Live on top of a mountain to write simple sonnets. Sasha black "Burn the ships ahead and behind ..."

Roaring son. Beaten for a deuce with a plus,
The wife took the last ruble for curls,
Husband, killed by a shop and flux,
Calculates the monthly loss.
Pathetic pennies grunt in the accounts:
Buying an umbrella and firewood made a breach,
And a pink hood made of paper
Throws a bald patch into sweat.
A chizhik whistles overhead
(Although the bird of God did not eat in the morning),
A lone redhead sours on a saucer,
But the vodka was drunk to a drop yesterday.
Daughter under the bed gives the cat an enema,
In the influx of happiness, half-open mouth,
And the cat, indulging in gloomy pessimism,
He yells excitedly in a tragic voice.
Eyebrowless sister in a shabby katsaveyka
Violates a cold piano
And behind the wall is a seamstress
Sings a romance: "Understand my sadness."
How not to understand? cockroaches in the dining room
Leaving stale bread, thought a little,
The cupboard rattles sympathetically glasses,
And dampness drips tears from the ceiling.
1909

The profile is thinner than the cameo,
Eyes like ripe plums
Neck whiter than a lily
And the camp is like that of Lady Godiva.

A virgin with a bottomless soul,
Like the first violin of the orchestra, -
No wonder they called Madonna
Physicians of the sixth semester.

A philologist came to the Madonna,
Faddey Simeonovich Smyatkin.
My story will be short:
Philologist fell in love on the heels.

Fell in love violently and immediately
In her eyes, lips and ears,
Tsedil phrase after phrase,
He languished like a fish on dry land.

I wanted to be her cup
her brother or aunt,
Her enamel buckle
And even her toothbrush! ..

“Tired, Varvara Petrovna?
Oh, how your hands are trembling! -
The philologist whispered lovingly,
And thorns stuck in the heart.

"Tired. Opened a student:
The corpse was fat and flabby.
Cold… Tool steel.
Hands, of course, are frozen.

Then at the Kalinkin bridge
I looked at my veneers.
Tired: there were up to a hundred.
What's wrong with you? Are you looking for matches?

Matches are on the window.
Here you go. Came back
Took the kidneys out of a cat
And sewed it up neatly.

Then my girlfriend and I got
Preparations of rotten umbilical cord.
Then ... there was a boring analysis:
The excretion of urea in the urine ...

Ah, me! I beg your pardon:
I forgot the role of the hostess -
Colleague, take jam -
I cooked today."

Faddey Simeonovich Smyatkin
He said silently: "Thank you!"
And in the throat there is a lump of sweet and sour
He fought like a fish in a net.

Didn't want to be her cup
Neither her brother nor her aunt,
Nor her enamel buckle,
Not her toothbrush!
1909

She was a poet
Poetess of the Balzac years.
And he was just a rake
Curly-haired and ardent brunette.
The rake came to the poetess.
Spirits breathed in the darkness
On the sofa, as in a solemn mass,
The poetess vile verses:
"Oh, manage with a fire-breathing caress
To stir up my sleepy passion.
To the foam of the thighs, behind the scarlet garter
Don't be afraid to fall down with your mouth!
I'm fresh as the breath of a Levkoy,
Oh, let us weave the languor of bodies! .. "
The sequel was
That curly brunette blushed.
Flushed, but recovered quickly
And I thought: was not!
Here are not Duma speeches of the minister,
Not words are needed here, but deeds ...
With the unrestrained strength of a centaur
The rake attracted the poetess,
But the shrillly vulgar "Mavra!!"
Cooled the seething stream.
“Excuse me ... - he jumped up, - you yourself ...”
But in the eyes of her coldness and honor:
"You dare to a decent lady,
Like a janitor, climb with hugs ?!
Here is a decent Mavra. And backwards
A frightened guest leaves...
In front of a frightened look
He was looking for his cane for a long time ...
With a face whiter than magnesia
An ardent brunette was walking down the stairs:
He did not understand the new poetry
Poets of the Balzac years.
1909

I look like a mother
I'm ready to grind...
I curse the inkwell
And mother inkwells!

The patches are disheveled,
Stupid like a sheep -
Ah, all the rhymes are spent
Until the end, until the end!

I really have nothing to say today, as always,
But I was not embarrassed by this, believe me, never -
He gave birth to words and words, and gave birth to rhymes to them,
And in cheerful verses, like a foal neighing.

Paralysis of the spinal cord?
You lie, I won't give up! Stump - migraine,
Bebel - stem, brain - rod,
Skirt - sponge, stump - seal.

