"Budyonny"
Poem by N. Aseev

Moscow, Krasnaya Nov publishing house, 1923

Reduced format: 13*17.2cm; 26 pages
A copy in a publisher's colorful artistically designed cover. Four black and white illustrations in the text.
The first lifetime edition (was not in the collections of V. Rozanov and M. Lesman).

Nikolai Nikolaevich Aseev(pseudo, real surname Shtalbaum; 1889-1963) - poet, translator, leader of Russian futurism. Born in the city of Lgov, Kursk province, in the family of an insurance agent. The poet's mother, Elena Nikolaevna, nee Pinskaya, died young, when the boy was not yet 8 years old. The father soon remarried. He spent his childhood in the house of his grandfather, Nikolai Pavlovich Pinsky, an avid hunter and fisherman, a lover of folk songs and fairy tales, a wonderful storyteller.

Began to be printed since 1908. The first collection "Night Flute" (1914) carried both the features of symbolism and the influence of the then fashionable authors of different schools. In the same year, together with S. Bobrov, B. Pasternak and I. Zdanevich, they founded the Temporary Extraordinary Committee "Centrifuge" in Moscow. In his manifesto "Letter" they openly recognize themselves as the true spokesmen of futurism. Poetry collections of these years: "Zor" (1914), "Letoray" (1915, together with G. Petnikov), "The Fourth Book of Poems", "Oksana" (both 1916).

In 1923 Aseev is a member of the core of the literary group LEF - V. Mayakovsky, O. Brik, S. Tretyakov, B. Kushner, B. Arvatov, N. Chuzhak. The goal of the LEF is the creation of an effective revolutionary art, the search for new forms of artistic expression. In the publishing house of the left art MAF (Moscow - in the future international - association of futurists), Aseev publishes one of his most famous poetry collections "Steel Nightingale", dedicated to the idea of ​​​​building a new society. The book is enthusiastically received by all Lefites, including Vladimir Mayakovsky himself. Opponents and ideological opponents of the Menshevik direction are called - the Bird of Evil, and the author is "a detail of the monument" when Mayakovsky was bronzed alive.

In 1920-1930s. the poet actively and fruitfully works in the genre of the poem ("Budyonny", 1923; "Twenty-six", 1924; "Lyrical digression", 1924; "Semyon Proskakov", 1927-1928; "Mayakovsky begins", 1939). Aseev's poems of this period are imbued with revolutionary romantic pathos. The March of Budyonny is sung by the whole country. The legendary commander himself loves to sing it at a friendly feast. The lines: From the sky of midday Heat - do not come near, Budyonny's Cavalry Spread out in the steppe - are considered textbooks.

In the future, Aseev becomes one of the most orthodox Bolshevik poets, fulfilling a social order with his work. In 1941 he was awarded Stalin, and in 1961. and the Lenin Prize. But now it's not the Steel Nightingale at all. And in his poetry and prose, almost nothing resembles the former Kolka Aseev, who once fell in love with Mayakovsky.

A rare and very beautiful lifetime collection of Nikolai Aseev. Excellent security.

PS: To sell a similar antique edition

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NIKOLAI ASEEV (1889-1963)

Unless otherwise indicated, cited according to the ed.: Aseev N.N. Selected works / Comp. foreword and comment. I. Shaitanova. - M.: Artist. lit., 1990.

Revolution Sky (1917)
First day (1917)
Answer (1918)
This is a revolution<1918>
"We drank songs, ate dawns..." (1919)
Today's Poems<1919>
Kumach<1920>
May Day Hymn (1920)
Russia from afar (1920)
Today<1920>
"If again this house is God..." (1921)
The Coming Ones (1922)
"Council of branches, council of winds..." (1922)
March of Budyonny (1923)
Poem (1924)
City (1925-1927)
Tenth October (1927)
Spring Song (1928)
On Death (1932)
Dagestan (1933)
Partisan lezginka (1933)
"Listen, youth, how it was..." (1961)

REVOLUTION SKY

Still shimmering at sunset...
But now - blackened to horror,
and all in heavenly Versailles
burning, trembling and whirling.

