published. From 1898 until the end of his life, the author worked on the fourth story in this series (“Engineers”). In September 1906, upon returning from Manchuria, the writer settled in the city of St. Petersburg. He took an active part in the social and literary life of the capital. He was a member of the editorial board of the Bolshevik magazine called “Bulletin of Life”, where he collaborated with A.V. Lunacharsky, V.D. Bonch-Bruevich and V.V. Vorovsky. He died suddenly on December 10, 1906 during an editorial meeting, in which his dramatic sketch “Teenagers” was discussed and read that day. Nikolai Georgievich is buried at the Volkov cemetery on the Literatorskie Mostki.

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Monument to soldier Alyosha in Plovdiv

From here you can see
far, far away.
Horizon -
almost weightless.
Like a guardian angel
soldier Alyosha
over Plovdiv
ascended...
Alyosha,
the sculptor was clearly mistaken,
its your appearance
embarrassed.
Maybe,
he knew too little about you,
or maybe
I didn't know at all.
You look
such a sleepy block,
who needs words.
You are gloomy in stone.
And there was you
cheerful!
And from speeches
tired...
The fog will fall
light and whitish
to the motionless forest...
Now I
older than you,
Alyosha,
almost
for ten years.
I was just born
Later,
and so -
brave enough.
I've seen a lot.
You've seen
more.
You've seen
one day
death…
Dead
It is not customary to worry in vain.
No need.
Go away.
Give up...
It would be easier to ask:
“How is death, Alyosha?”
I'm asking:
"What's up?"
My question
let it not seem absurd.
I need to solve this!
Is this the life I live?
for which
you stopped
live?
Believe.
This is my constant
exam!
I always
I'm renting it out.
With your merciless eyes
I look
on yourself.
And this look
you can't get anywhere -
he is in every passing day...
I have two lives
think
and do it!
Two hearts
beat inside me!
I won't be afraid
no matter what threatens me, -
into my soul
the soldier is watching!..

Alyosha,
I'm leaving for Russia.
What
to your mom
hand over?

Winter of '38.
December.
Big cold...
Father,
back from work
home
later than usual.
Now he will find it on the window
a large dish of jellied meat.
Now he will say:
“Yummy!!.”

But for some reason
at my father's
suddenly my legs gave way.
And, it's heavy
collapsing
on the bed,
he shouted:
“It’s not your fault!
Of them
nobody
not my fault!!”
What is he talking about,
Mother?
What he,
Mother?
Father - and crying?!
From what?
He -
strong.
He's so huge.
Who could it be
stronger
his?!
And mom laments:
"Quiet…"
And repeats:
"My God…
They can hear..."
What
hear?!.

to me that year
went
seventh.
I more
I don't remember anything.
Erases
after the next...
I am this father's cry
Understood
not soon.
In twenty
years.

We are politicians.
Yes!
Politicians.
Every little thing.
With every fiber.
And for everyday kefirs.
And for the festive half-liters.
We're going
accidentally -
tobacco smoke
creeps low...
Every evening -
as an emergency
meeting
Council of Ministers.
It gets close here -
distant.
Here it becomes alien -
personal!..
“Like in Sverdlovsk
food problem?..”
“Like in Igarka
with the housing issue?..”
We despise
the answers are vague!
But keep silent
We don't allow it.
“How is France?”
“How is Germany?”
And again:
“What about the harvest?..”
Question intonation
it's not for nothing that we
chose themselves.
We are meeting
without a presidium,
but -
with excitement in the hall!..

Busy and adamant
arise over peaceful teapots
home-grown
Sverdlovs,
stutterers
Lunacharsky!
Shaumyans
from Architectural!
And also the Dzerzhinskys
from Gorny...
Our disputes sometimes -
ill-conceived.
Our thoughts sometimes -
risky!

Only I listen to this with joy!
And such riskiness
I praise you! -
So in life we
Let's figure it out!
So we are strong
not weak!

