Ugly is fine? Yesenin of Sverdlovsk suburbs of
memory Dump: miscellaneous different.
As was told by the one who died already,
ugly is fine,
that cannot hold in soul.
there Lived in Yekaterinburg the Jewish young man with the Russian soul. The son of the outstanding scientist, but living on the suburb of the city among working beeps, general alcoholism, punks and militiamen - all of them became favourite heroes of its verses. Also there is in his speech everything, even from what mangles hearing and soul. But it was its world - Boris Ryzhego`s world.
Will pass on edges fittings -
and, having left reanimations,
to the death go gloomy
and drink vodka in a shadow of acacias...
... I was born - hitherto is not trusted -
in a labyrinth of the factory yards,
in that country pigeon that is divided
one thousand years into cops and thieves... Boris Ryzhy was born
in 1974. Became the champion of Sverdlovsk in boxing and wrote the first verses in 14 years. Graduated from the Ural Mountain academy and postgraduate study of Institute of geophysics of the Ural office of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Worked also in geographical parties. Wrote all this time and wrote verses, or he just spoke verses? Lived verses? 1300 poems are much or a little for very short life? Probably, there is a lot of. But it is not quantity. Matter in shrillness and authenticity that is evident at once. He thought out nothing, did not natuzhivat a rhyme.
It is called Lermontov, Yesenin of our era. Yesenin`s, certainly, is, also a certain interrelation with early Brodsky is clear. But he - in itself will also be called further just Red. Poet Boris Ryzhim.
It was noticed, there were big publications in magazines, there was a separate collection of verses in the prestigious poetic " series; Autograph “. Jury “ Anti-Booker “ awarded to it an incentive prize. Still there were awards “ Stranger “ “ St. Petersburg “. Participated with great success at an annual poetic festival in Holland.
My God as everything lovely turned out:
a rhyme - the silly woman was glued itself,
made up, wriggled, escaped
and demented the boy.
Cried, the affected creature, prayed.
grins Now, look:
somehow everything supposedly silly turned out, wipe
of a snivel and erase a tear.
Yes, is sentimental, it precisely.
of the Tear, a rhyme, everything that was, “ nonsense.
Vodka will turn sour, but the sky will be just the same
through one thousand years.
In 27 its years did not become... It was the personal choice. The poet in Russia - the goner? Poets in Russia suspiciously early leave. It still it got time vague. Let`s not judge - that yes why.
on cold wind.
Nestles a muse on
to me: I will die too.
in respect of an eternal rest.
O my unaccented
“ about “ percussions “ and “. Now the famous bard Sergey Nikitin prepares for
the big musical performance put entirely on Ryzhego`s verses. Music all is already written, for some reason in a blues genre, but Nikitin knows that he does. Perhaps, the blues approaches more our city suburbs who knows? The blues - music with a taste of bitterness...
About what gray-haired stones are silent?
Why to silence the earth is deaf
? Their weight is so close to me.
A as for a verse -
in a verse of everything is more important silence - whether
are right rhymes, are not right.
That word? Only expectation
of eloquent silence.
the Verse differs from prose
not only what sir and is small.
Ya early from a stone of a tear
a palm warm wiped in the morning.
Even if you do not love poetry (in it there is nothing criminal), listen attentively. It will be included into the anthology of the Russian poetry of the end of the 20th century.
When fountains -
lions, dragons, tritons die -
to what gloomy countries
fly their heavy groans?
In old short-haired park fall.
In a thicket sits a frog.
Oh, do not fall to the ground, I only to whisper
on an ear
to you I will bend quietly,
is dawned and exhausted,
as if from life one more broke off a segment
“ The farther, the heavier.
everything will hide snow Soon -
others palace and avenues,
a frog and the person.
You will not distinguish my cheeks and slush in fog
When die fountains,
to people it is necessary to cry “.
Remained i 1994 the son. And verses... Many already became songs - rocker, bard. Also will remain in the Russian literature, despite short life, despite some shocking. “ For towns, orphaned, offended, become an inveterate drunkard, stayed it was hurt by heart. And at whom it has to support them? Not at Pension fund. At the poet. So there was the Russian poetic tradition though to it to serve sick, terrible and demands valor. “ - it from “ New newspaper “. What else to add?.