Lovers often write poetry. Naive, unskillful, but – verses. Probably, a compressed and simultaneously capacious verse line encourages them to do this. It is in verse that it is easier to express feelings. As, however, in music. Perhaps all art exists to express oneself and love. Not necessarily to the woman, but also to the mother, friend, motherland. Therefore, it is impossible to find a poet who would not write about love.
Russia, Russia! Keep yourself, keep.
Remove the palm from my chest,
We are wires under current,
To each other again, that look,
We will throw inadvertently.
Do not go home, not at the soup, but to your favorite one’s guests
Two carrot leaves for the green tail.
I gave a lot of candy and bouquets,
But more than all the dear gifts
I remember precious carrots
This and polpolena birch firewood.
And some woman more than forty years old
He called a nasty little girl and
Even in ancient Russian poetry, we find themes of love, as evidenced by the legend of those times, “The Lay of Igor’s Host”. The revival of poetry in Russia is also the revival of poems about love: Derzhavin, Zhukovsky, Lomonosov, Pushkin, Lermontov, Fet, Tyutchev, Nekrasov, Bunin, Blok, Gumilev, Tsvetaeva, Yesenin, Mandelstam, Tvardovsky, Simonov, Vysotsky, Okudzhava. Actually, any poet in one form or another wrote about love in all the diversity of this topic. And the theme is really inexhaustible! From biblical times to the days of today, love is the basis of human life. And there is no Russian poet who does not feel himself to be a citizen, a patriot and would not feel love for Russia. Although they expressed this love with different linguistic means. Alexander Blok confesses:
I do not know how to feel sorry for you
And I carry my cross carefully.
What do you want a sorcerer
But this is nothing more than a poetic device. Actually:
Russia, poor Russia,
My huts are gray,
Your windy songs to me –
tears first love!
Vladimir Mayakovsky in his love is more resolute:
I am with those who came out to build
And revenge in a continuous fever is awful.
Fatherland I praise, which is,
But three times – that will be.
Mayakovsky is a fighter, he is with those who build:
As the spring of mankind,
Born in labor and in battle,
I sing my fatherland, my republic.
The poet-futurist Velimir Khlebnikov expresses his feelings differently:
Freedom comes naked,
Throwing flowers at the heart,
And we, step in step with it.
We talk with the sky on “you”.
We, the soldiers, will severely strike
Hand on the stern shields:
May the people be sovereign
Always, forever, here and there!
Let the girls sing at the window,
Between: songs about the ancient campaign,
About the loyal subject of the Sun –
Osip Mandelstam, as always, is mysteriously passionate:
The sky is dull with the glare of a strange –
World foggy pain –
Oh, let me be also vague
And you do not have to love me, let me.
Anna Akhmatova exclaims in her famous “Requiem”:
No, not under an alien firmament,
And not under the protection of foreign wings, –
I was then with my people,
Where my people, unhappily, were
Maybe this is the highest form of love – in the terrible years of Yezhov’s life to stand for seventeen months in prison queues and describe it without disappointment, without losing the love for the Motherland! At one time Alexander Pushkin wrote about this:
Comrade, believe: she will rise,
The star of captivating happiness,
Russia will wake up from a dream,
And on the ruins of autocracy