No, and not under the firmament alien,
And not under the protection of alien wings,
I was with my people,
There, where my people, Unfortunately, It was.
instead of introduction
In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months in prison queues in Leningrad. Once someone "recognized" me. Then a woman standing behind me, which, of course, I never heard my name, He awoke from his stupor peculiar to us all and whispered in my ear (where everyone spoke in whispers):
- That you can describe?
And I said,:
Then something like a smile slid by the, It had once been her face.
1 April 1957
Before this grief bend mountain,
Not great river flows,
But the strong prison gates,
And behind them, "convict burrows"
And mortal anguish.
For someone blows a fresh wind,
For someone basked sunset
We do not know, We are everywhere the same,
We hear only hateful rattle of keys
Yes, heavy steps of soldiers.
It rises like to Mass early,
The capital Wild went,
there met, dead, lifeless,
Sun below Neva misty,
And hope all singing away.
The verdict ... And immediately tears gush,
Already separated from all,
Like the pain of a life of the heart removed,
Like roughly supine overturned,
But there is ... shall reel ... One ...
Where is the unwitting girlfriend
My two years of rabid?
What he fancies in a Siberian blizzard,
That imagining them in the lunar circle?
Them farewell, I send my greetings.
It was, when he smiled
only dead, calm glad.
And unnecessary appendage swinging
Near Prison its Leningrad.
And when, mad with flour,
We were already convicted shelves,
And a short song of separation
Locomotive whistles sang,
Stars of death stood over us,
And innocent Russia writhed
Under bloody boots
And by the wheels of Black Marias.
You took away at dawn,
Behind you, like rushing, was,
In the dark front room crying babies,
At the shrine candle guttered.
On your lips cold icons.
Death sweat on his forehead does not forget.
Will I, like a Royal little wife,
Under the Kremlin towers howl.
Quietly flows the quiet Don,
Yellow moon enters the house.
Included in the cap askew,
He sees the yellow moon shadow.
This woman is sick,
This woman is one,
The husband in the grave, son in prison,
Pray for me.
No, it's not me, it is someone else suffers.
I so could not, and that, what happened,
Let the black cloth cover,
And let will carry lanterns ...
Show to you, scoffer
And the favorite of all friends,
Tsarskoselskaya fun sinner,
What will happen with your life -
As three hundred, s transfer,
Under the cross will stand
And his tears hot
New ice burn.
There's the prison poplar sways,
And no sound - and how many there
Innocent lives comes to an end ...
Seventeen months shout,
I call your home.
Rushed feet palachu,
You son and my horror.
All mixed up forever,
And I do not hear
Now, beast who, people who,
For a long time eh penalty wait.
And only dusty flowers,
And the ringing of incense, and traces
Somewhere to Nowhere.
And right in my eyes looks
And soon face death
a great star.
Light fly week,
Что случилось, I do not understand.
What do you think, son, to jail
white nights gazing,
As they look back
Hot hawk eye,
About your high cross
And talk about death.
And the stone word fell
On my still living breast.
Nothing, because I was ready,
I handle it somehow.
Today, I have a lot of things:
It is necessary to kill the memory until the end,
must, that the soul petrified,
We must learn to live again.
Or else ... Hot summer rustling,
Like a holiday outside my window.
I have long had a presentiment of this
Bright day and empty house.
[22 June] 1939, Fountain House
You still come - why not now?
I wait for you - it is very difficult.
I put out the light and opened the door
You, so simple and wonderful.
Take this for whatever kind,
Vorvemsya poisoned projectile
Ile with weights Sneak, as an experienced bandit,
Or to poison a child of typhoid.
Or a fairy tale, invented by you
And to all the familiar nausea,
That I saw the top hat of blue
And pale with fear superintendent.
Now I do not care. clubs Yenisei,
North Star shines.
And blue eyes shine sweethearts
Last horror dims.
19 August 1939, Fountain House, Leningrad
Already madness wing
Soul has covered half,
And watered fiery wine
And beckoning to black valley.
And I knew, that he
I must concede victory,
Listening to his
As it were someone else's delirious.
And do not allow anything
I carry it with him
(Oddly begged him
And whatever's bothering imploringly):
Neither son scary eyes -
Every day, When the storm came,
No hour prison Goodbye,
Neither pretty cool hand,
Neither agitated linden shadows,
Neither distant light sound -
Last words of consolation.
4 May 1940, Fountain House
I am not rыday, Have, in the tomb seer.
A choir of angels glorified the greatest hour,
The heavens melted into flames.
father said: "Almost thou forsaken me!»
A mother: "ABOUT, rыday not me ... "
Magdalene struggled and cried,
Favorite disciple turned to stone,
And there, where the mother stood silently,
So take a look and no one dared.
1940, Fountain house
I learned, how to fall face,
From under the age of fear peeps,
How hard cuneiform page
Suffering takes on the cheeks,
How curls of ash and black
Silver made a sudden,
The smile on your lips wilt submissive,
And wizened chuckle trembling fear.
And I pray not for myself alone,
And all, who stood there with me,
And in the bitter cold, and in the July heat
Under a red blind wall.
Again the hour funeral.
I see, I hear, I feel you:
and there, that hardly brought up window,
and there, that is not their native land tramples,
and there, what, beautiful shaking his head,
He said: "Here I come, like home ".
I would like to call everyone by name,
Yes robbed list, and no place to learn.
For them, I wove a cover
from poor, they overheard words.
I remember them always and everywhere,
On them will not forget in a new trouble,
And if zazhmut my exhausted mouth,
Which screams stomilonny people,
Even so, they have commemorated
On the eve of the day of my funeral.
And if ever in this country
Conceived to erect a monument to me,
Consent to give it a triumph,
But only with the condition - not to put it
Nor near the sea, where I was born:
Last sea broken link,
Nor in the royal garden at the promised stump,
Where an inconsolable shadow looks for me,
And here, where I stood for three hundred hours
And where there is no open bar for me.
Then, and that the death of the blessed afraid
Forget rumble Black Marias,
to forget, how hateful slams the door
And the old woman howled, like a wounded animal.
And let with fixed and bronze age
As tears streamed melting snow,
And let the prison dove coo in the distance,
And quietly go along the Neva ships.
About 10 Martha 1940, Fountain House