As if the evening arc
brought freedom to the zenith:
from the sky - one by one
thousands of stars are falling!

And as over burning France
deaf face of Marat, -
among those feverish in a trance the moon -
speechless speaker.

And the world plunged into rebellion
freshens the cheek of the wash;
extinct stars - and those
ambassadors were sent to the rallies.

Hear the ball woven noise
steps without number and estimate:
then they march
to the earth - to the aid - of the planet.

Silence is still silent
but up - dreams and desires,
and here is proclaimed
Great Oceania.

And somewhere, like the heat of currency,
on the most deaf of orbits,
the sun bloody Malyuta
the forsaken mourns!

FIRST DAY

The sun was not at all proud today,
the unwashed got up - and as if awake,
sat all day in the heads of the city,
fumbling, like a mother, in his hair

So that even some of the comforted citizens,
carefully climbing up the impassive azure rampart,
dying of courage, selflessly and twice
about the spring sunset he lit his pipe.

But his hand must have been trembling too much,
Too throat constricted and doubt and fear,
and the flying spark of the world fire
floated in the sky like an emerald tear.

And, it must be, in the heart of the huge workers
it was too deserted, that a continuous hurricane,
spinning like a funnel of torn barrels,
without touching anything, shook the shore.

And when he lay down in the alley, tired,
turning into a young spring breeze,
the sun came out into the square, throwing a scarlet face,
into the wide world by opening this small world.

And, shaking his eyes, he led the shops,
machine guns babble through the bazaars of mud.
Only a bell roared wildly,
making my way to the sky through fire and ashes.

From the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

ANSWER

On a peacefully dove raid
was, like a glove, thrown a cruiser,
from a tiresome flight
in a hurry to rest soon ...

But do not boast, sailors,
by its triple strength:
typhoon sweeps up the sands here
the poet goes to war with you!

May the prone gaze
submissive to power, meets you,
but from shamed borders
free verse answers you.

No one is happy with your beauty
you are a guest who was not invited,
oh, grey, twilight pirate,
your challenge - the future is thrown.

You, gray-haired captain,
where did he take his sailors?
Did you notice the questions
in eyes as cold as mist?

Let the yellow-faced viciously stupid,
but you, a free Englishman,
Don't you understand the silence
flowing from so many lips?

and black splashes, and an evil whistle
didn't smile at you
vision of Oliver Twist?

And is it there, in the midst of storms and troubles,
and shreds of a rushing storm
you did not understand that only fate
subject to life and life form?

Will you take the blame
send furious cores
to a disarmed country
kept only by the song of the bard?

Sailor! You are a resident of all latitudes! ..
Order Well: "Throw your will into the sea" -
Answer: "With her and for the people!"
And - stand on the captain's bridge!

The poem was published on May 30, 1918 in the newspaper "Peasant and Worker" (under the title "Steel Embrace"); the reason was the arrival of the English cruiser Suffolk in the bay, which stood next to the Japanese Asahi, which was already threatening the city. Aseev spoke of him as his first "lyrical feuilleton", which "was written with an unexpected sense of a growing theme" (collection "Work on verse", 1929). Included in the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

THIS IS A REVOLUTION

Revolution is the roar of the streets
it is the clatter of crowds, read aloud.
Only in a revolution you can become under the bullets,
blowing them off with your chest, like fluff.

The revolution is the soul wide open!
The heart knocked down all the locks of insults,
and into empty ribs, no matter how you freeze your eyes,
the sky fills blue lumps.

Revolution! Who said that labor has stopped?
What is found today hard way?
Revolution - in the name of debauchery -
ordered to straighten the back.

Revolution is the holiday of the idle,
those who were out of work - far hello:
only in the revolution for the cause of execution,
there are no executions for idleness!

