Click  to see  Sergey YeseninТs  autobiography


Collection of Poems

Translated by Alec  Vagapov




Scarlet light of sunset shows up on the lake.

Grouses are crying in the wood, awake.


Hidden in a hollow, cries an oriole.

I donТt feel like crying, brightness in my soul.


YouТll come out to meet meа later in the day,

WeТll sit down there under stack of hay.


I will kiss and squeeze you, like a loving boy!

One canТt blame a man for being drunk with joy.


You will chuck your kerchief as I hold you tight,

I will keep you, tipsy, in the bush all night.


Let the birds keep crying as we neck andа bask

ThereТs a happy yearning in the purple dusk.




The Night


The tired day droops, slowly waning ,

The noisy waves are now tranquil.

The sun has set, the moon is sailing

Above the world, absorbed and still.


The valley listens to the babbles

Of peaceful river in the dale.

The forest, dark and bending, slumbers

To warbling of the nightingale.


The river, listening in and fondling,

Talks with the banks in quiet hush.

And up above resounds,а a-rolling,

The merry rustle of the rush.


1910 -1912




Lovelyа night  I will never retrieve it,

And I wonТt see my sweet precious love.

And the nightingaleТsа song, I wonТt hear it,

Happy song that it sang in the grove!


That sweet night is now gone irrevocably

You canТt tell it: please come back and wait.

Autumn weather has nowа set in locally,

With perpetual rains, damp and wet.


Fastа asleep in the grave is my sweetheart

Keeping love, as before, in her heart.

And however it tries, autumn blizzard

Cannot wake her from sleep, flesh and blood.


So the nightingaleТs singing has ended,

As the song-bird has taken to flight,

And I canТt hear the song now,а so splendid,

Which it sang on that sweet chilly night.


Gone and lost are the joyous emotions

That I felt in those days and conceived.

All I have now is chill in my conscience.

What is gone canТt be ever retrieved.





The Stars


Stars little stars, youТre so high and so clear!

What have you got in you, so fascinating?

Stars, deep in thought, so discreet you appear,

What is the power that makes you so tempting?


Stars, little stars, youТre so dense and so solid!

What is it that makes you so great and alluring?

How can you,а heavenlyа bodies, afford it:

Stirring a thirst and desire for learning?


Why, as you shine, are youа nice and inviting

Into your wide open arms, on the instant?

Pleasing the heart, so benign and enticing,

Heavenly stars, so remote and so distant!



My Life


It appears,  myа life is fated to torment;

My way is dammed up by grief and distress.

My life has beenа severed from fun and enjoyment,

Vexation and wounds are afflicting my chest.


It seems IТm fated to suffer from pain.

All I have in this life are bad luck and misfortune.

I have suffered  enough in this life,  and again

Both my body and soul have been put to the torture.


The expanse, vast and hazy,  promises joy,

Sighs and tears, however, are the real solutions.

A storm will break out, the thunder - oh boy! -

Will ruin the magical luscious illusions.


Now I  know  lifeТs deception,  and nevertheless

I donТt want to complain of bad luck and misfortune.

So my soul doesnТt suffer from grief and distress,

No one ever can help to relieve me from torture.



аааааааааааааааааааааа ***

You were crying on a quiet night,

Those tears in your eyes you werenТt hiding,

I was so sad,а it was a real plight,

And yet we couldnТt overcome misunderstanding.


Now you are gone, IТm here, on my own,

My dreams have faded, losing tint and colour,

You left me, and again I am all alone,

Without tender word and greeting, in my parlour.


When evening comes I often,а crowned with rue,

Come to the place ofа our dating here,

And in my dreams I see the sight of you

And hear you crying bitterly, my dear.




              * * *


Canes have started rustling on the river bank,

Princess-girl is crying with her face pale, blank.


Pretty girl has chanted У loves me - loves me notФ,

The unwoven flowers down the river float.


She is not toа marry later in the spring,

Goblin has foretold a very frightening thing.


Mice have stripped the birch-tree ofа the bark, so hard,

They have frightened girlie out of the yard.


Horses fight, so threateninglyа jerking their heads,

Ah, dark hair is what goblin really hates.


Incense smellа is coming from the nearbyа groves,

Loud winds are singing their dirge-like songs.


On the river bank she sadly walks around,

As the foamy wave is spinning her a shroud.




ааааааааааааааааааааааа * * *


Trinity devotions. Morning cannon rite,

Birch-trees in the grove are filled withа ringing light.


Villagers are comingа after festive sleep,

аIn the chimes of wind the heady spring willа steep.


There are bands and branches on the window panes.

I will cry with flowersа over grieves and pains.


Sing, you birds, lamenting, I will sing along,

WeТll consign to dust my boyhood to this song.


Trinity aurora. Morning cannon rite,

Birch-trees in the grove are filled withа ringing light.



ааааааааааааааааааа ***


IТm a shepherd, andа my parlours

Are theа ruffled pasture sides,

Slopes of verdant hills and furrows,

Balks,а withа booming cryа of snipes.


Yellow foamy clouds are trimming

Pine-tree woodа with lace designs,

While I listen, lightlyа dreaming,

To theа whisper of the pines.


Dewy poplars, softlyа waving,

Shine with verdure on the scene.

I am a shepherd, andа my dwelling

Is theа gentleа field of green.


Cows salute and hail me chatting

Using their tongue of nods.

Fragrant flowers are inviting

Kindly toа the river spots.


I forget all grief and care,

On a heap of twigs I dream.

To the sun I say my prayer,

Make communion by the stream.





ааааааааа * * *



White isа the sweatshirt, and red isа the sash,

IТm picking the poppies beginning to flush.

Deep is the sound of the choral song ,

I know she is there now, singing along.


She cried,а I remember, on entТring the hut:

УYouТre handsome, but you are not after my heart.

The wind is enflaming the rings of your curls,

IТve given my brush to somebody elseФ.


I know she dislikes me and makes me feel small:

I danced less than others and drank least of all.

I stood by the wall and was humble and sad,

While they were drunk and singing, like mad.


HeТs lucky, heТs one of those brazen men, -

His beard would stick to her neck now and then.

And joining the circle of dancers, with grace,

She burst out laughing straight in my face.


White is the sweatshirt, and red isа the sash,

IТm picking the poppies beginning to flush.

Her heart, like a poppy, is blooming along.