So we really are...
huge,
if you live
we don't want
by touch!
So it's all ours!
Blood!
Our personal.
Our commonality.
We may not be important diplomats.
Not a match
gray-haired and famous...

We just want
comrades,
so that everything on earth
was right!
Fair.
Proud to the point of envy...

Give it up, buddy.
seem deaf!
Stop whining:
“It doesn’t concern us...”
No, it does!
Oh how concerning!!
In these disputes
we discovered ourselves...
And over the rage
our conversations
in a smoky room
flap their wings
late birds
newspapers.

We're in the waiting room
we live.
Any of us
always waiting for something...
Chief
the driver is waiting at the house,
playing with the key to the Volga...
Here is a neat old man in pince-nez.
He is waiting.
He goes to Vologda for songs.
Old woman,
muttering something about pensions,
blissfully
smiles in his sleep...
Uncomplaining husband
wife is waiting...
The girl is waiting for love.
She is very afraid.
And for the girl
the foreman looks -

and he has a whole hour
before the train...
The pilot is waiting for the turn -
soon
stranded
The teacher is waiting
solutions to examples.
Guys
expect change.
Collective farms
expect change.
Awakened
waiting country
and the whole world
frozen in anticipation...
Behind us -
stormy silence!
Behind us -
our strength
build-up!
We are waiting for discoveries.
We are inviting friends.
We talk to each other
unsweetened words...
We
in the waiting room
we live!
But hands
pending
don't fold!

Lost her mind
grove.
Moves
grove.
The trees are excited
they shout:
“Let's go!
With all the money,
with furry caterpillars,
with dew
ringing
with bark beetle,
with ladybugs,
with cobwebby gray hair...
Let's get in the back of the cars
Let's sit down according to tradition...
And then
let's rise.
And then
let's get going...
Well, how -
with birds?
How to be
with birds?
The birds will arrive
blue wedges.
It will hover above the ground
surprised splash...
They will circle
they will push
spread their wings.
Below, instead of a grove -
naked bald spot..."

And in the train corridor,
in the train corridor
I hear you
like wheels
they are talking...
We go,
we go,
although we too
scared:
suddenly joy will arrive
and U.S
won't they find it?

He loved the hour
in which
one can only wake up inexplicably.
And see the city -
strange,
ready
from the boyish sun
suffocate.
He liked to sit at the table with his friends,
savored
Georgian wine is astringent.
Said:
“I drink to the doctors!
For that
that hearts -
let it be ordinary -
They can not
do…"
But would he be able to live?
with the usual one?
No!
Of course I couldn't.
It's clear...
He loved to prance around in the lush toast.
He made up jokes
and laughed
like a child,
found a chocolate bar,
for two cities
radiating warmth...
And he also loved
kind women.
(Is it true,
evil
met him too...)
They called him good-natured
others.
They called him an eccentric
nervous.

I will not argue,
but I know to this day:
he's kind
was not.
An eccentric -
was not.
Human
and he was a poet.
Only.
Human
and a poet.
But only…
If he was talking about someone:
"Bastard!" -
that means it was a bastard.
Exactly!..
They say,
that the farewell was painful.
Weightless flowers lay down
on shoulders.
And funeral marches sounded.
And funeral speeches flowed.
He didn't listen.
He was lying down.
I looked at the sun.
And I didn’t squint my eyes -
naive and daring.
It was loud.
It was very high.
So high,
as only happens in childhood!..
Lost woman
husband
Lost woman
son...

I don't believe in this death
because -
how can the earth
without Nazim?

Diplomats,
diplomats, -
protocol work...

Somewhere
on the vast earth
near Tobol itself -

wind
warm movement,
quiet voice:
“Son...
Son..."
Son -
as in voluntary exile.
Like in battle.
Like being surrounded.
It's not sweet there.
It's dangerous there.
There are lingering fogs...
Son -
not missing.
Mom knows everything about him.
But the order is
stern and precise
(small consolation) -
son
can not,
son
should not
get out of the environment...
Mom looks at the envelopes, -
straight letters are absurd.
And on foreign stamps
kings and queens.
The son writes,
that everything is fine
it's a pity -
the weather is tired...