Revolution! It's immediately joy
it without refusal - all at once!
In a dark alley - it's tomorrow - sneaking around,
and today the sun - thousands of eyes.

In a dark alley I will forget you -
is it a noose at the neck, is it steel at the temple,
revolution! But today everywhere
all the way to the alley to look for you.

From the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

***

We drank songs, ate dawns
and the meat of the future. And you -
with unnecessary cunning in your eyes
solid dark Semyonovs.

Let the crab be the chronicler of poems
let the wind - cherry and vernal.
"And I'll sing it deliciously,
purple having broken their claws!”

Tied to the wheel
dragging days and events,
accustomed to any offense?

Oh, if the wind of Venice,
into a continuous turned whirlwind,
tearing off their human crown,
I would take their heads!

Oh, if only a dumb chum
(Isn't this people also mute?)
from the trays, turning into a whale,
would shake the earth with her shoulder!

Holidays are over...
And where the titans and chaos
laughing, for the sake of distant relatives,
I forgive and have mercy on you.

Tied to the wheel
clinging to the legend of Ham,
than to hit you more painfully in the face,
as soon as not evil verses?!

...solid dark Semyonovs.- On the one hand, the use of a common surname here sounds nominally, as a collective designation of the philistine mass, but on the other hand, Aseev could not forget the G.M. gangs that constantly threatened Vladivostok and Siberia. Semenov (1890-1946). ...to the legend of Ham...- Ham (bibl.) - the middle of the three sons of Noah, he laughed at his father, who, having drunk too much, tore off his clothes and fell asleep. Offended, Noah cursed Ham in his offspring. Included in the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

POEMS OF TODAY

Shot twice and thrice
the air is torn to shreds...
Bullets return without waiting,
the shooter disappeared during the night.

And leaning on the corner
wounds darkening new clothes,
laughing sadly from fright,
the dead fell awkwardly.

He went down, he went down
and the sky flooded into the pupils.
What is he, stupid, afraid of?
Won stars funny icons,

But the ground is completely damp ...
Slightly tingles on the side.
But the earth with the sky, dying,
He couldn't connect!

Oh, more, and more, and more to us
you have to see how red the stones are,
so that the eyes, longing not baptized,
would have terrible dreams,

So that lips that did not know a cry,
would turn into echoing copper,
so that from small to large
nothing left to regret.

This cry is not a reproach, not an insult!
It's the wolf howling in the dark
under the nightmare of seeing
death striding across the snows.

He, all his life roaming the wilderness,
studied enemies from afar
and again from under the wind I felt
the approach of soundless footsteps.

Death carries a double-barreled shotgun through his elbow,
the pines are mute, and the stars are silent.
How can I, a lone wolf,
do not call out to distant wolf cubs!

and shots trilled into the distance,
the distance was confused - the distance was shot,
but even they gave it to the living is not a pity.

You were shot - I was shot,
we loved together, we breathed together,
in one our cheeks burned with delirium.
Are you leaving? And I'm coming for you!

In a cloudy sky, a quiet evening,
like a dead body, hanging, mutilated,
and a dove flying with a break, like a gyrfalcon,
and a beast that spews bad words.

You were shot - I was shot,
we heart about heart, like time, checked
and how can I get up with you, shot,
before the future sonorous and fresh April?!

If the world is not busy with us yet
(Fate did not accidentally bring us together) -
after all, partisans are at the very hearts
our songs and our deeds!

If the blood of a drunken shirt
hardened into rusty ice -
believe, risen! measured strokes,
the furious flight continues!

Let the taiga trails be crooked
heated by our fire...
Believe! Bullish universal neck
bend over on our knees!

Believe! The poetic word will not perish.
He is with you - the same hunted animal.
The same serves a single goddess
endless wins and losses!

From the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

KUMAC

red dawns,
red sunrise,
red speeches
at the Red Gate
and red
on the Red Square,
people.

We have pies
red hut,
over our meadows
spring is burning.