It isnТt for me that sheТs singing the song.


1915ааааааааааааааааааааааааааа ааааааааааааааааааа




ааааааааааааааааааа * * *


IТm tired of living in my land

Withа boring fields and buckwheat fragrant,

IТll leave my homeа for ever, and

Begin the life of thief and vagrant.


IТll walk through silver curls of life

In search of miserable dwelling.

My dearestа friend will whet his knife

On me. The reason? ThereТs no telling.


The winding yellow road will go

Across the sunlit field of flowers,

The girl whose name I cherish so

Will turn me out of her house.


I will return back home to live

and see the others feeling happy,

IТllа hang myself upon my sleeve,

On a green evening it will happen.


The silkyа willows byа the fence

Will bend their tops low down, gently,

To dogsТа barking, by my friends,

Unwashed, I will be buried plainly.


The moon will float up in the sky

Dropping the oars into the waterЕ

As ever, Russia will get by

And dance and weep in every quarter.




The Witch


White and dishevelled, she looks outrageous,

Running about,а brisk and courageous.


Dark is the night, it is scared to death, and

Clouds, like kerchiefs,а have covered the crescent.


Wind, letting outа hysterical hoots, а

Whirls like a shotа to the back of the woods.


Fir-trees are threatening to hit with a spear

Owls lie hidden, a-wailing from fear.


Waving her harridanТs clutches she shouts.

Up in the sky stars are winking from clouds.


Vipers, like rings, hangingа down her hair,

Spinning with blizzard,а she whirls in the air.


Ringing, the pinesа make the witch dance and cry.

Clouds grow dark as they, trembling,а float by.







ааааааааааааааа ***

IТm back at home. My dear land

Is pensive, spreading all around !

The twilight waves its snow-white hand

To greet me from beyond the mound.


The grizzle  of the gloomy day

Is floating byа over my home, and

Theа evening  fills me with dismay

аLike insurmountable torment.


Above theа church, over the dome,

The sunset shade  has fallenа down.

My dear friends,а IТm back at home,

Andа wonТt be seeing you around.


The years have  flown like a whirl,

And where are you,а my friends, I wonder?

All I can hear is the purl

Of water by the mill-house yonder.


And often, sitting by the hearth,

to sound of sedge crack, or whatever,

I pray to steaming mother earth

Fore those whoТreа are gone lostа for ever.






Over there beyond fields of yellow

There are villages stretching ahead.

ThereТs aа wood and theа sunset of mellow

And a fence with a nettle thread.


There overа the domes of the temple

Is theа turquoiseа dust of the sky,

And the wind rings the grass, wet and gentle,

As it comes from the lakes nearby.


It is not for the song of the valley

That I love this greenery spill,

Like a crane IТm in love with the alley

And the convent on top of the hill.


When the azure gets misty and blooming,

And theа sunset hangs over the bridge.

I can see you, my wandering woman,

Go to bow to the cross and beseech.


Chaste is life in the convent village,

Public prayer absorbs you all,

Pray before our SaviourТs image,

Preach to God for my fallen soul.






Like smoke in the room you are out of view.

With a humble heart I will pray for you.


Your oatmeal image feeds my soul,

You are  my helper, my friend and all.


The world is sown with the solar flame

The holy truth has got no name.


The sand of the dream is keeping time,

YouТve  added new grains to the sublime.


Words are  growing on the arable plot,

The green feather-grass is mixed with thought.


On solidа muscles of raised up hands

The sound erects whiteа churches in lands.


The souls are delighted inа trampling your glow

And seeingа your steps on the recent snow.


But self-abasementа and faded zeal

Of those dropped off are lovelier still.




WeТll depart this world for ever, surely,

To repose in peace and quite. Oh, my Lord!

Maybe, I shall also have to duly

Pack my things preparing for the road.


Oh, my birch-tree woods! Amazing pictures!

Oh, my dear land! My sandy plains!

In the face of crowds of mortal creatures

IТm unable to conceal my pains.


IТve been filled with love and admiration

For the things embodying the soul.

Peace to aspens, lost in contemplation,

Spreading branches, staring at the shoal!.


I have thought in silence days andа hours,

I have written songs. And I donТt grieve.

I am happy in this gloomy world of ours

To have had a chance to breathe and live.


I am happy, I have kissed a woman,

I have slept in grass andа flower-bed,

And I never, like a decent human,

Hit a dog or kitten in the head.


The unknown land! No blooming pictures!

No amazing fields of wheat, so fine!

Hence, before the crowds of mortal creatures

I have always shivers down the spine.


In that land, I know, there wonТt be any

Fields of wheat that shine like gold at night

ThatТs the reason why I love those many

Living with me in this country-side.




I will not be wandering about

Tramplingа goose-foot in the bushes any more;

Andа I know youТllа never come around

In my dreams,  oat-haired, as before.


You were tender beautiful and fair,

Berry juice upon your skin, so light.

You  resembled rosy sunset glare,

And, like snow, you were lustrous, fair and bright.


Having shed their grain your eyes are fading,

And your name has melted like the sound of chimes;

But the folders of your crumpled shawl and veiling

Have retained the smell of honey from your arms.


When itТs quiet and the sunset smartens,

Like a kitten, washing up its face.

I can hear the honeycomb-like patterns

Chat about you, along with wind and haze.


Well, the evening tells me you are  oderous,

Like a dream, a flower and sweet song,

After all, who has designed your waist, your shoulders

Apprehending  holy secret all along?


I will not be wandering about

Tramplingа goose-foot in the bushes any more;

Andа I know youТll never come around

In my dreams, oat-haired, as before.




ааааааааааааааа *** 

I do believe in happiness!

The sun has not yet faded. Rays

Of sunrise like a book ofа prayers

Predict the happy news. Oh yes!

I do believe in happiness!


Ring , golden Russia, carry on,

Oh blow you wind, so unabated!

Blessed is the one who celebrated

Your shepherdТs sadness, hope forlorn.

Ring, golden Russia, carry on!


I love the wild impetuous streams,

The shine of stars upon the water.

The blessed dejection, crying quarter,

The blessing people and extremes

Of roaring wild impetuous streams.




ааааааааааааааааааааа  * * *


Silver bluebell,а are you singing,

Or,а perchance, my heart isа dreaming?

Light from rosy icon flashes

Falling on my golden lashes.


Though IТm not that gentle infant

in the flapping splash of pigeons,

Yet my golden dreams are distant,

Somewhere in the woodland regions.


I donТt needа the narrow house,

Word and mystery wonТt reckon.

Teach me, please to dream and drowse,

Fall asleep and never waken.




аааааааааааааа * * *

I have left my endearedаа home,

Getting outа ofа theа land of blue.

Little grove by the pond will warm

My old motherТs sorrow anew.


Like a golden croaker the moon

Lies prostrate on the water, tranquil.

Grizzly hair, like apple-tree bloom,

In myа fatherТsа beardа will spill.


I will not come back readily, and

Singing blizzard will ring on and on.

Maple-tree guards theа blueа Russian land,

Standing there, one-legged, all alone.


And I know that itТs joyous for those

WhoТve been kissing the rain of the leaves.

For the maple and I, we both

Are alike, in the headаа that is.





ThereТs the silly elation,

The garden the windows look on!

Soundless sunset reflection

Swims in the pool, like a swan.


Greetings, golden serenity,

Shadows of trees, black as tar!

Crows on the roof, in sincerity,

Hold vespers in praise of the star.


Timidly, overаа the garden

Where the guelder-rose springs,

A girl in a snow-whiteа garment

A beautiful melody sings.


Like a blue gown, the eveningа а

Cold from the meadow sweepsЕ

Happiness, sweet silly feeling!

Virginal blush of the cheeks!






Silver road, I wonder where

You are calling me anew?

Like a Thursday candle there

Shines a starletа over you.


Are you fraught with joy or sorrow?

IsnТtа madness your intent?

Help me, heart and soul,а tomorrow

Love your hardа snow to the end.


Give me sunset for the sleigh and

Willow branchа that beautifies.

Maybe I will in the end а

Reachа the gate of paradise.



ааааааааааааааааааааааа * * *

To Kluyev  


My love has changed.а I know you feel

Upset about the situation:

The crescentТsа sweeper couldnТtа spill

The pools ofа lyrical creation.


Upset,а but taking in good part

The star that fell upon your brows,

You spilt you heart aboutа the house,

But thereТs no house in yourа heart.


The one you waited for to greet

Has passed your shelter like a cynic.

My friend, whomeverа did you gild

The key for with your singing lyric?


YouТll never versify the sun

And neverа see the HeavenТs bound.

Just like a mill that flaps its fan

But cannot tear off the ground.





аааа * * *


I do not regret, and I do not shed tears,

All, like haze off apple-trees, must pass.

Turning gold, IТm fading, it appears,

I will not be young again, alas.


Having got to know the touch of coolness

I will not feel, as before, so good.

And the land of birch trees, - oh my goodness!-

Cannot make me wander barefoot.


VagrantТs spirit! You do not so often

Stir the fire of my lips these days.

Oh my freshness, that begins to soften!

Oh my lost emotions, vehement gaze!


Presently I do not feel a yearning,

Oh, my life! Have I been sleeping fast?

Well, it feels like early in the morning

On a rosy horse IТve galloped past.


We are all to perish, hoping for some favour,

Golden leaves flow down turning grey.

May you be redeemed and blessed for ever,

You who came to bloom and pass awayЕ






аааааааааааааааааааа ***

Sing, old man, to the bloody guitar, and

Let your fingers show natural bent.

I would choke in this drunken enchantment

YouТreа my last and my only friend.


DonТt you look at her wrist and the blooming

Silky shawlа hanging down her head.

I was looking forа joy in this woman

But I found perdition instead.


I did not know that love was infection,

I did not know that loveа was a plague.

Sheа just came andа feigning affection

Drove the rowdyа mad, no mistake.


Sing and let meа remember, brother,

Our fidgetyа youthful whirl.

Let her kiss, pet and fondleа another,

Ah,а this beautiful wicked girl!


No, no, wait.а I donТt blame her or bully.

No, no, wait.а I donТt damn or disgrace.

Let me singа now about yours truly

To the sound of thisа string of base.


Rosyа vault of my days is streaming.

IТve got plenty of golden dreams.

I have pettedа so manyа young women,

Touched andа squeezed them,а governed by whims.


Yes! There isа bitter truth of the world

When a child I caught sight of that truth:

Troops of hounds, excited and wild,

Taking turns lick a bitch all in juice.


Why be jealous of her? I donТt get.

Being sick would mere pretext.

Our life is justа bed-sheet and bed.

Our life is a kiss andа a vortex.


Sing , old man! In the fateful sphere

Of these hands is a fated end.

Tell them all to fЕ out of here.

I will never be dead, my friend.




             * * *

I will not deceive myself, admitting

I have worries in my heart, so dreary.

Why am I reputed as a cheating

Crook and trouble-maker, really?


I am not a villain nor a thief in hiding,

And I never shot imprisoned convicts.

I am just a thoughtlessа idler, smiling

Friendly and avoiding conflicts.


I am a naughty reckless Moscow loner.

All along the main street, and around,

Every little dogа in every corner

Knows me by the way I tread the ground.


Every jade I meet, rundown and hopeless,

Gives me nods of hail and salutation.

I am a friend of animals, my verses

Are as good for them as medication.


I donТt wear my hat to charm the ladies

For I canТt stand featherbrained emotions.

ItТs convenient to use my hats as ladles

Filling them with oats to feed the horses.


I do notа have friends among the people,

ItТs a different kingdom I am bound to.

I will gladly give my tie to simple

Shaggy dog I happen to encounter.


From now on I will be safe and sound.

In my heart a sunny day is breaking.

ThatТs the reason why they tend toа count

Me to be a crook and trouble-maker.






ааааааааааааа * * *


Yes! ItТs settled! Now and for ever

I have left my dear old plain.

And the winged leaves of poplars will never

Ring and rustle above me again.


Our house will sag in my absence,

And my dog died a long time ago.

Me, IТll die without compassions

In the crooked streets of Moscow, I know.


I admire this city of elm-trees

With decrepit buildings and homes.

Golden somnolent Asian entities

Are reposing on temple domes.


When the moonlight at night, dissipated,

ShinesЕ like hell in the dark sky of blue!

I walk down the alley, dejected,

To the pub for a drink, maybe, two.


ItТs a sinister den,а harsh and roaring,

But in spite of it, all through the night

I read poems for girls that go whoring

And carouse with thieves with delight.


Though I talk,а all I say is quiteа pointless,

With my heart pulsating so fast:

Just like you, I am totally worthless,

And I cannot re-enter the past.


Our house will sag in my absence,

And my dog died a long time ago.

I am fated to die withа compassions

In the crooked streets of Moscow, I know.





* * *

Azure space is aflame up above,

IТve forgotten my home destination .

For the first time IТm singing of love,

For the first time I give up contention.


I was all like a desolate grove

Loving women and heavily drinking.

I donТt drink any more and donТtа love

Like I did, living fast and unthinking.


All I want is to look at the vast

Of your gold-brown eyes, and, - oh, bother! -

How I wish that, disliking your past,

You would not like to go to another!


Tender step, graceful waist that you have!

Oh if only you were able to tumble

УHow a bully can really love,

And how he can be timid and humble!Ф


All those pubs I would never attend,

And my poems would be forgotten,

If you justа let me touch your hand

And your hair, the colour ofа autumn.


I would follow youа ever, my dove,

Be it distant or close destinationЕ

For the first time IТm singing of love,

For the first time I give up contention.





ааааааааааааааааааа * * *


Both this street and this little house

Have been long soа familiar to me.

Up the window the blue straw of wires

Is weighed down as itа once used to be.


ThereТve beenа years of austere contingency

Years ofа vehementа endeavours, too.

I remember my village, my infancy

And the countrysideа heaven of blue.


I did not search for fame and complacence

For I know all the price ofа reward.

As I sleep nowа I fancyа the presence

Ofа my near and dear abode .


ThereТs the garden in lividа speckles,

August sleepsа onа the railing lines.

Chirping birds fly around in circles

and repose in the clutches of limes.


I was fond of this wooden house,

Logs had menacingа heated might,

Our stove would let out strange howls

As we tended the fire at night.


ItТsа was wailing loud like funnel

As if mourning and suffering pain.

What on earth did he see, masonТs camel,

In the pouring andаа howling rain?


Well, it probably saw distant bounds

And the dream of a bloomingа phase,

Like AfghanistanТs sandy grounds

And BukharaТsа translucent haze.


Well, I know very wellа those locations

IТve been there as a travelling man.

Now I wantа to select destinations

But as closeа to my home as I can.


Golden slumbers have now faded out,

All has vanished in haze like foam.

Peace toа you,а grasses scattered about,

Peaceа toа you, wooden parentsТ home!




аааааааааааааааа * * *

ItТs sad to look at you, my love,

And itТs so painful toа remember!

It seems,а the only thing we have

Is tint of willow in September.


SomebodyТs lips have outworn

Your warmth and body trepidation,

As if the rain was drizzling down

The soul, that stiffenedа in congestion.


Well, let it be! I do not dread.

I have some other joyous gala.

ThereТs nothing left for me except

For brown dust and grizzly colour.


IТve been unable, to my rue,

To save myself,а for smiles or any.

The roads that I have walked are few

Mistakes that I have made are many.


Thus funny life and funny split.

So it has been and will be ever

The grove with birch-tree bonesа in it

Is like a graveyard , well I never!


Likewise, weТllа go to our doom

And fade, like callers of the garden.

In winter flowers never bloom,

An so we shouldnТtа grieve about them.







ааааааааааааааа ***


LetТs sit down here, my dearest,

Look and seeа how much I care.

I will listen to theа tempest

Under your submissive stare.


All this golden vegetation

And thisа fair lock ofа hair,-

They have come justа like salvation

Of the loafer free of care.


Long ago I left my village

With the blooming fields and thicket,

Tempted by the cityа image

And the life of fame, so wicked.


So Iа buried in oblivion

Orchard,а summer I enjoyed

Where I, to theаа frogsТ singing,

Raised myself to be a poet.


Autumn with the golden branchesЕ

Maple,а lime-trees, taking pleasure,

Stick their twigs inside,а like clutches,

Searchingа for someone they treasure.


They are gone, our dear losses,

In the homely yard the crescent

Marks with beams of light on crosses

That weТll join them in the basement.


Goingа troughа the troubles wholly

We shall go like thisа to welkin

All the windingа roads are only

For the living beings welcome.


LetТs sit down here, my dearest,

Come and look into my face.

Let me listen to theа tempest

Under your submissive gaze.





ааааааааааааааааааа а

You have been used by someone else

But there is something good at bottom:

Your glassy hair casting spells,

Your weary eyes tired out in autumn.

The autumn age! Well, for my part,

I like it more than youth, I know it,

You're now much better to the heart

And fascination of a poet.


I never tell a lie at heart,

And to the call of ostentation

I'll say without hesitation:

аFarewell to squabble, booze and that.

It's time to stop this rugged trick,

I've been so stubborn. That's the limit!

My heart has had a kind of drink

That sobers up the blood and spirit.


аSeptember knocks upon my pane

With willow branches showing crimson,

I have to be prepare'd again

For the arrival of the season.

I now put up with many things,

Without loss, or stress or bounds.

My Russian land has changed, it seems,

So are the houses 'nd burial grounds.

I look around, seeing through,

And here and there and everywhere

The only one for whom I care,

Is you, my friend, and sister, too.

You are the only one whom I,

Perfecting drawbacks of a sinner,

Will sing about roads, - oh my!-

The parting life of misdemeanour.




ааааааааааааааааааа а

*** а


DonТt torment me with coldness and stiffness

And donТt ask me my age and so on.

I have serious falling sickness

With my soul like a yellow bone.


Years ago I wasnТt the same as

I am now.а I was dreamy and all,

I imagined that I would be famous

Very wealthy and favoured by all.


IТm excessively rich. I declare!

ThereТs my hat which I never use.

All I have is a shirt and a pair

Of worn out once elegant shoes.


I am famous as well. They know me

From Moscow to Paris scum.

And my name willа arouse a stormy

Response, like a curse and damn.


As for love, donТt you think itТs amusing?

As I kiss you, your lips are like dead.

IТve got love which I seem to be losing

Whereas yours hasnТt bloomed as yet.


IТm gloomy at times Ц I donТt care,

For it isnТt yet time to be sad.

The young grassа on the hills, like yourа hair,

Rustling, looks like a golden pad.


I would like to be there in that vastness

аSo Iа might, to the rustle of grass,

Fall asleep and drown in darkness

аAnd daydreamа like I did in the past.


