+ + +

In the front room of my light, -
This is from the night stars.
My mother would take a bucket,
Silently, bring water.

- Mother, "the hour?
What are you going away?
Do you remember how many times
Shines to us earthly night?

Red flowers are my
In the garden all withered,
A boat on the river shallows
Soon dogniet altogether.

How much of my gave
Joys gone, troubles?
As if when I went
Thousands of unknown age.

As if I hear the ringing
Extinct Easter sat ...
Dream, dream, dream
Quiet blur everything.

Nikolay Rubtsov

+ + +

Lunnoyu sometimes
Saddening world
Walked downcast operation,
Next - escort.
A shower in the night
Dreamed a wonderful dream:
Willow and rooks,
Bell ringing ...

They knocked on the door
Open did not,
I am not a beast in human beings,
I just got tired,
Maybe I
Waiting for the door to other,
Maybe, relatives,
And in the soul - funk ...

The room is quiet,
All guests honor,
Full river
My life is flowing,
'll Go slowly,
At the village have a look -
Plunge, shower
In the pure wave!

Nikolay Rubtsov

+ + +

Drowned in the darkness
Remote pier.
The ditch ran -
Ah - autumn stream!
On the road rushed
Crazy leaves
And sometimes heard
A police whistle.
I forgot that night
All good news,
All calls and ringing
From the Kremlin gates.
I loved that night
All prison song
All forbidden thoughts,
The whole persecuted people.
Well, so what? Let
Crumble the leaves!
Let the town was coming
Hidden snow!
On the ground disturbing
The city is breaking
I'm still good,
Not a bad person.
And the last leaves
Along the street, echoing
All were being driven off,
A loose power.
Swooping down on me
The darkness of corners,
And Archangel rain
Drizzling on me ...

Nikolay Rubtsov

+ + +

The fire in the furnace is not sleeping, calling
With a dull rain, flowing over the roof ...
And near the dilapidated chapel fabulous
Birch stands as old as Russia, -
And all of it as a firestorm,
When the wind will pull branch
And Noise, covered by the tremor,
And the long leaves fall down from the branches,
Around the trunk carpeting the lawn ...

When a fierce storm subsides,
Here comes a girl-baby
And so gingerly sits on a swing,
Zakutyvayas in grandmother's shawl.
Creak, creak under the branches swing,
And so it roars over the girl birch
And so sadly and sighed with passion,
As if human speech
She wants to tell something.
They both need each other!

But I broke them in their solitude,
When once wandered through the village
And then he asked playfully: "Shalunya!
What do you sing? "Little turned
And he said: "I do not sing, I cry ..."
Around me everything was so depressing!
But these years of crying is not possible,
And each time, struggling with himself,
We say: "Everything will be fine."

... From all the wonders of the Flood
We got vast swamp
For hundreds of miles dotted with cranberries
Having its tales and true story
Past generations of peasant here ...
Calling, calling ... No one will answer ...
And suddenly fall asleep powerful consciousness
And suddenly fall asleep painful passion,
Disappear even the memory of you.
And in this sleep pattern of our lives,
One of the other vague, crowding,
Covered mirage languishing
Vast silence and oblivion.
Only the muffled groans dry tree ...

Passed October. Desolate barn.
Rings in the grass, icy snow,
And deaf life under the sky leaden,
Only postal tractor busily
Back and forth to wander a bit light,
And only I bowed my head,
As an expression of living fall,
Imbued with melancholy and her friendship,
The slope homeland wander
And one better than all wish-
To this day the autumnal decay
And in a close day of howling blizzard
Always light to us, not good cheer,
Star Labour, poetry, peace,
So that and then it was triumphant,
When will the memory of us ...

Nikolay Rubtsov

+ + +

The train rushes with a roar and a howl,
The train rushes to lyazganem and whistles,
And to meet him in yellow swarm
Rushed off the lights in the expanse of misty.
The train rushes with full voltage
Powerful forces that boggles the mind,
Just before, perhaps, ruin
In the middle of the worlds adamantine.
The train rushes with the same voltage
Somewhere in the wilds of the universe's most
Just before, perhaps, ruin,
In the middle of events without a title ...
Here it is, eye flashing fire,
Crash ... Give the road on foot!
At the junction somewhere in the shed
Picked up and carried me like a goblin!
Together with him and I'm misty expanse
I do not dare to think about the rest -
Rush off somewhere with lyazganem and whistles,
Rush off somewhere with a roar and a howl,
Rush off somewhere with a total voltage
I like it is, the mystery of the universe.
Just before, perhaps, ruin
I shouted to someone: "Goodbye!"
But enough! Fast motion
More boldly in the world from year to year,
And what could be a crash,
If so many people on the train?

Nikolay Rubtsov

tchaika, poems of Nikolai Rubtsov, that's fine, but do not overfeed them us ...
:)

Today, 19 January 2011 - the day the memory of Nikolai Rubtsov (1936 - 1971). 40 years as he died.
And finally here it is a poem, because too - of Holy Russia:

        Old road
 
             + + +

All the clouds above it, all the clouds ...
In the dust of centuries instantaneous and invisible,
Go for it, as before, the Pilgrims,
And waved them farewell hand ...
Meet them - the July Days
Go to the imperishable of blue shirt,
On both sides of the blade chamomile
And the heat of the rings in all their calls,
And in the shadow name dewy woods ...
As the king loved the rich palaces,
So I loved the ancient road
And the blue eyes of eternity!

Then meet half-rotten barn
That farm to become green roof
Where sleeps the dust and live mouse
Yes unsociable owl - the lord.
Then over the hills as three knights
More often proskachut riding,
And again, backwoods, forgetfulness, dawn
All the dust all the dust, but the signs verstovye ...

Here, everyone is nice - dead and alive!
And because of their love does not repent,
The soul, like a leaf, ringing, echoing
With all the ringing sun leaves,
Echoing those who passed,
Echoing those who pass ...
Here the Russian spirit through the ages has taken place,
And nothing on it not happening.
But this spirit will go through the century!
And let the grass will be covered by road
And let over her sad little
Float, float, as before, the clouds ...

Nikolay Rubtsov
(See continuation of this theme http://forum.artinvestment.ru/showthread.php?t=107381)

In the Tretyakov Gallery opened an exhibition dedicated to the 650 th anniversary of Andrei Rublev.
http://www.1tv.ru/news/culture/169232

http://forum.artinvestment.ru/showthread.php?t=107581

Photo from the opening of the exhibition "Holy Russia" in Paris: