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Nikolai ZABOLOTSKY

ON THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN FACES There


luxury faces as portals, where
greatness comes from the small. There
faces - like a pitiful huts
where boiled liver and the stomach is soaked.
faces are cold and dead, locked up behind bars
like a dungeon.
Others - such as towers, no one living
long ago, no one looks out the window.
once knew a house was ugly and poor,
but from his window at me
poured the breath of spring day.
The world really is great and divine! There
faces - like songs that delight.
With its bright as the Sun notes, the song was composed
the celestial heights.

.

Zabolotsky reciting
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWtG4TVIo-0&feature=related


Nikolai Zabolotsky ( 1903 to 1958)

Russian poet and translator. He was part of a branch of the futurist movement. In 1938 he was arrested and sentenced to counter Soviet propaganda. After that experience he wrote "Story of my imprisonment," which was published in 1981 in the U.S. and in Russia as recently as 1988. He was released in 1944. .

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Samuil Marshak Zinaida Gippius

1887–1964
Poeta ruso, traductor, dramaturgo, crítico literario, redactor.

El honor


El honor no se compra con oro.
El honesto no lo cederá.
Necesita el honor, igual que a la luz.

El deshonesto, feliz de venderlo...
Pero, como todos ya saben,
el deshonesto no tiene honor.



* It's heavy load of love, even if the leading two. Our
now I just love. Care
your part and my part, jealously and sacredly,
but for whom and for what - I can not say.




I saw I saw a burning lake,
a dog pants on a horse, instead of the roof
, a hat over the house,
cats caught mice.
saw the goose and the fox,
making cakes in the forest, as the cub
trying on shoes.
And like a fool I believed it!



* People write, and time erase, erasing everything
be deleted.
But tell me - if the sound dies, perhaps the sound
must die?

becomes deaf and off,
ready to merge with the silence.
and not with the ear, but with the heart
hear this laughter, this chest voice.
.
.

S. Marshak reading one of his poems:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zK3yCr9gbdk


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four poems by Nadezhda Teff

Zinaida and Dmitry Merezhkovsky

last time I saw lying among the flowers. Silent had their hands crossed meekly, she did her hair, her cheeks painted a little. Everything as before. But his forehead, where once shone a decaying tape with a snap, now humbly and wisely was wrapped in a white tiara land a final prayer.

- My friend passing, - I whispered, - you were not warm. I wanted to be bad. Does that is brighter - really? And that amiable tenderness, which he loved his soul, mysteriously, you hid from prying eyes, modestly. I remember his poem about the cables. In them, the YES and NO. Joining

, will merge ...
And his death will be light.

What we know, my friend passing? Perhaps, behind his cold eyes closed, and radio is silent light of reconciliation with the eternal ...
I leaned over and kissed her hand dry and dead.
.
. Nadezhda

Teffi
( Lojvitskaia Nadezhda Aleksandrovna ) 1872 -1952

recognized Russian writer and poet, author of numerous reports and sister of the poet Lojvitskaia Mirra.
.
.

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ensure JLÉBNIKOV

.
When the verdant field glass
afternoon, the trace of dawn,
and far away, the pale sky blue thoughtfully
gets close. Ash wide

When the fire off, fire doors

rises above the entrance to the cemetery stellar
then to the white candle,
quickly through the beam fluid
will fly without a butterfly.
will touch the flame with his chest,
be immersed in the hot wave.
Look, look, lay dead. 1912