But the things I now dream about

Are quite new to the earth and theа grass

For they canТt be expressed and spelled out,

And they cannot be named, alas!







Little house with light blue shutters,

I will never forget you, no way!

All these yearsа that have gone with theа shadows

Seemed so recent and not far away.


Up to now IТve been dreaming about

Our fields,а woods and clouds on high

Under cover ofа grey cotton shroud

Of this poor old northern sky.


Though I cannotа admire,а however,

I donТt want to get lost at all.

I suppose, IТve got now and for ever

аDismal warmth of the Russian soul.


I am fond of the silver cranes

Flying over I donТt know where,

For they havenТt seen in these plains

Ample harvest of grain, as it were.


They have seen the blossom of trees,

Brittle willows, all curved and bare,

They have heard the whistles of thieves

That arouse such terrible scare.


So I cannot help caring about

You, my land, and itТs quiteа unconscious.

Under cover ofа cheap cotton shroud

I adore you with deepest emotions.


Thus appearing likeа recent shadows

Bygone years, they still hover to-dayЕ

Little house with light blue shutters,

I will never forget you, no way!





ааааа A Letter to Mother


Are you still alive, my dear granny?

I am alive as well. Hello! Hello!

May there always be above you, honey,

The amazing stream of evening glow.


IТve been told that hiding your disquiet,

Worryingа about me a lot,

You go outа to the roadside every night,

Wearing your shabby overcoat.


In the eveningа darkness, very often,

You conceive the same old scene of blood:

Kind of in a tavern fightа some ruffian

Plunged a Finnish knife into my heart.


Now calm down, mom! And donТt be dreary!

ItТs a painful fiction through and through.

IТm not so bad a drunkard, really,

As to die without seeing you.


IСm your tender sonа as ever, dear,

And the only thing I dream of now

Is to leave this dismal boredom here

And return to our littleа house. And how!


IТll return in spring without warning

When the garden blossoms, white as snow.

Please donТt wake me early in the morning,

As you did before, eight years ago.


DonТt disturb my dreams that now have flown,

DonТtа perturb my vain and futile strife

For itТs much too early that IТve known

Heavy loss and weariness in life.


Please donТt teach me how to say my prayers!

There is no way back to what is gone.

YouТre my only joy, support and praise

And my only flare shining on.


Pleaseа forget about your pain and fear,

Please donТtа worryа over me a lot

DonТt go outа to the roadside, dear,

Wearing your shabby overcoat.




ааааааааааааааааа а

ааааааааааааааааааааааааааа ***


Nowа my grief wonТt be spilt by the ringing,

Happy laugh of the bygone last.

Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming

And theа nightingale dawns have passed.


All was new to me then,а and emotions

Filled my heart to the brim, so good.

Whereas now every word, kind and cautious,

Tastes as bad as aа bitterа fruit.


The familiar expanses of valleys

ArenТt so nice as they were before.

Ditches, slopes, stumps and all sorts of gullies

Have disheartened my land evermore.


All is wretched, decrepitа and drear,

Pond of grey is so hard on the eyeЕ

Yet to me all is near and dear,

Sorry vision that makes me cry.


ThereТs a little ramshackle house,

I can hear theа bleat of a sheep,

And aа horse put out to browse

Waves its tail by the pond, so deep..


This is Motherland, homelandа of ours,

And it makes us sad in a way,

Hereа we cry, along with the showers,

In the hope for a cheerful day.


Thus my griefа canТt be spilt by the ringing

Happy laugh of the bygone last.

Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming,

And theа nightingale dawns have passed.






A Letter to the Woman


Yes, you remember,

You certainly remember

The way I listened

аStanding at the wall

As you walked to and fro about the chamber

Reproving me

With bitter words and all.


You said

That it was time weТd parted,

And that my reckless life,

For you, was an ordeal,

And it was time a new life you had started

Whileа I was fated

To go rolling downhill.


My love!

You didnТt care for me, no doubt.

You werenТt aware of the fact that I

Was like a ruined horse, amidst the crowd,

Spurred by a dashing rider, flashing by.


You didnТt know

That I was all a-smoke,

And in my life, turned wholly upside-down ,

I was in misery,аа downhearted, broke,

Because I didnТt seeа which way we were bound.


When face to face

We cannot see the face.

We should step backа for better observation.

For whenа the ocean boils and wails

The ship is in a sorry situation.


The worldа is but a ship!

But all at once,

Someone, in search of betterа life and glory,

Hasа turned it, gracefully,а taking his chance,

Into the hub of stormа and flurry.


Well,а which of us

On board a mighty boat

Has never brawled nor barfed nor fallen down?

There are not many of them that will not

Despair when theyТre about to drown.


Me,а too,

To loud hue and cry,

But knowing well what I was doing

Went down to the hold whereа I

Might keep away from scenes of spewing.


УHoldФ was a Russian pub

Where I

Drank,аа listening to the loud bicker,

аI tried to stop myа worries by

Just drowning myself in liquor.




My love!

I worriedа you, oh my!

Your tired eyes revealed dejection,

I didnТt hide from you that I

Had spent my life in altercation.


You didnТt know

That I was all a-smoke,

And in my life, turned wholly upside-down,

I was in misery, downhearted, broke,

Because I didnТt see а

Which way we were bound.


Now many years have passed,

IТm not so young today.

I do notа feel the same, and Iа have new ideas,

And here at festive tableа I will say:

Long live the one whoТs at the steers!


Today I,

Seized by tender feelings so,

Recall yourа wistfulness,  and now IТm happyаа

To tell you straight for you to know

About what I was

And what has happened!


My love,

IТm glad to tell you that

I have escaped a bad descent, anТ

Today IТm in the Soviet land

A staunch supporter and defender.


IТm not the man

I used to be.

I wouldnТt hurtа you now

The way I did.а So silly!

And I would follow Labour, feeling free,

As far as аEnglish Channel, really.


Forgive me please,

I know that you have changed.

You live with an intelligent,

Good husband;

You donТt need all this fuss and all this pledge,

And you donТtа need me either, such a hazard.



Live as you do

Lead by your lucky star

Under the tentа of fern, if thereТs any.

My best regards,

YouТre always on my mind, you are,

Yours, faithfully,

аааааааааа S e r g e yаа Y e s e n i n.





аааааааааааааааааааа * * *

The goldenа birch-tree grove has fallen silent

Its merryа chatter havingа stopped afore,

The cranes up there flying over, sullen,

Have nobody to pity any more.