Rhyme, rhyme! I run out -
I’ll find a theme for the rhyme myself ...
I bite my legs in rage
And in a powerless trance I wait.

Dried out. What will happen to my popularity?
Dried out. What will happen to my wallet?
Pilsky will call me cheap mediocrity,
And Waks Kaloshin - a broken pot ...

No, I won’t give up ... Dad - mom,
Dratva - harvest, blood - love,
Drama - frame - panorama,
Eyebrow - mother-in-law - carrots ... socks!
1908

Don't whine... The crowd is like a bawd,
Will push the fat to success,
And into the mouth of prudent snares
You will get your "today".

But know one thing - success is not a joke:
Now he's giving an account.
Didn't pay - like a prostitute,
He doesn't give up and leaves.
1910

We are cultured: we brush our teeth,
Mouth and both boots.
In letters, strictly polite -
"Your most obedient servant."

Why, in every dispute,
brought to an end,
We are with the impotence of a fool,
Imitating the Papuans
Do we hit each other in the face?
True, more often - language,
But more painful than a fist.
1909

I'm familiar with the latest version
With the mood of England in Persia
And no less familiar
With the mood of the poet Kubyshkin,
With each new article by Kocheryzhkin
And with newspaper and magazine sand.

In a word, readings are always in abundance -
Lack of time to read only Virgil,
They say: a hefty talent!
Yes, it would not hurt Horace -
He was also, they say, not without grace ...
And Shakespeare, and Seneca, and Dante?

I console myself with only one thing - to my friends
(To extremely diligent readers)
Somehow in the club the other day I stuck:
"Who has read Juvenal, Virgil?"
But, alas (I will keep silent about the names)
It turned out - no one read!

I also went through others for fun:
Who remembered the cover, title,
Who is a quote, and who is an anecdote,
Names of translators, criticism...
We switched to piitika in general -
And let's go. Fierce people!

Disassembled Kubyshkin in detail,
Volume six and eight Kocheryzhkin,
Almanac "The Burnt Wick",
Turn to Poplavkin's realism
And the meaning of Wartkin's article
"On the Influence of the Stomach on Style"...

The consolation, of course, is great ...
But in the soul there is a sucking consciousness,
That I myself until my death,
Overeating on dust in abundance,
I won't read a line from Virgil
In the bustle of my colorful days!
1911

Oh Rachel your walk
Resounds clearly in the heart...
Your voice is like a meek dove,
Your camp is a poplar on the mountain,
And your eyes are olives
So deep, so innocent
How ... (pressed all the springs -
There is no comparison in the dictionary!

But your fiance ... Thunder and cannon!
You and he - think, darling:
Dandelion and frog
Moth and ghoul.
These gestures and smiles
Those pants, those thongs...
All to the bottom, like a paste, sticky -
Petty broker and vulgar.

But, child, the funniest thing
What in addition to Hymen
You are such a fool
Three hundred thousand you want to give ...
Oh, Rachel, Queen of Vilna!
Thought and logic are powerless, -
This wild puzzle is stylish
And Spinoza does not understand.
1910

Bending back, gallant conductor
Talented rowing with both hands -
That will hold back the furious pressure with an eye,
Then suddenly in epilepsy it will come out in jolts ...

Kurguz conscientious flutist,
Squinting his eyes, he spits into the tune.
Sticking into the violin, thin as a worm,
The violinist squeals, pressing the music stand to his stomach.

Ostrich girl, squeezing the cello,
Clavicles stuck passionately to the neck,
And, endless playful trill,
All the elbow fidgets on the cream bodice.

Behind the harmonium is a sad gentleman
Growls, hums and lets out sighs,
And the pianist suddenly, for no apparent reason,
Somewhere climbed up in the confusion.

A local lion perched in front of the dressing table,
With a perfumed smile,
Around a necklace of precious maidens
It rustles with a wave of languid and flexible ...

And next to someone's mere *, in abundance of feelings,
Sighing, he powders his nose, burning with poppy color:
"Oh, music, art of arts,
Insanely helps in the sense of marriage! ... "
1910

* Mother (French).

I want to take a break from satire...
At my lyre
There are softly trembling, light sounds.
Tired hands
I put it on smart strings,
I sing and nod my head to the beat ...

I want to be a gentle lamb
child
Which adults teased and pissed off,
And life for someone else's sins
Missed the third course.

Vasilyevsky Island is beautiful
Like a toad in the cuffs.
From here, from the balcony,
Washed by the sun,
He is cheerful, and dirty, and clear,
Like an old marker.