Diplomats,
diplomats -
at the forefront
peace!
Days -
then slowly
then quickly
but never idle.
How easy it is for you to make mistakes!
How can you go wrong?
scary!
It costs many lives.
There are invisible threads -
You are mistaken -
and I was wrong
blast furnace operator from Bolshaya Magnitka.
And the academician was wrong.
And the violinist
I didn’t touch the bow.
At the miner's -
the day is lost.
At the surgeon's -
the scalpel trembled.
Suddenly we lost our peace of mind
People
a variety of ranks.
And already the country
I was wrong!
All!
Which is yours!

The crimson flag will beat
and don’t bend under the wind...
How easy it is for you
make a mistake!
How can you not
make mistakes...
The windows in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs are lit.
The teletype chirps important...

Something will happen tomorrow
in the world,
nervous,
How's your work
yours.

Optimists!
I'm calling you
worry,
lack of sleep!
inflate
young dawn!
Turn back the rivers!
Don't hide your face from the rain.
Believe
in tomorrow's line.
Calling him a scoundrel -
scoundrel.
Laugh
in the eyes of a fool!

I'm looking forward to the questions
absurd,
I see
moving pupils:
“Optimists?
This
which?
Talkative cheerful guys?..”
Give it up!
I'm disgusted with myself
cheerful cretins!

I -
bye my time
not expired -
with all our might,
with all my guts
I hate
Puppy delight!
I despise
cheap thunder!
I curse
annoying squeal!
And I think
personal
resentment
pale pink
optimism,
showing off
high-rise spiers!..

Through the tousled foliage
hot pipes
trumpeting...
Optimists!
Vasya
I'm calling!
Real
I'm calling
Guys!
Present to the planet
rights!
Give to the earth
young blood
figure out -
how much are words
in the most furious
from the worlds.

We -
meticulous.
We -
huge.
Our character
stubborn and rough.
We won't allow
myself
deceive
We -
who came out
in life!
This is for us
cool and sleepless
to the world
give the future...
We'll have a light again
from the sun!
If only we will
smoke.

How quiet the world is!
How warm...
And if
in this silence
You -
to me
out of spite,
to myself
out of spite -
tired
to think about me!
And she quickly dialed the number.
And silently opened the door...
I may not even know you
with him -
knocking now.
And if I know you,
so:
he is sensitive.
Him -
soul…
And so
in the palm of your hand you go
to him,
white and trembling!
You don't understand anything...
And the sheets -
like thin smoke...
And you call
You
his -
having forgotten -
in my name!
And you fall, half dead.
And you choke on tears.
And you whisper hot words.
All those.
All the best.
Seriously!
And the dusk -
as if inflamed.
And very drunk
head...
The telephone operator talks about herself:
"Hello!
Who should I call in Moscow?..”
"Who will suit..."
Probably you.
And if he is, then...
Then
let it be deleted forever
your phone!..
Out of the darkness
a slow pain comes.
And I’m already laughing at her!
Funny,
that I'm like this
with you

then I quarrel
then I make peace again!
And I try to soften my thoughts,
all -
waiting for the storm...

How long
The phone is silent!
How loud
ticking
watch!

The third wheel at the table.
Third wheel…

Sorry,
I don't want,
so that he can hear
as we walked
swinging
mountain Altai,
how they caught the rain
withered mouths.
How the water boiled
gurgled in the engines,
I was waiting for letters
yours,
hectic.
How the river rushed darkly
redhead at sunset...

Third wheel
at the table.
Third
extra.
I know him very well -
don't laugh.
He didn't have time to change
per month.
Efficient,
like a dog
on the hunt.
Curious,
like a doctor
on the rounds.
That's impudent
That
extremely careful...

Very corrosive
the guy's
character.
That's how he gets into friends!
It just sticks!..