And red kumach
on wedges shirts,
and go crazy
about red lips.

And in the red forest
the red beast roams...
And in this beauty
death roared.

We were crushed in droves
driven into the ranks
we are red in the sky
cut traces.

Per muzzle muzzle,
per next row,
and the fire blew away
kings and reign.

Not the old arrogance
our mind is strict
but new songs
all with red lines.

Look, dosing
centuries Kalita:
the whole area to the edge
filled with fire!

Blush, dawn
sunset and sunrise,
blush, souls,
at the Red Gate!

Show off over the world
my red people!

From the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

PERVOMAYSKIY ANTHEM

It was a silent time
it was a dumb time
but blossomed, fragrant,
working holiday in May.

covered in snow,
shrouded in night
we met with enemies
menacing eyes.

But the herald of freedom arose,
like spring waters
screws of gloomy stairs
soared through the factories.

From the words of his chenille
and melted metals
and scarlet flames
working quarters.

His tunes are simpler
than drops of snow
but he sang - and the area
shut up as empty.

Russian workers,
we will destroy our lives
but the world will be more beautiful
blooming May Day!

Non gray marble cr s lec,
not yellow parquet grease -
for us now revealed
all five embraces of light.

Destroy death and execution
pluck the fangs of the slingshots, -
we rule the truth holiday
over the idleness of the rich.

Do not thunder "cheers" from them,
when freedom comes.
It's torn out, black browning,
from the hands of the enemies of the people.

And a step is knocked out in the sky of days,
and they can't stop us
everywhere the hearts of the poorest
sounded the alarm.

Above the rumble of difficult everyday life
iron patience
fuller and more difficult
hissing singing machines.

Gremi, deaf earth,
factories billowing smoke,
bloom, fragrant,
working holiday of May!

From the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

RUSSIA PUBLISHED

Spring has been angry for three years,
for three years the cannons rumbled,
and now - in Russia you don’t know
feathers and cuckoo voices.

Plants of springs, songs, days,
wipe away stone tears:
in Russia - the thief is hungrier
winter gnaws at the earthly breasts.

Russia - flax, Russia - blue,
Russia is an abandoned child
Russia, heart, lift up
hands of songs zabubenny.

Now there the dawn raised May,
now there are piles of black arable land,
now there - raise your voice,
and the other world is not afraid of you.

Now the feather grasses are rushing there,
and the voice of doves is hung,
and the wind stirs the foam
with the delight of washed cherries.

Factories, listen to me -
prepare fiery scythes:
greenery sprouts in Russia
and rave about the burden of mowing!

Vladivostok
1920

TODAY

Today - not a gil forgotten different
about how some saint ended,
No! A new miracle is met and celebrated -
of the ruddy age, the living "today".

The loader who raised the sack of death,
ran up the trembling ladder across the sky,
stands in a halo of fluttering bullets,
stretching out a hardened paw to the saints.

But do I yearn for angelic violins
cover the ears of a noisy city? -
Today brightly colored screams
a cohort marches through the crowds.

Comrade - the Sun! Bring out the day
playing with all the muscles,
so that in the mirror of memory - the old rubbish
disintegrated into dull fragments.

Comrade - the Sun! Dry the moisture of tears
whose puddle the soul is greedy.
Vivat! Huge red flag
which the sky is waving to us!

The poem appeared in the Far Eastern Review newspaper on March 12, 1920; on the same day, Aseev spoke at a rally of port loaders together with Sergei Lazo. Included in the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

***

If again this house is God,
if the pan is a saint:
again and again - about bombs,
rolled up in the form of rags,

Twisted in a pretzel and in a sai
raised by a concert sonata;
now - their frisky flock
seen over Canada;

Tomorrow they are over Madrid
circling between stone lace,
elusive view
hover over the cursing of guns;

After - in Chicago and in Chile,
in the souls of Russia and Germany...
Our dreams have taught them
tear at the world in your pocket.