Above it is a deep blue
Calls, and sings, and trembles ...
Thoughtfully autumn
The last leaves turn yellow
Tears off
Throws under the feet of people on the panel ...
And in the heart the flute does not stop:
Spring will return again!

Oh hibernation of the bear,
Toe sucker!
Your virgin snoring
More desirable than the kiss of the fairest lady.
Like a moth, I'm eaten by spleen ...
Sprinkle me with mothballs
Fold in a chest and put me in the attic
Until spring comes.
1909

There is a hot sun, naive children,
The precious joy of melodies and books.
If not, then they were, they were in the world
And Beethoven, and Pushkin, and Heine, and Grieg...

There is invisible creativity in every moment -
In a clever word, in a smile, in the radiance of the eyes.
Be creative! Create golden moments -
In every day there is meditation and spicy ecstasy ...

Infinitely shameful in a fit of sadness
Voluntarily disappear like a shadow on glass.
Have the New Encounters already shined?
Are only dogs living on earth?

If I myself am sullen, like Dutch soot
(Smile, smile at my comparison!)
This black blush is a coating from drainage,
It was the Muse who lifted me up on a spear.

Wait! I'll live with my housewarming -
Like a spring starling I will sing on a spear!
I will deafen your ears with gypsy fun!
Just give me time to sort out the damned rags.

Stay! There are so few sensitive and honest people here ...
Stay! Only in them is the justification of the earth.
I do not know the addresses - look for the unknown,
Like you, lying motionless in the dust.

If the best will rush into the spans,
The world will turn sour from wingless hyenas and stupid people!
Fall in love with the unaccountable joy of flying ...
Expand your soul to its fullest extent.

Be a wife or husband, sister or brother,
Midwife, artist, nanny, doctor,
Give - and, trembling, do not reach for the return:
All hearts are opened by this key.

There are still islands of loneliness of thought -
Be smart and don't be afraid to rest on them.
There, cliffs hung over the dark water -
You can think ... and throw pebbles into the water ...

And questions ... Questions do not know the answer -
They'll fly in. Kindle and rush off like measles.
Solomon left us two wise pieces of advice:
Run away from longing and do not argue with fools.
1910

Mother went to Paris...
And it is not necessary! Sleep, my sissy.
Ah-ah-ah! Be quiet my son
There are no consequences without causes.
Black, smooth cockroach
It is important to climb under di-van,
From him his wife to Paris
Don't run away, oh no! You're naughty!
We are boring. Mother is right.
New smooth like Bova
The new one is smooth and rich,
It's not boring with him ... That's right, brother!
Ah-ah-ah! Fire burns
Good snow pushes the window.
Sleep, my rabbit, ah-ah-ah!
Everything in the world is tryn-grass ...
Once upon a time there were two moles,
Get your foot out of your mouth!
Sleep, my bunny, sleep, my siskin, -
Mother went to Paris.
Whose are you? Mine or his?
Sleep. My boy, nothing!
Don't look into my eyes...
There lived a goat and a goat...
The cat took the goat to Paris ...
Sleep, my cat, sleep, my siskin!
In ... a year ... will return ... mother ...
To give birth to a new son...
1910

I am a horse, and the knee is a saddle.
My rider is sweeter than all riders...
Biennial warm body
Plays like a squirrel in more often.

I bow with shy caress
To clipped round head:
Serious eyes glee
And plump eyebrows are shifted.

Rushing ... With a trusting laugh
He suddenly waved his little hand like a whip, -
Answer with a sympathetic echo -
With the same childish note...

Departs, ashamed, hopelessness,
Hope grows and grows bolder
Boundless tenderness boils up
And joy cherishes carefully ...
1913

The dwarf New Year was born,
Humpbacked, shriveled freak,
Dreary jester and skeptic,
Sage and epileptic.
“So this is God’s sweet light?
Where is the sun? There is no sun!
However, I'm not the first
Don't get on your nerves."
And people to people at this hour
They threw: "Happy New Year to you!"
Who honestly stuttering
Who is grinning sourly ...
Well, how can you not congratulate?
twelve months again
We'll sleep and whine
And point your finger at the sky.
From the wise, the mean and the donkeys
Rivers of old words will be born
But who else, as before,
Will go to revel in hope?
Ah, dear, frail New Year,
Humpbacked, shriveled freak!
Light up in the mist
Colored Lantern of Deception.
Light it up! We have been waiting for many years -
Perhaps there is no sun at all?
Give me a miracle! After all, it happened
There have been many miracles throughout the ages...
What an old New Year you are!
After all, we are the opposite
You could count the years
without distorting nature.
Yes ... We have a lot of wisdom ...
By the way, Happy New Year to you!
Let's sleep and whine
And point your finger at the sky.