For some reason he's everywhere -
third odd one out.
Sometimes I need it
even
it's a pity:
everyone is looking at the guy
like a toad!
They look irritated
sickening
looking.
And they say goodbye to him.
And hands
washed.
His appearance
are detected.
Conversations
with him
are drying up!
Here it is for me
understand,
reluctance…

Let me tell you
about the weather!
About the weather
about the lilac mountains,
about the greats
taiga
laws!
About the threshold
under the name
"Not last!".
And about smoky nostrils
deer.
And about how heavy the rain is
hit the leaves...
Third wheel
at the table.
Third -
extra!
He is persistent.
He sits down more comfortably.
He probably has time -
abyss…

Enough!
I'll tell him now:
- Stomp!!
For someone
from U.S
No
places!

Are you interested in art?
Great,
impudent,
not boring?
Then
let's talk about him -
about tremulous
about unposterable...
By the way…
Who's there with the musician?
is sitting
at the corner table?..
It's nice to be in the know all the time
latest art news.
Normal.
Without loud phrases...
You heard?
He recently starred
to the cinema.
And he immediately became arrogant.
And gets married
for the fourth time...
Look:
that tall poet over there

wanders around sleepy and sleepy all the time -
Of course, it dampens the luminal...
Actress.
Almost a girl.
She has lovers -
to hell!
I can call you by name...

Are you interested in art?
Sublime,
teasing
delicious?
Prose writer
filed for divorce...
And this one
I was with someone else in the summer.
And that one
lives with the corps de ballet -
suffering, poor thing,
but lives...

Are you interested in art?
Diverse,
and not scanty,
so that for any question -
answer?..
Actor with his mistress in June
arranged...

Listen!
Wipe off the drool
and rest...
"art critic"!

Guys with their collars up
in leather jackets,
in jeans trousers.
Oh, what words
you are being scolded!
And they are always surprised:
alive?!
Magazines are arguing about your problem -
offer to convince
explain...
Nothing about this matter
You
do not know.
Yes and in general
don't want to know...

Indifferently
are changing
capital Cities -
I've seen a lot of them, -
and everywhere,
in the middle of any capital
you're standing
like a monument
a deceived dream.
Mannequins
stuck to the shop windows,
every evening -
check the clock -
you have already become familiar to everyone,
like beggars.
What should I serve you?
I don't know myself.
They lure you in
cowboys and twists, -
it's been a long time since you
fed up with the twist.
you smoke
and whistle
you pretend to be independent.
Maybe,
Are you expecting girls?
It’s unlikely!
There are so many of them -
whole herds.
They walk around -
young,
elegant...
So what are you waiting for then?!.
I do not know why,
but I think:
you got it
in an unfair game.
History has assigned you -
to each -
bye
on this corner.
She promised to show
the proudest thing -
world
without gilded evil!
I lied,
talked to three boxes.
And for these dates
did not come…
Idiot,
stupid joke!
But history
thinks
yours...
And since then
leisurely and creepy
you're all waiting,
everyone is waiting for her.
Suddenly it seems
suddenly he repents
Suddenly it will relieve you from drunken melancholy!..
You're standing on the corner
swaying
raising their collars defiantly...
And she passes by -
story, -
giving away
threepenny truths...

Wait a minute, guys.
Wait!
May be,
anything
and stand.

Listen up!
Take a closer look!
Kill
time.
Killing time
together and alone.
As if competing with each other:
who is faster?
They kill at noon.
They kill at night.
Killing time
cheeky and prayerful.
Killing time
bashful and heart-rending.
Kill
right in front of the windows
police!
(What's there
"in front of the windows."
Behind the windows -
Same…)
People stumble.
They blame the weather.
On stair landings
the two of them are jostling.
They invite you to visit.
This is what they offer:
"Come…
Somehow
evening...
we'll kill..."
People are fussing.
People believe in rumors.
They quarrel.
Waiting from Saratov
relatives.
Killing time!
After -
wash their hands.
So that there is no blood left
on them…
People
They kill time detachedly.
They carry plump briefcases mysteriously.
Kill
own time.
And someone else's.
And no one
for that
does not call them to court.
And no one -
never! -
does not provide funeral ceremonies.
Like, “time has died.
The most necessary.
In vain..."