Listen, reader, you too
with a bomb bouncing next to,
maybe explosively came to life
along with a silent discharge?!

From the collection "Bomb" (Vladivostok, spring 1921).

UPCOMING

year after year weather year
they go, turning around beautifully, badly,
but the spirit takes, you'll see when -
they burn with their own prowess.

The heavens were split into regions of stars,
earthly, settling in milky volosts,
managed not to write laws for fools,
settled down harmoniously without guns and gallows.

And, with a friendly wave, throwing away into the centuries
earthly ruins that languished,
forced vigilant pupils to get used
to other clouds over other expanses.

Soar up, song of the proletarians,
through nights of gloomy theories:
breaking through the world, flew them
meteor sparks!

Is this fiction?
Is this a trick? -
Each, rooted out,
rushing, sparkling and whirling.

With us
what happened -
with us,
beside
what happened -
delirium
throat
gnaw,
years,
hail
fly,
heaps!

Frowning Mercury
storm,
ardent Uranus
wound,
swirl, Venus
era,
reite, halos
Orion!

We are above the world
haze,
we are over the pain
were,
axes of days
hitting,
world early
cut down!

Look sharper, proletarians,
let flights in the darkness be dumb:
United country - Planetariums
thunder poems are coming!

From the collection "The Steel Nightingale" (Moscow, 1922).

***

Council of branches, council of winds,
council of spring commissioners
into the earth's black interior
hit with a firearm.

Lips scorched fields
sipped furious poison,
twisted into poplar springs,
curled into rings of grass.

And the earth rushed at once,
straightening the fiery mane,
threaten, shine and amaze
who did not believe in such an explosion.

And every windy message
behind each new wave of thunder
flew, broke, tore, mowed -
that the ice sank, that drowsiness hid.

And every blow that fell
was in an unceasing echo:
then - mountains hot ore
down the throats gushed volcanic.

And the globe of the earth began to snake
in the darkness of the worlds - a dawn dug ...
"Through the night - with me,

through the world - follow me! -

There was the cry of a living meteorite.

And it happened on earth
and that country did it
in which the ancient mind of years
rattling grenade.

Let's not hear how we fly
but if the heart danced, -
we will not turn away the advice of spring:
hit the red chair!

From the collection "The Steel Nightingale" (Moscow, 1922).

March of Budyonny

From the midday sky
don't come near the heat
equestrian Budyonny
spread out in the steppe.

Mommy's not sons
in the manor house
we grew up in flames
in powder smoke.

And not ancient glory
our brood is rich -
pouring lava
learned from the enemy.

Let the lords not brag
landing on a gallop, -
dare to trot often
their squadron into flour.

White will be remembered
how the grass rustles
when the cavalry rides
workers and peasants.

Everything that is a small bird
twists on the way
in front of a sharp checker
fly to the side.

We don't start a fight
but, remembering Perekop,
always keep clips
for white skulls.

Let the bridles jingle
memory of him,
so let's crush every
bastard horse.

Nobody's path traveled
won't take back
equestrian Budyonny,
army - forward!

In the Polytechnic "Evening of new poetry": Poems of the participants of poetry evenings in the Polytechnic. 1917-1923. Articles. Manifests. Memories / Comp. Vl. Ants. – M.: Mosk. Worker, 1987. - (Moscow Parnassus).

POEM

standing near,

walking beside

Shoulder

to my shoulder

Demolished by this

huge projectile,

With whom I am flying!
Let's celebrate

and terrain and speed

Among the icy latitudes,
and general bitterness

and general gain

And a general push forward.
It's time

putting things on the shelves

Look into the span

behind the glass

See,

how it foams, whistles and shines

That time

that got around us.

See

like this cool cut

We were twisted

in height!

Watch out

like the wind

and fresh and sharp -

From the north

blew in the rear!

you cold,

stronger seven years

whisper to us:

Raised on elbows
today

go around the top

whose name is

Harsh time!