Two wishes

1. "To live on top of the naked..."

Live on top naked
Write simple sonnets...
And take from people from the valley
Bread, wine and meatballs.

2. "Burn the ships ahead and behind..."

Burn the ships ahead and behind
Lie on the bed without looking at anything
Sleep without dreams and, for the sake of curiosity,
Wake up in a hundred years.

Simple words

In memory of Chekhov

In our days of three months of success
And cheeky geniuses of the pen
You alone, anxiously wise Chekhov,
Every day we are closer than yesterday ...
You don't believe it yourself, but you call and wake up,
Ripping holes to the end
And with a helpless grin you quietly judge
Offended the earth and the Father.
Here you lived between us, gentle, clear,
Infinitely clear and simple, -
I saw our world gloomy and unhappy,
Poisoned by our nakedness.
And left! But we are sicker and worse:
Many books, oh, too many books!
Every day the damned circle is getting narrower
And do not throw off the "Chekhov" chains ...
At least you could, opening hastily
Ulcers - laugh, cry, take revenge -
But now everything is open. How dreary
To see, to know, not to wait and silently rot!

Immortality

Immortality? To you, two-legged moles,
Not worth a day of earthly time?
Perhaps lizards, toads and worms
They want the same, deeply offended ...
Bourgeois with wings! Gingerbread and heaven!
They ate for half a century - and as a reward, eternity ...
Trading is not bad. "Have mercy and give!"
Give the slaves a patent for infinity.
The jailers of their earthly prison,
Gnawing each other in every crack
They stole their psalms from the prophets,
To mutter them in temples once a week...
We, the sighted, - endless sadness,
And to them, the blind, - Bengali hopes,
Leaf shining distance,
Guaranteed wedding clothes!..
Don't beg! The Lord is both wise and strict,
Earthly days are mediocre and miserable,
The Lord will not let you on the threshold,
You will all rot like carrion by the road.

Comfort

Is life colorless? You have to, my friend.
Be persistent and seek:
Twice a year you can
Like a king, triumph...
If somewhere by chance -
In a masquerade or on a visit,
Is it on the platform of the wagon,
Or on deck boards -
You will run into a person
Noble and simple
Until the end in everything free,
Strong, smart and alive
Buy Bengal matches
Order an orchestra of carcasses
Apply rose oil
And take a liquor shower!
Ten days walk in a tailcoat,
Give a hundred rubles to the poor,
Laugh in bitter tenderness
And weep for joy...
Twice a year is no joke
And with happiness - three and five.
It is only necessary, my poor friend,
Be persistent and seek.

Diet

Every month by the deadline
Subscribe to newspapers.
They have detailed answers.
For any weakness of the herd.
Bogovzdorets il politician,
Radical or black cancer,
Genius or fool
An optimist or a sour whiner -
On a newspaper sheet
Everyone will find their own.
Getting neat
Every day sheets of newspapers,
I am with a smile of grace,
Parcels without opening
Be careful not to read
I throw them at the buffet.
For a whole month this test
I did. come alive!
Lost blind malice
I do not torture myself;
Got an appetite
Even the thoughts came...
Cheeks rounded again, -
And the liver does not hurt.
In gratuitous possession
I give this remedy
To everyone who is languishing without a light
Above the gloomy reflection
Life vile and rotten,
Wild, stupid, boring, evil...
Getting neat
Every day sheets of newspapers,
Parcels without opening
You are calm, not reading,
Throw them at the buffet.

Life

Meat

Brandakhlisty in white trousers
In lawn tennis passion
They wear fat asses.
Around the site, in fashionable things,
Thigh-thighed Astartes,
Like in the malls
Cavaliers are being called
Both eyes and sides
Promising All For everyone.
And garlands of officers
languidly kicking legs,
"Sweet celebrate success".
In varnished hooves
Pages neigh and dig gravel,
Curving like a vine -
On the well-fed
Kept, in fashionable glory,
Squinting greasy eyes.
Cheeks, necks, chins,
Falling down into the bust,
Disappear in the stomach
Swaying like boats
And, bulging with silks,
They cry for beauty.
Like walking shnel-bugs,
On short, plump legs
(Here is the hostess duplicate!)
The grandiose pugs
Resting on the paths
And they wheeze with dignity.
Chypre and sweat, French dialect ...
Old fuck in an English dress
He strokes his thigh and hums.
Diplomat, spy or chef?
But without a form, people are brothers, -
Who the hell can tell them apart?
Like full buckets
splayed busts
Float endlessly
And back and hips again...
But above them - be empty for them! -
Not a single face!