Are falling
minutes
platoon
and company.
Beginning
from the very first
January…
Dead minutes are silent
don't get offended.
Dead minutes
line up for centuries...
Why do people
are they crying?
What do doctors need?
complain
that we had little time to do,
that life is
short?

Taught
person
talk.
Allowed:
“Say what you want...”

He is walking.
And - one another
more insidious -
thoughts
floundering
inside:
“You can say this,
Can i -
then here it is!
You can present it like this
Can i -
this way...
And at the end let it go
thoughtful
argument,
so that rivals
got into trouble!

You can start quietly
then assertively
main questions
get stuck..."

He opened
was
mouth.
And suddenly I came to my senses:
“What is this?
So here it is
take
and say?!"

At night
per person
fears are pressing.
Concerns
won't let you sleep:
"You say
something like that -
and hello!
And prove
that you are not a camel!
And then, -
just…
just in case…
So that no one will tell me for cowardice
didn’t reproach...
Learned to speak.
But what if
they'll unlearn it!
And they will remember
everything I said!
Permission would have been issued
thorough.
So that paragraphs.
Signatures.
Seal…"

Taught
person
talk.
It was easier
such
be silent!

Motherland,
I've never told you
I didn't lie.
Because
say
will you let me...
It's very easy to believe
to tomorrow's paradise.
It's very hard to believe -
in today's
This needs to be weighed
forty thousand times
in a minute
realize something:
Why
in such a country of godless people,
we have
multiplied
ministers
cult!

Motherland!
We enter life without dreaming.
From our steps
world
rocking!
We will no longer say:
somebody
thinks for us.
We learned,
than this
ends!
And don't you dare
us
persuade secretly
doing
mysterious poses:
"It's too early for you,
guys,
figure it out
in such…"

Early?!
Better early
than late!
In joy
and the country's sorrows
we have grown.
Firmly!
And to be honest,
if everything were the same -
we would too
went
in Blucher,
in Eich,
to Tukhachevsky!
I know:
we wouldn't care
at the smiles of scoundrels!
I know:
would happen again
not erased
righteous,
complex
fathers' road
Honest,
holy conviction!..
Not always elegant
not always beautiful
a word that sweeps away barriers...

I shout:
Thank you!
Do you hear?
Thank you,
People,
not afraid of the truth!

Bazaar?
Bazaar!

Tradeswomen
baslali:
“Packaged saccharin!..”
“Healing terry!..”
What didn't happen
at this market,
especially
if on Sunday
since morning…
“I’m selling a brand new overcoat!
If I wore it myself, it’s a pity!”
"Lingonberry infusion -
a cure for adversity!”
“Well,
to whom
shangi!
Ruddy shangi!..”
“But the miracle soap...”
“But this is a self-propelled crutch...”
"Bouncing ball -
for the kids to have fun..."
"Felt boots!
Felt boots for any frost!..”

Sold curse words -
for fifty dollars
a couple -
dark-haired
hoarse
legless sailor...
“We have earflaps.
Three kilos of pile...
Come on, servants!
The price is nothing..."

- What about you, grandfather?..
- I have
tricks...
– What other news?!
Like this?..
- And so...

He's right on the cobblestones
spread out the rug.
From your own ear
the cucumber was removed.
And in a muddy puddle
among watermelon rinds
swam
splashed
silver fry...
And the old man pulled out
pigeons from a bag,
then turned it into a log
into a rusty saw...
The old man tried!
Withered fingers flashed...
“Hey!
Who wants tricks?
I take it inexpensively..."
The audience came up.
The women laughed out loud...

And the boy -
frozen,
as if struck by thunder, -
suddenly said:
- Grandfather.
Sell ​​it to me…
focus…
So that at the end of the trick...
dad…
came... -
old man
shook helplessly
shoulders.
Blossomed
victorious slogans
chipped wall...
People looked around.
People fell silent...