Whom should they pity? Each is just a trotter.

аOne comes and goes and leaves for good again.

The moonа andа hempenа bush above the water

аRemember all those perished, filled with pain.


IТm standing on the plain all on my own,

The cranes, the wind is taking them away,

I think about my boyhood whichа has flown,

Andа I do not regretа my bygones anyway.


I donТt regret the days that I discarded,

I donТt feel sorry for the lilacа of my soul.

The purple rowan burningа in the garden

CanТt warm and comfort anyone at all.


The rowan will maintain its coloration.

The grass exposed to heat will not decease,

I drop my words of sorrow and vexation

The way a tree drops quietly its leaves.


And if some dayаа the wind of time intended

To rake them all up in a useless rollЕ

You ought to say:а the golden grove has ended

аIts lovely chatter in the prime of fall.





ааааааааааааа ***


Now  my grief wonТt be spilt by the ringing,

Happy laugh of the bygone last.

Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming

And the  nightingale dawns have passed.


All was new to me then,а and emotions

Filled my heart to the brim, so good.

Whereas now every word, kind and cautious,

Tastes as bad as aа bitterа fruit.


The familiar expanses of valleys

ArenТt so nice as they were before.

Ditches, slopes, stumps and all sorts of gullies

Have disheartened my land evermore.


All is wretched, decrepitа and drear,

Pond of grey is so hard on the eyeЕ

Yet to me all is near and dear,

Sorry vision that makes me cry.


ThereТs a little ramshackle house,

I can hear theа bleat of a sheep,

And aа horse put out to browse

Waves its tail by the pond, so deep..


This is Motherland, homelandа of ours,

And it makes us sad in a way,

Hereа we cry, along with the showers,

In the hope for a cheerful day.


Thus my griefа canТt be spilt by the ringing

Happy laugh of the bygone last.

Lime-tree blossom is fading and dimming,

And theа nightingale dawns have passed.





Blue is the night and the  moon is glancing

There was a time,  was young and handsome.


So irretrievable and soа persistent

All has gone byЕall isа past Еand distantЕ


Cold is my heart and so dim is my sight...

Blue is my happiness! Moonlit the night!


October 1925




аааааааааааааааааааааа ***


The snowstorm is crying like a Romany violin.

аSweet is the girl.а She is wicked when smiling.


Her eyes, oh so blue, donТt they give me a scare?

I need quite a lot, and I donТt really care.


WeТre so much alike and so much contrasted

YouТre young. I am old. And my life has all rusted.


The young ones are happyа while I am all wizened

Recalling the past, in this terrible blizzard.


Imnot mollycoddled. The storm is my violin.

My heart is snow-clad when I see you smiling.





                        * * *


Oh my dear maple, frozen stiff and bare,

Why do youа stand bending in the blizzard there?


Have you seen a vision? Have you heard a babble?

Just like you are outа for an idle ramble.


Like a tipsy warden,а walkingа on the roadside,

You have stuckа in snowdrift, hit by burningаа frost-bite.


I myself quite often lose my whereabouts,

Cannot find my houseа after drinking bouts.


Now Iа see a willow, now some other trees, and

Sing them songs about summer in aа blizzard. а


I would think myselfа to be a sort of maple,

Not a bare maple, -а verdant as in April.


And forgetting virtue, drunk asа drowned mouse,

I would hug a birch-tree like somebodyТs spouse.




аааааааа а

аааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа а



Blue is the fog, the expanse is snow-bound,

Fine is the beam of the moon that shines.

Isn't it nice to be sitting around,

Thinking about the bygone times?!


Down by the porch is the snow thawing out.

Just like to-night, by the moonlight, alone,

Putting my cap on, the wrong way about,

I ran away, on the sly, from my home.


Now I am back in my land, oh so dear,

Some have forgotten me? Others have not?

аJust like a man in disgrace I am here

Outside my house with a garden plot.

аааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа а

Squeezing my fur cap, a dismal newcomer,

Somehow I don't like this sable at all.

Now I remember my granddad and grandma,

Friable snow in the graveyard and all.


All had calmed down , for 'we all would be there',

And no use to try to put back the clock.

That is the reason so much I care

So much I love them, my country folk.


I nearly burst out crying. I pondered.

And , forcing a smile, I stood in a fog,

Was it the very last time, I wondered

That I saw this house, this porch, and this dog?






ааааааааааа ***

аааааааааааааааааааааа а

ааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа аааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа

Snow-clad is the plain,а and the moon is white

Covered with a shroud is my country side.

Birches dressed in white are crying, as I see.

Who is dead, I wonder? Is it really me?








Snowdrift, piled up, is now brittle and callous,

Cold is the moon that shines from the height.

Now I am back at my dear old house,

And through the blizzard I see the light.


Well, we are homeless but we do not suffer.

I laud what IТve got, without complain.

Here I am back at my home having supper,

Happy to see my old mother again.


She looks, and I see that her eyes are in tears,

Silently crying, as if all was right.

Then, as she touches the cup,а it appears

Stubborn, about to slip and slide.


Dear old mommy, my best and my tenderest,

Get grievous reflection out of your head.

Listen to me, to the song of the tempest

IТll tell you about my life instead.


Much have I seen and much have I travelled,

Much have I loved, and suffered, too.

I have caroused, stirred up trouble and revelled,

And havenТt seen anyone as worthy as you.


Now having slipped off my shoes and my jacket,

Warming myself by the bedside again,

аI have revived and, like in my childhood,

I wish for good life, and I hope, not vain.


Meanwhile the blizzard is gasping and sobbing

Whirling in clouds of snow, through the night.

And I imagine, the leaves are a-falling

Those of the lime-trees that grow outside.



I havenТt forgotten you, dearie,

The shine of your hair and all.

It wasnТt so easy and cheery

To leave you, as I recall.


I havenТt forgotten the autumn,

The rustle ofа birches,а the night;

And though the days were shorter

The moonlight was long and bright.


You whispered these words in my ear:

УThe years and the dreams will be gone,

YouТll go with another, my dear,

And leave me all on my ownФ.


That lime standing there,а in flower,

Reminds my emotion anew

The way I would tenderly shower а

Those beautiful flowers on you.


My heart will be warm, sad and sorry,

In love,а remembering well

You, friend,а as aа fanciful story

Of love with another girl.