Favorite time!

You are not afraid of hostility.
Mountain you rise

for those for those

Who new called and waited.
Do you remember,

how scary,

dead and dumb

The boulevard rumbled with foliage?!
Do you remember,

how gloomy because of the ledge

The heated barrel dangled ?!
Viciously vigilantly

we took on the fly -

Who was not

we are happy

And the nights did not sleep

and an octagon of bread

Valued in a diamond carat.
Seven years

spent more than one wrinkle,

Quite a few

broken feelings,

And a young man

turned into a man

Like a shoot

into a branched bush.

Seven years

not alone bent knees

For these

seven years -

rocked Japan,

Lenin died,

Mars approached the Earth.
He got up again

broken in October

Ringing with pennies of days ...
(Comrade critic,

I'm not against life

And life -

against me!)

But us

October were taught -

Fights at the Nikitsky Gate,
snuggle

to the footboards of cars,

Through life

push forward.

Harsh time!

Huge time!

You are not afraid of hostility.
Mountain you rise

for those for those

Who learned your scale.
you cold,

stronger seven years

whisper to us:

Raised on elbows
today

see the top

whose name is

October 1924

From the collection "Hoarfrost" (M.-L., 1927)

TO THE CITY

This name -

and as hail:

Petersburg,

Petrograd,

Leningrad!

Not kings

not their servants

not their whores

In this city

listen, my ears.

And not a story

palace murders

On the pupils

hover and swirl.

Not afraid and silent

curled hooves
And from there

where the ravelin sleeps

beaming,

the days took me away.

I see:

time screaming in harmony,

bright city

swamps and ballads;

On the ends

rattling boot,

boiling

the dialect of the epochs;

point-blank dispute

With a chime

silver spurs

And anxious early -
numb

at the queues.

Comrades!

fresh sea

Draped

wide bay.

Comrades!

Pennant crimson

flutters,

burning hearts.

Comrades!

long miles

heavy

salt water

We've been licked off for a long time

Last fight

But the memory

where will you take it? -

Those proud

keeps the nights

How he beat with a ram

Oh gray

hard granite.

And remembering -

anxious and anxious

And joyfully

beat hearts,

How,

turning the board

"Aurora"

Flashed pupil

through palaces.

And after,

how the blizzard joked

Snow

combed on the temple,

Like a sore throat

Shouted

about the last hours...

About it

unkind year

remembering

for a thousand years

He,

is silent and leaves

In graying

morning light.

Comrades!

Stronger at the elbows.

There is still a memory of him -

Look

how he moved to Okhta;

See

so that he doesn't run away

The only one

union city,

Whose age

started with him

Soak your tears

through the gateways

Clutching

bridges over the Neva.

He gave through -

It's built

on level ground.

But forgotten

and no one sang

Zarevoy

and evening avenue.

He is abandoned

that night in full

Shipborne

green columns.

He is abandoned

forever secretly

get drunk

soldier's ration.

But he can't sleep

Under the oppressive hand

And Lodeynaya street
flies

alarm horn.

And when

Neva arrives,

He mumbles

deaf words.

He takes off.
he makes noise

he lives,

he floats.

And he's gone...

wild water

splashed.

Only -

from the center to the islands

Breast beating

with granite grass.

Stop!

Don `t move!

You will be full!

We live without a city -
divorce

between islands

Again

light bridges.

You see:

tails of smoke,

Twisted strand

on the temple.

That -

Baltic squadron

By your

smokes sadness.

Warmors!

Full move.

deeper

You are

big city -

Power,

across the seas,

Today here

and there tomorrow!

you to them

you will be an older brother

Everyone

rebellious cities!

military ships

Spreading low smoke
slides again

along the horizon.

Leningrad!

Follow them.

