In memory of Nikolai Rubtsov

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"... Happy is he .. who are held when the soul is "

Today, 19 January 2011 - the day the memory of the poet Nikolai Rubtsov (1936 - 1971), who died early 40 years ago. He predicted: "I will die in the Epiphany frosts ..."
"The unknown great poet," - said about it to someone. January 3 this year he would have turned 75 years old.

Nikolay Rubtsov wrote: "Until I was still sunk the last wave of ancient Russian identity, which was a lot of beautiful, poetic ..."
"Born in 1936 in the Arkhangelsk region in the village of Emets. In 1940 he moved with his family to Vologda, where we caught and the war. My father went to the front in 1941. Soon after his mother died, and I was sent to St. Nicholas Orphanage Vologda region ... "
(See the beginning of this topic http://forum.artinvestment.ru/showth...=73841&page=10)

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I'll ride through the hills rescued the motherland,
Unknown son of amazing tribal voluntary!
As before jumping on the voice of luck capricious,
I'll ride on the trail bypassed the times ...

Russia! How sad! How strange and sad wilted
In darkness over a cliff obscure willow mine!
Desert shimmers pomerkshaya star chandelier
And my boat on the river shallows rot ...

Oh, rural scenes! Oh, wondrous good fortune to be born
In the meadows, like an angel, under the canopy of blue skies!
I'm afraid I'm afraid I like quite strong bird
Break their wings and never see miracles!

I am afraid that at us will not be a mysterious force
That swim out to the boat, everywhere'll get the sixth,
That all understanding, without sadness will go to the grave ...
Fatherland and Freedom - Stay, my god!

Stay, stay, sky blue vaults!
Stay like a fairy tale, fun Sunday night!
Let the sun on the arable lands is crowned with abundant seedlings
Old crown of his ascending rays! ..

I'm going to ride without breaking the nighttime breathing
And secret dreams of fixed large villages.
No one among the fields will not hear a dull jumping,
Nobody calls you flashed a light shade.

And only the suffering, wounded former paratrooper
Tell a delirious old woman surprised her,
That night tore a mysterious horseman
The unknown boy, and disappeared into the mist of fields ...
1963
Nikolay Rubtsov

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... In my infinite sadness
Float like thoughts, the clouds,
At the bottom of the river is worried,
As a sense of carefree joy ...
I love the autumn woods
Above him - shine heaven
What I would like to become
Or in a quiet red leaf
Ile in the rain gay whistle
But, turning, reborn
And to return to the fold,
So that one day in the house
Before a big way
Say: - I've been in the forest leaf!
Say: - I was in the forest the rain!
Believe me: I am pure soul ...
1967
Nikolay Rubtsov

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Photos of Nikolai Rubtsov (maturity):

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Photos of Nikolai Rubtsov (youth):

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Photos of Nikolai Rubtsov (orphan's childhood in an orphanage):

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Memoirs of an older sister of Nikolai Rubtsov Galina Shvedova (by marriage) who lives in Cherepovets:
"Before the truth about Kohl wrote, now write the truth. They wrote that I did not have that one brother had been just. Now I have. That's where Nick was asleep, when we arrived. Here, the battery raskladushechka stood.
... During the war, it is difficult to live, half-starved. There is something when there was nothing. Sit. "Gal, got some hunting" - kids are crying. Kolya on them: "Songs Sing and do not want to got some."
From heart disease my mother died. In hospital. " Children were taken to orphanages, Galina did not take - "hurt the old, 14 years old. She lived with her aunt Sonia, father's sister, in Vologda - Rubtsov rented an apartment. From time to time on the horizon shows a constant fleeing from an orphanage Kohl. -Drinking landlady, who lost or stroll through ration cards, accused of stealing a sharper Kohl. He then disappeared, disappeared a week - had fled into the woods and lived there under the tree.
"It disappeared, I immediately ran to the police, we were looking for him. As found, he read poetry to me. First, he wrote them in the forest, I rewrote them:" Remember how we lived with my mother mother always in a fun and warm. But our happiness is broken up into parts, the war has come as a country. "And his teeth were black-black - fife week ate." And then I heard Galya from brother through black teeth, a short yet experienced child hurt, and the following lines:
"Farewell, my dear sister,
Good-bye, do not be sad and cry.
In the orphanage I grow up, I'll learn soon
And meet again soon.
Happy, fun life would start with you life
Leave these lands,
Let's go away from this house,
Let us not think about it. "

Later, Nikolai Rubtsov wrote: "Everything that was in my childhood, I remember better than what was days ago ..."

When Galina enlisted for the construction of the Cherepovets metallurgical plant and lived in a dormitory, Nick came to her from some deductions. Ten years have not seen, but for a long time to live is not allowed. Dorm female after all. My sister helped than it could - bought shoes, simple belongings gathered and sent to the Arkhangelsk morehodku learn.

"A good guy Nick, good. The low was also a skinny, gay, although the harmonica, even a guitar to play I could. Poems read so that you do not understand nothing, but clap. Many did not drink, it's slander, and so, by law, the Metropolitan bohemian port loved. vodilas money was ... " Once Nicholas led Galya in chic by the standards of the Soviet Vologda restaurant, handed into the hands of the menu - choose what you want, at prices not see. " She admitted modestly. Not matter at all, no obscene words in the presence of women, even accidentally, when the iron falls on his foot. A fight and never fought at all. "Sister recalled only one case, and he is in his childhood:" In Kraskovsky orphanage at odds with the rural orphanage: particularly zealous bullies future poet once smeared across the face with hot baked potato ... "

"In the capital, he was bored, eager home, and Dorval, instructing fellow countrymen - they say that there is not happiness, but here you are."

My husband and I grieved when the telegram came the death of Nicholas. "In Vologda, we traveled together, he lay in the House of Artists. The people of something, the people, how many colors ..."

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Quiet my homeland!
Willow, river nightingales ...
My mother is buried
In my childhood years.

- Where is the graveyard? You have not seen?
I myself can not find .-
Quietly answered residents:
- It's on the other bank.

Quietly answered residents
Quietly passed the convoy.
The dome of the church of the monastery
Bright grass was overgrown.

Where I swam for fish
Hay in the barn rowing:
Between river bends
People dug channel.

Tina now and Wetlands
Where to bathe loved ...
Quiet my homeland,
I have not forgotten anything.

A new fence in front of the school,
The same green expanse.
Like a crow gay,
I will sit again on the fence!

The school my wood! ..
Time comes to leave -
The river behind me misty
Will run and run.

With each izboyu and tucheyu,
With thunder, ready to fall
I feel the most searing,
Most death communication.
1954
Nikolay Rubtsov

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Photography parents Nikolai Rubtsov:

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Photo relatives (in the center - the father):

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Star fields in the mist of icy
Stopped and looked in wormwood.
Already on the clock rang twelve,
And sleep enveloped my home ...

Star fields! In moments of turmoil
I remembered how quiet over the hill
It burns on the golden autumn,
It burns over the winter with silver ...

Star field burning, has not disappeared,
For all the troubled inhabitants of the land,
His affable ray touching
All cities have risen in the distance.

But here, in the mist of icy,
It goes brighter and fuller,
And I was happy until the white light
Burning, burning star of my fields ...
1964
Nikolay Rubtsov