                  * * *


Life is tricky with enchanting pathos

That is why it is so powerful, and

It composes its pernicious letters

With its outrageous, ruggedа hand.


Whenа I close my eyes I tacitly declare:

Touch your heart and you will plainly see,

Life is fraudulent,а butа here and there а

Itа embellishes deceit with trickery.


Now look up andа face theа silverа heaven,

Read your fortune by the moon and plead,

Just calm down, mortal man, donТt raven

The eternal truth you do not need.


Well, itТs nice to think in spring so crowned,

That this life has beenа the righteousа way.

Let your easyа girlfriends get around,

Let the boys delude you and betray.


Letа the girls caress me,а IТll abide it,

Letа the vicious tongues be sharp and thin, -

I have long been living all provided,

IТve got mercilessly used to everything.


Highness chills my heart. IТm feeling daunted.

And the stars are cold , unlike they used to be.

Thoseа I used to love are disappointed,

Those I worshipedа have forgotten me.



Though IТmа ostracised and censured here,

Yet I keep on smiling, not depressed at all..

Living in this world, so near and dear,

I am grateful to my life for all.


Augustа 1925


аааа ***


Don't Fall, my little star, keep shining,

Keep dropping chilly beams of light.

There is no living heart abiding

Up there beyond the grave-yard site.


And from you beam you bring us summer

And fill the fields with rye and hay

And with a thrilling wistful clamour

Of cranes that havenТt flown away.


I raise my head andа I can hear

Beyond the wood across the hill

A lovelyа song about the near

And dear homeland, such a thrill!


The autumn, turning gold, appears

To squeezeа the juice fromа trees and plants;

ItТs shedding pensive leaves of tears

For the beloved and loving ones.


I know, I know, the time is near,

Through no oneТs fault, with no offence,

аI, too, willа rest in peace right here

Beneath the mournful little fence.


The tender flame will soonа die out,

My heart will turn to dust, for worse,

My fiends will put a stone, no doubt.

With words of merriment, in verse.


But,а feeling griefа and seeing proper,

I Сd put it in the following way:

He loved his homeland like a toper

Adores a bar  and aа buffet.


August 1925




Leaves are falling here and yonder.

And the wind is

drawlingа and low.

Who will gladden my heart I wonder?

Who will soothe it, my friend, do you know?


IТm staring at the moon,а and IТm trying

Not to sleep keeping drowse away.

Thereаа again the rosters are crying

At the break of the autumn day.


Early hours of dawn, blue as everЕ

Blissfulа joy of theа flying starsЕ

I could now make wishes. However,

Iа donТt know whatа to wish,а alas!


What is there to wish for, I wonder,

Cursingа home and myа fate and all?

What I want is to see over yonder,

By my window, a beautiful girl.


I should like her,

as an exception,

To convey that she needs me sole,

And I want her, withа words of affection,

To consoleа my heart and my soul.


So that I, accepting my lessons,

Onа this wonderful moonlit night

Might not melt and faintа fromа delight

Andа with jubilant adolescence

Mightа be pleased with my youth all right.

August 1925


аааааааааааааа * * *


The flowers say good-bye to me

They bend theirа heads and bow low down

Which means that I will never see

Her lovely face and my home town.


Well, thatТs the way it is, my love!

I saw them all inа habitation,

I take this deathly trepidation

For tender feeling, still alive.


IТve learnt my life day after day,

I haveа been living with a smile, and

Thus Iа invariably say:

In our world all is recurrent.


Well,а some one else will come along,

No grief will sooth the past. Theа new one, а

Perchance, will sing a better song

For the belovedа forsaken woman.


And listening to the song , maybe,

Caressing her endeared lover,

SheТllа probablyа remember me

As a unique and cherished flower.


October, 1925



аааааааааааааааааааа а

ааааааааааааааааааааааааа * * *



DonТt youа force a smile, girl,а tensely, like you do,

The one IТm in love with isnТt really you.


I suppose you know it, and you know it well,-

IТm not here to see you but another girl.


I was passing by, and, well, I didnТt care,

I saw you and wanted just to stop and stare.


October 1925



ааа * * *

аааааааааа а

ааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа а

The snow is whirling lively and strong

A three horse sleigh isа dashing along.


Some young ones are inа the sleigh. Oh Boy!

Where is my happiness? Where is my joy?


All has slipped by through the storm in this way, -

Dashing like mad in a three horse sleigh.


October 1925

аааааааааааааааааааа ааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа

аааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа а


а ***


Oh,  what a night! I cannot sleep.

The sky is moonlit. Well, I never!

Itа seems thatа I in my heart I keep а

The youth that has been gone for ever.


My friend ofа frosted bygone years,

DonТt call a game love and affection,

IТd rather have the moonlight rays

Flow down upon my habitation.


And looking down from above

Let it depict my features here, -

You cannot fall out of love

Just like you couldnТt love me, dear.


We only love just once, you know,

So you are alien to me, strangely,

Just like a lime tree, foot in snow,

Is trying to attract us, vainly.


I know it, and you know it, too,-

What we can seeа аatа this late hour

Is frost and snow appearing blue

And not the splendour of a flower.


WeТve had our love, our time and day

Each having someone to admire,

And now weТre fated anyway

To play affection, love, desire.


Come now, caress me, hold me tight,

Kiss me with hot,а pretendedа fervour,

And may I dream about theа light

Of spring and love that lasts forever.


November 30th, 1925

аааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа а

ааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа ааааааааааааа




DonТt you look at me so reproachfully

For Iа donТtа bear malice to you,

Butа I like your appearance awfully

And your seeming modesty,а too


Yes, you seem to be openhearted,

And IТd ratherа be glad to see

How a fox pretending departed

Catches crows like you want to catch me.


Try toа catch me, I wonТtа be daunted

Mind, you donТt have your ardour restrained!

Many girls of your kind have haunted

stumbling over my heart that waned.


ItТs not you that I love, my dearie,

YouТre only an echo, a shade,

I imagine a differentа girlie,

Oh so beautiful blue-eyed maid!


Though she isnТt so humble-looking

Andа appears to be rather cool,

Her majestic manner of walking

Has rekindled the depth of my soul.


SheТs a girl that cannot be cheated,

Notwithstanding your will sheТll entice,

Whereas you canТt be possiblyа fitted

In my heart withа embellished lies.