Renewing and century
become forever

1925-1927

From the cycle "Orange Light" (1928; published in the collection: Selected Poems. M.-L., 1930). The poem was written in connection with the renaming of Petrograd to Leningrad on January 26, 1924; Aseev also recalls the old name of the city - Petersburg, which he bore (St. Petersburg) until August 1914. Putilov- Putilov factory. ... how he moved to Okhta ...- a district of Leningrad, located along the Okhta River, which flows into the Neva. And when // the Neva arrives...- In 1924, there was a severe flood in the city.

TENTH OCTOBER

clean

scrub and sweep the floor

Dust from the table

remove and wipe

blow away from the verses

foreign matter,

AND -

to the open window.

my hands -

to be h and sty,

Freshness -

to puff up the chest.

To the heart

the numbers come up again:

of our days

start and path.

Twilight

dressed the roofs of houses ...

In memory

like a cart in the yard, rattling,

loaded with cargo

days and weeks

Rolls in

Tenth October.

Thousand lines

performing the ritual

They will lift him up

doxology.

I

the path of my October

I'll remember

caught myself at the word

"sincerity"...

The flutter of flying sparks,

Sincerity -

the brilliance of an unextinguished planet.

Sincerity -
but without her

no understanding.

Sincerity!

Help my

heart

burn the heat and scrape it out,

So that in my

clumsy mind

The song sighed

languishing and sparkling.

Sincerity!

Help me sing

Remembering

laugh happily,

Like a man

on the wild path

The heart met

knocking

Was I

faceless intellectual,

Silently proud

trifle ranks,

waiting -

away from common worries -

common care

victory banner.

Not shrinking

in the darkness of the hole,

A lot of those

live in attics

Thinking:

wind of a different time

Their inspirational face

creatively screwed up.

measuring the earth

to your arshin,

Curls and thoughts

whipping everything higher

That's how they live

to the first wrinkles

first seizures,

first shortness of breath.

They look -

bald smooth surface

Nowhere to stick

lonely since childhood.

Finish!..

surprise the world

Or heroism,

or villainy...

This is how I lived...

Expecting, burning

Falling, tossed,

yes, I would have lived

If

don't wander in me

fresh time

new yeast.

I did not know,

which is stronger and more valuable:

The silence of the pre-storm

or soaring shaft, -

Gray

soldier's overcoat

learned

and formed.

We rushed

like ships in a storm,

Just touch

and scattered gush.

We rushed

like cranes in autumn,

There was no end

flying wedges.

We are foliage

showered the country

Shot of showers

we blurred it.

in two -

for new and old

We are her rug

broke.

And then I realized

And on the heart

became quieter immediately.

Not alone

man in the world,

Millions

walk and breathe.

And don't be afraid

it became a thunderstorm for me,

Not,

no darkness around me,

not animals

If only,

sprying a call to thunderstorms,

Step

to match her movement.

Don't run ahead

keep up -

Here times

clue and solution

Along with others
with thousandths which is the best...
That three destinies huddled here in an embrace, -
normal case.

But he will not say, closing his eyes,
that - all the most beautiful -
she was called fifteen years ago
his Russia!

Aseev explained the idea of ​​this poem in this way: “The time was difficult, there were constant reports of attacks and murders of worker correspondents with fists. I was a kind of worker correspondent, constantly published in newspapers on the most sensitive topics. In addition, I had personal clashes. , she asked to go outside "(Aseev Nikolai. Collected works in 5 volumes. M., Fiction, 1963-1964, v. 5, p. 401).

DAGESTAN

See how tight the camp is,
look how twisted the mouth is,
vrazlet soviet dagestan
takes steep abysses!

See how sharp the shoulders of the mountains are,
like a cloak hung from the shoulder,
he kicks the horse at full speed,
his flight is hot.

Not chinodral, not Sinodal,
clinging to the rock with evil times,
he has seen worse than demons,
when Shkuro walked in the mountains.

But he recognized his spring,
when - it seemed - the world was over,
and suddenly, like the light of dawn,
the village council flashed to him in the darkness.

The creaking of arbs, the roar of buffaloes -
flying echo far away
fall into any abyss,
legacy stone ages.

