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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The troll. (Imitation R.Burns)

When in wood light will thaw
And noise will fall asleep in calm,
From darkness disappearing and from troubles,
The small animal in a hole hurries,
The babe-troll from under the earth
Leaves on fields.
And a violin as if have published,
Sings for the king.
But there is no fun to the king
And the darkness shrouds Light,
And I will come to it – I will accustom to drinking:
Grieves not at all.

1993

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