It's over.
It's over.
It's over
war.

Karadag,
Karadag,
I came
saying goodbye.

I've been to different cities -
came back to you.
Find out
how are you,
What new do you see?
Take a look,
how do you drink the sea
and you won't drink at all.
You drink
and nothing more.
Not one step -
to the side…
I knew one guy -
Same
drank great!
To the glass he -
like a burdock.
Oh yes, you tramp!..
No
guys now.
The guy is finished.
Maybe it's better that way -
became less
bustle...

Ida,
Karadag,
Let's get you out of here!
Let's take you away
from this quiet pier.
Let's go there with you
where is everyone
not smooth
and not cloying!
There -
taiga,
there -
space,
in any stream -
graylings.
The rivers there are like this
What
compete with the sea!..
I'm not an expert at praising.
You'll come -
you'll be surprised.
In that landscape
Karadag,
you'll definitely fit in.
You will listen at night
like eagle owls
hoot.
Over your big shoulders
a big bear will pass by.
He will go straight...
Let's go,
poor fellow!
What?
Do not want?
Are you used to it?..
Understand.
OK…
Me too
used to it
to my happiness -
see snow
listen to the bittern,
in cars
sway.
We all get used to it -
Sooner or later -
someone to the warmth,
who - to the dew,
who - to the train whistle.
We get used to not looking
which way the wind blows.
We get used to growing old.
We get used to thinking.
Starve,
get cold,
fall in love unsuccessfully...

Be healthy,
Karadag.
Karadachina!

I did not see
such snow -
he's different
he's not the same at all!

He's coming
bashfully and tenderly,
apologizing for
what's coming.
Apologizing for the fact that -
suspended,
blunt,
unearthly.
Apologizing for the fact that -
polite
and from this
a little funny.
And for that
that they are not used to it,
to the turns of it
naughty.
Apologizing for
what about the blades of grass
destined
die under it.
Apologizing for
that thoughtful
without attachments and love.
Apologizing for
that compliant -
whatever you want from it
sculpt!
He will close everything
whatever you want,
even, polite layer...
Don't praise him!
He will show!
He will show himself
Then!
Don't believe his affectionate pose
on the empty expanse of steppes...
Oh, how he will rush
he will take revenge after
for your humiliation
Now!
He will be prickly
desperate,
biting,
fiery,
not easy!..

We forgave him
at first.
We then ourselves
we won't forgive!

They're coming
ordinary rains,
sliding through your own puddles.
It's like they swore
go, -
and break the oath
it is forbidden…
Even funny -
you don't expect anything.
No miracle
don't wait.
You fall asleep -
rain.
You wake up -
rain.
You go out into the street -
rain.
And you only see
empty darkness
you see the city empty.
The soda girl crouched on the corner -
stubbornly
sells water.
And there is water all around! -
So much water
Just
There's nowhere to spill it.
It does not matter,
what to go trade
the sun -
where it is now
You!..
Listen,
and maybe you do too
the same leapfrog?
At the entrance in clay
"gas" got stuck,
on the balcony in a layer -
water…
If so -
This means there is some kind of lie in the world!
It should not be!
No!
Because you need:
if I -
rain,
then to you -
sunlight.
How sunny my daughter is!
Like mica!
Like a crackling dance of fire!
You shouldn't have any rain
never.
Let them go
I have…
And they go -
blind rains.
There are no trees
no grass...

Please,
this letter
tear it up.
And forgive me for him.
However,
It's not about him at all.
Just
it's hard to endure.
The sea is humming outside my window,
like a train
coming towards you.

At the note
businesslike start.
And at the end -
added boldly:
"I really appreciate you
I'm very jealous!
And I envy my wife
yours."

And signed:
"Student from Baumansky."