Which of Sasha Cherny's poems do you like the most? and got the best answer

Answer from Marina Mikhailovna[guru]
furnishing
Roars son, beaten for a deuce with a plus
wife took the last ruble for curls
husband killed by bench and flux
Calculates the monthly loss.
Pathetic pennies grunt in the accounts
Buying an umbrella and firewood made a breach.
And a pink hood made of paper
Throws a bald patch into sweat.
A chizhik whistles overhead
Although the bird of God did not eat in the morning
On a platter, a lone ginger sours
But the vodka was drunk to a drop yesterday.
Daughter under the bed gives the cat an enema
In the influx of happiness half-opened his mouth.
And the cat, indulging in gloomy pessimism
Shouts excitedly in an anxious voice.
eyebrowless sister in a shabby katsaveyka
He rapes a cold piano.
And behind the wall is a vein seamstress
Sings the romance "Understand my sorrow"
How not to understand? cockroaches in the dining room
leaving the stale bread thought lightly.
Glasses rattle sympathetically in the buffet
And dampness drips tears from the ceiling.

Answer from Kolyu4ka[guru]
he seems to be an actor) Pankratov is black?)

Answer from @n@n@c[guru]
we are together from the first class))))))

Answer from Chrissagy[guru]
Poems from the collection "Children's Island" (I like it very much).
About a girl who found her bear.
Bear, bear, shame on you!
Get out from under the dresser...
You don't love me, you see?
What kind of fashion is this...
How dare you run away without asking?
Who did you look like?
On the unfortunate watchdog,
For which the hedgehog was chasing ...
All covered in dust
In cobwebs
With a shell on the nose...
This is how they paint in pictures
Only a devil in the forest.
Been looking for you all day
In the nursery, in the kitchen, in the pantry,
Wiped tears with elbow
And shook her head...
Flew in the corridor -
Here, a scratch on the lip ...
Do you want soup? I did not eat -
I left everything for you.
Bear-mish, furry bear,
My fluffy baby!
Once upon a time there was a cat and a mouse ...
Don't play pranks! Do you hear, honey?
Sorry, say I won't
Get under the dressers.
I will buy you a camel
And a green bed.
My most favorite bow
I will tie on your chest:
You will be cute, you will be a dandy, -
Just be obedient...
Why are you keeping silent? take a brush -
We need to remove all the dirt.
To hurry you, freak,
I could kiss.
1916

Answer from Desidor[guru]
TWO WISHES
1
Live on top naked
Write simple sonnets...
And take from people from the valley
Bread wine and meatballs.
2
Burn the ships ahead and behind
Lie on the bed without looking at anything
Sleep without dreams and, for the sake of curiosity,
Wake up in a hundred years.

Answer from Amazon[guru]
All in pants cut the same
With a mustache, in a coat and in bowlers.
I look like everyone on the street
And I'm completely lost on the corners ...
How can I not exchange personality:
He will enter into me, and I into him, -
I am engulfed in complete indifference
And I'm afraid of everything...
I curse culture! Ripping off my suspenders!
I'll melt the pot! I'm tearing up my jacket! !
I envy every single insect
I live like the last fool...
In the forest! To lakes and virgin firs!
I will climb like a lynx on rough trunks.
Tired of walking on template panels
And look at the painted ladies!
The crow will bring me Swiss cheese,
I'll give milk to a lost goat.
If the evening becomes cool and damp,
I'll cover my sides with moss.
There will be no newspaper articles and reports.
You can lie under a pine tree and howl a little.
Or steal from the hollow of delicious-smelling honeycombs,
Or dig the earth out of boredom...
And winter will come, I will not resist:
I will be hungry, sir, anemic and naked -
And I'll go to the lieutenant, to my friend Glan:
He has a free apartment and a table.
And I will say: "Lieutenant! I am a Russian writer,
I left the capital without a passport in the forest,
I'm tired like a dog, and - believe me, buddy -
How angry seven hundred alligators!
People in the city are dying like pathetic slugs
I wanted to save my old skin.
Lieutenant! I ran from a meaningless life
And I go to you on the way ... "
Wise Glan will not tell me anything about this,
He will bring me game, wine, cottage cheese ...
Just let Glan thoroughly bind me,
Otherwise, I'll run to the city.
1907 or 1908
A little clarification from me, just in case you don't know: Lieutenant Glan is a character in Knut Hamsun's novel "Pan", he left the worldly life to live in the forest.