And you - on a light horse,
hooves without hitting a rock,
so that the air sings, ringing in the ears,
fly - with the folded hollow.

Sides in scars! Hurry, hurry -
flying around the departed countries.
From dawn to dawn! From dawn to dawn!
Forward, Soviet Dagestan!

From the collection "High-mountain poems" (M., 1938). ... not Synodal ...- in A. Rubinstein's opera "The Demon" (libretto by P. Viskovatov) - Tamara's fiancé, a sovereign Georgian prince, who is called without a name in the text of Lermontov's poem - "the ruler of Sinodal".

PARTISAN LEZGINKA

Far beyond the village
neighing mare...
"Tell us, Shaliko,
what happened to you.
From what hard things
not getting old
young you turned gray
sleep soon."
- The smoke rose in the mountains,
the night is cold.
Dzhigits stopped by
white - from the rear.
The stars darkened
the sky is empty
smoke grew over the gorge,
bushes rustled.
I whisper, I call.
Quiet sakli.
Surrounded our village
white sabers.
The checkers glow.
Heart, shut up!
In the light of the moon
wolf teeth.
Charge after charge...
The peaks are close.
I have in gas -
our lists.
Stirrup jump!
Let go of the occasion
whisper in the crown of the head:
"Help me, Tahad a!»
pulled the reins,
the mouthpiece gnaws,
Answered by Tahada
my horse:
"My dear friend,
I feel sorry for you.
I'll do as you say
amhanago Sh a Liko!
From the hooves of the stones
mountains past,
there they are already
in wisps of smoke.
As-as-as-as! -
bullets scream.
One-one-one-one! -
blew off the hat.
Smashing the horse
black bird
one for me
rushes from the side.
Embraced on the fly
collided with a stomp
and rolled down
and we both lie there.
Fog in the eyes
broke the leg...
But the Cossack does not breathe:
Thank God!
The day crawled, the night crawled -
burning wound.
Early late,
late - early.
I put my foot in the leaves,
you got me out.
There are no lies in this song
there is no invention.
My chest is hurt
escaped the end...
roast lamb
at the end of the dagger.
Into the ring, into the ring!
Peaks away!
Katso, katso,
Niko, Shaliko!

From the collection "High-mountain poems" (M., 1938). Regarding this poem, Aseev wrote (Literaturnaya gazeta, 1936, March 20): “When I had to work on“ The Death of Oksman ”- a poem about the civil war in the North Caucasus, I tore up a bunch of books and found in them a lot of interesting material. I started to write a biography of one person from books and, by the way, described a lezginka. This lezginka was a success in Moscow. But when the Georgians read it, they were offended: again lezginka, barbecue, dagger, etc. My mistake was that I wanted build a thing about a life I have never seen." ...in the gasses...- metal nests for cartridges, sewn in rows over the Circassian. ...amhanago... comrade in Georgian Katso(gr.) - an appeal to a man - a friend.

***

Listen, youth, how it was,
where did your old people start,
how they performed cheerfully and boldly
in battle with the White Guard Bolsheviks.

Today I want to remember those
who is cherished in the memory of the heart,
whose unique voice and laughter -
like a life-marked page...

One day, returning home at dawn
past the Kremlin stone arrows,
I met the fast-moving Lenin, -
but he did not dare to turn around after him.

He walked a solitary night passerby,
perhaps - to breathe air;
I was trembling with delight,
I was so afraid to disturb him.

I would like for the future, not only for the present,
children studying the growth of the state,
recreate the sonorous voice of Maria Ilyinichna
and Nadezhda Konstantinovna's gaze...

I met with Kalinin in the Izvestia office;
he argued with us about the meaning of the verses,
and we wanted to be with him
at least until the second roosters ...

Simple, big, cordial people,
who was smarter than all the quoters,
who anticipated in those days
smiles of today's holidays!

From the collection "Lad" (M., 1961).