How should I answer her?
Hall -
like a breakthrough.
Having gotten rid of the regulations for a short time,
I want to answer her.
I will try.
Do you know each other
with poems and applause.
Have you read the posters?
luxurious.
And, as you can see,
considered an advance
the rest of our lives -
same.
Fireworks!
Ceremonial aria
in a festive and sublime style...
Well imagine
if only
about the army
they were judged only by parades.
If there was a soldier coming,
waving a hand,
elegant,
overdressed man.
If he weren't a navvy
and a loader
who would say about him:
"Defender"?!
And we have -
yours.
Their own steep fines.
Pain
and labor -
deafeningly heavy.
And my own -
fussy -
glory.
And theirs -
unlucky -
wives…

Inspiration! -
To myself
closely.
Inspiration! -
Like dead
amidst the holiday.
This -
red-hot heart
about a cold mind!
This -
like having a baby!
This -
like a personal birth!
The blackest
Job.
The purest
case.
That,
in which
there is no peace in sight!
That,
which
stuns with breadth!
You are in it
to myself -
people
and myself -
government.
And you can't
even in a small way
fake it!
And the earth floats
in blizzards and thunder.
And her fate
merged with your destiny.
It's all given
only blood!
And it is in a person -
five liters...
But hold on
need to!
Here we are, holding on.
And our last
not sung yet...

All in all,
God bless you
sun,
young woman!
And a good husband.
Not a poet.

Attention! This is an introductory fragment of the book.

If you liked the beginning of the book, then full version can be purchased from our partner - distributor of legal content, LLC liters.

What is the manifestation of human wisdom? — I am sure that there is no definite answer. Perhaps in the experience of life lived, in actions, in a kind word, in the ability to understand, listen...

Wisdom has many faces. Some people know how to forgive like no one else. Forgiveness is one of the strengths of wisdom. For another, wisdom is letting go of everything old, dilapidated, bad, everything that pulls you down and interferes. And there are people who know the value of time, they know how short life is, they value it and the measured time, not paying attention to trifles. And this too strong point wisdom. It is stupid to take revenge on life - everything that happens to us is the result of our actions, multiplied by a coincidence of circumstances. Letting go of hatred, anger, aggression, resentment and continuing to live is also a strong side of wisdom. Therefore, wisdom is comprehended strong people? Looks like it's true. Weak people do not learn lessons; they are dissolute wasters of time. A weak person is suicidal.

It is a mistake to consider all those who have reached a certain old age to be wise people. It is appropriate to recall the words of Nikolai Fomenko: “Wisdom comes with age, but sometimes age comes alone.” Funny? - Yes, and even sad! Wise? - Certainly! So wisdom is in truth?!!

Wisdom is different, beyond age, beyond time. I know very wise children, immaculate and pure, who cannot lie, who greedily learn about this world. Children are very wise. They learn wisdom from childhood. I know adults who are worthless, lazy and stupid. All children are wise, but not every adult...

How to touch wisdom? How to become wise? How to unearth this most valuable stream of wisdom within yourself? No way! There is no universal recipe! This is daily hard labor, consisting of many difficult but terribly interesting things. I will list only the most important ones:

Learn to look at things from your own angle, from your own perspective;

Be sure to have your own opinion, even if it is wrong - over time, life will correct it;

Self-criticism and self-analysis allows you to learn many things before others. It is important to think, think before you do. Remember N. Mikhalkov's film 12? He is literally crammed with wisdom. One of them is in the dialogue between two characters performed by S. Garmash and V. Gaft:

Gaft: - “...You know, I was thinking...”

Garmash: - “About what? I'm sorry I do not understand you. This is some kind of Jewish logic..."

Gaft: “Exactly right. I am Jewish. One hundred percent Jewish. As a person, I have a lot of shortcomings, but I have one advantage. And, you know, it’s innately Jewish: to think. I value them very much."

You need to learn to be focused on the most important things in your life, and even if your circle of interests irritates many or is unacceptable to society - focus on your opinion. It will give more than the opinion of most people who think differently.