Though I scorn you,а yet like a layman

I will shyly and openly say:

If there werenТt anyа hell and heaven

Theyа would think somethingа up anyway.


December 1st, 1925




                 * * *


You donТt love me and donТt feel compassion.

DonТt you think that now I look my best?

Though you look aside youТre thrilled with passion

As you put your arms upon my chest.


You are young, so sensitive and zealous,

I am neither bad nor very good to you.

Tell me, did you pet a lot of gentle fellows?

You remember many arms and lips. You do.


They are gone and havenТt touched you any,

Gone like shadows, leaving you aflame.

You have sat upon the laps of many,

You are sitting now on mine, without shame.


Though your eyes are closed, and you are rather

Thinking of some one you really trust,

After all, I do not love you either,

I am lost in thought about my dear past.


DonТt you call this zeal predestination?

Hasty tie is thoughtless andа no good, -

Like I set up this unplanned connection,

I will smile when leaving you for good.


You will go the pathway of your own

Just to haveа your days unwisely spent,

DonТt approach the ones not fully grown,

DonТt entice the ones that never burnt.


When you walk with someone down the alley

Chatting merrily about love and all

Maybe, IТll be out, walking round shyly,

And again, by chance,аа IТll meet you, poor soul.


Squaring shoulders, ravishing and winning,

Bending forward, with an air kiss,

You will utter quietly:а Good evening!

And I will reply: Good evening, miss.


Nothing will disturb my heart and spirit,

Nothing willа perturb me giving pain,-

He whoТs been in love will not retrieve it,

He whoТs burnt will not be lit again.


December 4th, 1925







Maybe, itТs too late or, maybe, early,

It has not occurred to me for years,

I resemble now Don Juan, really,

Like a proper flippantа man of verse.


WhatТs the matter? What has happened, really?

Every day I have some other chick.

And I lose self-pity, willy-nilly,

And defy unfaithfulness and trick.


I have always kept my heart from simple,

Tender feelings,аа and I wonder what

I am looking for in oh, so cripple

Women, so light-headed, and so void.


Hold me back, restrain me, scornful feeling,

I have always been marked up by you.

In my heart I have a chillyа steaming

And the rustle of a lilac, red and blue.


In my heart I have a lemon sunset,

Through the fog I hearа someone say:

For your freedom you will have to answer,

Well, Don Juan, take the challenge, eh?


As I take the challenge within reason,

Iа can see the same old thing I have:

I must take a storm forа bloomingа season

And mistake a thrill for real love.


ThatТs the reason ThatТs the way it happened.

Every day I  have some other chick,

So that I might always smile, beа happy

And defy unfaithfulness and trick.


December 13, 1925



Sergey  Yesenin


(translated from the Russian by Alec  Vagapov)

  I wasа born inа the village of Konstantinovo, Kuzmin district,а Ryazan Region, on October 21st, 1895.

ааа At the age of two I was sent to be raised in a well offа family of my grandfather on my motherТs side, who had three grown up unmarried sons, with whom I spent almost all my green years. My uncles were mischievous and daring. When I was three years old they put me on a horse withoutа a saddle andа set him running atа a gallop. I remember I was scared like crazy and held the withers firm. Then they taught me to swim. One of my uncles (uncle Sasha)а took me on aа boat, rowedа off the shore, undressed me and threw me,а like a puppy,а into the water. I worked with my hands awkwardly, and while I floundered waving my hands he kept shouting : УYou damned wretch! Good for nothing, you!Ф.а УDamned wretchФ was a tender pet name he used. When I was eight years old my other uncle would use me as a hunting dog making me swim after the ducks he hadа shot. I was good at climbing trees. Among the boys in the neighbourhood I was known as a horse breederа and a big fighter, for I would always haveа scratches on my face. My grandmother was the only one who reproached me for being so naughty, while my granddad would sometimesа set me on to fisticuffs and often said to grandmother: УDonТt touch him, you, silly woman, he will grow firm and strong that way!Ф. Grandmother loved me devoutly, and her tenderness was boundless.а On Saturdays I would be washed, have my nails cut, and my hair crimped with some oilа because my curly hair couldnТt be combed in any other way. But the oil would not help much. I would shout like crazy, and up to now I feel some distaste and repugnance for Saturdays.

аа That was the way my childhood went on. When I grew up a little they wanted to make a village teacher out of me, so I was sent to the parishа teachers training school with an eye towardsа entering Moscow Teachers Training Institute. Luckily this was not to happen.

аа I started writing poems at anа early age, maybe at the age of nine or so,а but I thinkа deliberate creative work started at 16 or 17. Some of my poems from that period are to be found inа УRadunitsaФ magazine.

аа When I was eighteen I sent my poems to various magazines andа I was surprised at the fact that hey refused to publish them, so I went to Saint Petersburg. I was given a warm welcome there. The first man I saw was Blok the second one was Gorodetsky. When lookingа at Blok I was sweating all over for it was the first time that I saw a living poet. Gorodetsky acquainted me with Kluyev,а the man I had never heard of before. Kluyev and I, despite the seeming discord and lack of agreement between us, made great friends.

аа At around this time I entered Shanyavsky University where I spent a year and a half, and then I went back to my village.

ааа At the University I got acquainted with poets Semyonovsky, Nasedkin, Kolkolov, and Filipchenko.

ааа Among the poets I likedа Blok, Bely and Kluyev best. Bely gave me a lot in the way of form while Blok andа Kluyev taught me lyricism.

ааа In 1919 some of my friends and I published the manifesto of imagism. It was a formal school that we wanted to set up. But it had no foundation and died by itself leaving the truth behind the restricted image.

аааа I wouldа gladly disown many of my religious poemsа but they are significantа as the way of a poet towards the revolution.

аааа When I wasа eightа years old my grandmother started taking me to all kinds of monasteries and thanks to her we had all kinds of ramblers and pilgrims. They would sing all sorts of religious songs. Grandfather was the direct opposite. He was a boozer. He would always arrange sorts of unwedа marriages.

а ааааAfter I left my village I had to gain an understanding of my way of life.

ааааа During the revolution I was on the side of the October, but I accepted it in my own peasantryаа way.

ааааа In the sense of formal development I long for Pushkin more and more.

ааааа As for the rest of my personal data they are in my poems.


Sergeyа Yesenin

October 1925аааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааааа а

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