Poems

The poem always was for me the form of expression of feelings. In two-three stanzas finds room much – the overflowing emotions asking on will of thought, impetuous passion. Not having possibility to give vent to this all on a paper, for a long time would descend suma from an overabundance of feelings. And so – anything, it was possible to consult. Improbably it would be desirable, not spending, certainly, not deserved analogies to repeat thereupon Sergey Yesenin's words: «as to other autobiographical data, - they in my verses».

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Where I with you? In a pain foreshortening...

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Where I with you? In a pain foreshortening.
All I measure by light and darkness.
I leave, if allow,
If you will not give – to a camp another.
I am up to the end drunk by a distemper,
Nerves – a string in a signature stamp of insults.
Pain and shame – correct puty:
The reason has become silent, and the spirit already sleeps.

1996

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