Responsibility for words and actions! It's important to learn to think about what wants to come out of your mouth. “It takes two years for a person to learn to speak, and then it takes him 60 years to learn to be silent.” (R. Gamzatov)

Learn to contemplate, peer into the world through the eyes of a child, try to hear the voice of silence, the sounds of nature...

Be inquisitive, greedy for lines, poetry, prose, read every day. Books are wise. Every book is someone's experience. Take it and use it.

The last point is the most important of all. A book is the most valuable source of wisdom. Reading is important. Stupid people don't read books. They read books - they are wise! And it turns out that books are written by wise people for wise people?!! It's paradoxical, but I believe in it.

With such a long and perhaps trivial introduction, I would like to present another educational section: “Wisdom in ...” in poetry, in prose, in cinema, in art, in painting, in music... Let’s start with poetry, with the work of one of the wisest poets 20 century - Robert Rozhdestvensky.

“Wisdom in Poems” - Top 5 poems by Robert Rozhdestvensky

1. It all starts with love...

It all starts with love...
They say:
"At first
was
word…"
And I declare again:
It all begins
with love!..

It all starts with love:
and insight,
and work,
flower eyes,
child's eyes -
everything starts with love.

It all starts with love
With love!
I know that for sure.
All,
even hatred -
dear
and eternal
sister of love.

It all starts with love:
dream and fear,
wine and gunpowder.
Tragedy,
yearning
and feat -
everything starts with love...

Spring whispers to you:
"Live..."
And the whisper will make you sway.
And you will straighten up.
And you will begin.
It all starts with love!

2. Behind you in a year

Behind you
in a year
I'm coming
without hesitation.
If you are -
wires,
I -
trolleybus.
I'll grab the wires
with long hands,
I will live
always always
by your currents.
I hear:
“Give up!
Understand
mind:
Is this really life?
be tied?!
Is there really any
your own logic?!
Oh look -
get tired of it!
Will be bad".
OK!
Let it be yours
bend -
they lie colorfully.
I'm with them
for five minutes
with you -
forever!
You -
my wind and chains,
strength and weakness.
I'm in you
like in a church
scary and sweet.
You -
undiscovered seas,
secret thoughts.
You -
my dear,
old,
distant
All of a sudden -
you lead me
to the forests!
All of a sudden -
to the Sahara!
Here you are throwing
shaking,
on the potholes!
Like a child, you make me laugh.
You're angry like torture...
I'm interested
live.
Curious!

3. We must believe in the ordinary.

We must believe in the ordinary.
We have to count
sane.
Among the poets
with the killers
in fact,
equal glory.
Who has survived through the centuries?
Figure it out
in a layering of motives...
We don't remember
kings.
Remember:
there were Dantes and Martynov.
Reckless,
nervous,
holy “guardians of duty.”
Well, guess what?
unprecedented:
once they flared up -
but only!
Behind the grave fence
all charges
in vain...
They smell
their
biographies
only
typographical
paint.
Here they are in the portraits
with decent smiles...
So take aim
in poets -
and you will get there
into history!

4. Listen, take a closer look! Killing time!

Listen up!
Take a closer look!
Kill
time.
Killing time
together and alone.
As if competing with each other:
who is faster?
They kill at noon.
They kill at night.
Killing time
cheekily and prayerfully,
Killing time
bashful and heart-rending.
Kill
right in front of the windows
police!
(What's there
"in front of the windows."
Behind the windows -
Same…)
People stumble.
They blame the weather.
On stair landings
The two of them are jostling.
They invite you to visit.
This is what they offer:
"Come…
Somehow
evening...
let's kill..."
People are fussing.
People believe in rumors.
They quarrel.
Waiting from Saratov
relatives.
Killing time!
After -
wash their hands.
So that there is no blood left
on them…
People
they kill time detachedly.
They carry plump briefcases mysteriously.
Kill
own time.
And someone else's.
And no one
for that
does not call them to court.
And no one -
never! —
does not provide funeral ceremonies.
Like, “time has died.