I will answer good evening Miss Yesenin. Whoever loves cannot love. Yesenin. Analysis of Yesenin's poem "You don't love me, don't feel sorry for me..."
You don't love me, don't pity me
Am I a little handsome?
Without looking in the face, you are thrilled with passion,
Putting my hands on my shoulders.
Young, with a sensual grin,
I am not gentle with you and not rude.
Tell me how many have you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?
I know they passed like shadows
Without touching your fire
To many you sat on your knees,
And now you're sitting here with me.
May your eyes be half closed
And you think of someone else
I myself do not love you very much,
Drowning in a distant road.
Don't call this ardor fate
Frivolous quick-tempered connection, -
How by chance I met you
I smile and calmly disperse.
Yes, and you will go your own way
Spread the gloomy days
Just don't touch the unkissed
Only unburned do not mani.
And when with another down the lane
You will pass, talking about love,
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet with you again.
Turning your shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a little
You say to me quietly: "Good evening!"
I will answer: "Good evening, miss."
And nothing will disturb the soul
And nothing will make her shudder, -
Who loved, he cannot love,
Who is burned, you will not set fire to. You don't love me, don't regret,
Do I look my best?
Don't look at the face of passion mlesh,
Hands on my shoulders drooping.
Young, with a sensual grin
I "m not gentle and not rude.
Tell me, did you fondle?
How many hands do you remember? lips?
I know they passed like shadows
Not touching your fire
Many of you sat on his knees
And now here I sit.
Let your eyes half closed
And you think about somebody else,
I love you because he is not much
Drowning in a long journey.
This fervor did not call destiny
Legkodumna testy relationship -
Accidentally met with them
Smile, quietly broke up.
Yes, and you go your way
Spraying glowy days
Never Been Kissed Just don't touch,
Negorevshih not only mani.
And when the lane with another
You fight, talking about love,
Maybe I'll go for a walk,
And we'll meet with you again.
Squaring his shoulders
And a little bent down
You tell me quietly: "Good evening!"
I answer: "Good evening, miss".
And nothing will disturb the soul,
And nothing it will not abandon the creeps -
Who loved, so he can't love,
Who burned will not be lit.
Snowy plain, white moon,
Our side is covered with a shroud.
And birches in white are crying through the forests.
Who died here? Died?
Am I myself?
The number of versions and rumors associated with death Sergei Yesenin, is comparable, perhaps, only with conjectures about the death of Vladimir Mayakovsky. Dry facts from the criminal case say that 30-year-old citizen Yesenin Sergey Alexandrovich was found hanged in his 5th room at the Leningrad International Hotel (Angleterre) on December 28, 1925. Suicide is the official version of death.
There are a lot of inconsistencies - and more than one study has been devoted to them - from a bruise under the eye and abrasions on the poet's body to the choice of a place for hanging, right under the ceiling on a short strap from a suitcase in the presence of chairs and a long rope in the room. Why the room was dirty, as if the carpet had been freshly trampled by someone's boots, why there was no ink in the inkwell on the desk, what kind of whitish powder can be seen on this very table in one of the pictures of the suicide scene - these are just some of the questions that were asked by those who did not believe in the suicide of the poet.
The conclusion of the forensic expert is as laconic as the police act - the deceased died of asphyxia. Of course, rumors spread that Yesenin was "liquidated" for political reasons, that the death of the poet was on the conscience of the Cheka. One way or another, but the judicial inquiry in this case was already terminated on January 23, 1926. And in 1989 and 1992, independent examinations were carried out, which showed that despite the negligence in the preparation of acts, the version of the murder of Yesenin is not confirmed by anything.
According to the recollections of Sergei Yesenin's acquaintances, in the last year of his life he drank especially hard, was quick-tempered more than usual, and was constantly in the deepest depression. The poems created by the poet are the most convincing witnesses to his difficult state of mind. The themes of loneliness, restlessness and especially imminent death come to the fore.
"Evening Moscow" offers to re-read the most poignant poems by Sergei Yesenin, written shortly before his death.
My friend, my friend
I am very, very sick.
I don't know where this pain came from.
Is the wind whistling
Over an empty and deserted field,
Or, like a grove in September,
Showers brains with alcohol.
My head flaps its ears
Like the wings of a bird.
She has legs on her neck
Loom more unbearable.
Black man,
black, black,
Black man
He sits down on my bed,
Black man
Doesn't let me sleep all night.
Black man
Runs a finger over a vile book
And, sneering at me,
Like a monk over the dead
Reads my life
Some scoundrel and bastard,
Bringing sadness and fear to the soul.
Black man
Black, black...
You don't love me, don't pity me
Am I a little handsome?
Without looking in the face, you are thrilled with passion,
Putting my hands on my shoulders.
Young, with a sensual grin,
I am not gentle with you and not rude.
Tell me how many have you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?
I know they passed like shadows
Without touching your fire
To many you sat on your knees,
And now you're sitting here with me.
Empty your half-closed eyes
And you think of someone else
I myself do not love you very much,
Drowning in a distant road.
Don't call this ardor fate
Frivolous quick-tempered connection, -
How by chance I met you
I smile and calmly disperse.
Yes, and you will go your own way
Spread the gloomy days
Just don't touch the unkissed
Only unburned do not mani.
And when with another down the lane
You go talking about love
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet with you again.
Turning your shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a little
You will tell me quietly: "Good evening ..."
I will answer: "Good evening, miss."
And nothing will disturb the soul
And nothing will make her shudder, -
Who loved, he cannot love,
Who is burned, you will not set fire to.
Flowers say goodbye to me
Bowing their heads down,
That I will never see
Her face and fatherland.
Beloved, well, well! Well!
I saw them and I saw the earth
And this deathly trembling
How to accept a new kindness.
And because I realized
All my life, passing by with a smile, -
I say every moment
That everything in the world is repeatable.
It doesn't matter, another one will come,
The sadness of the departed will not swallow,
abandoned and dear
The one who comes will compose a better song.
And, listening to the song in silence,
Beloved with another beloved
Maybe he will remember me
How about a unique flower.
Dog Kachalov (1925)
Give me a paw, Jim, for good luck,
I have never seen such a paw.
Let's bark with you in the moonlight
For quiet, quiet weather.
Give me a paw, Jim, for luck.
Please, darling, don't lick.
Understand with me at least the simplest.
'Cause you don't know what life is
You don't know what it's worth to live in the world.
Your master is both sweet and famous,
And he has many guests in the house,
And everyone, smiling, strives
To touch you on velvet wool.
You are devilishly beautiful like a dog,
With such a sweet trusting friend.
And without asking anyone,
Like a drunk friend, you climb to kiss.
My dear Jim, among your guests
There were so many different and different ones.
But the one that is all silent and sadder,
Did you come here by any chance?
She will come, I promise you.
And without me, in her staring gaze,
You gently lick her hand for me
For everything in which he was and was not guilty.
You are my fallen maple, icy maple,
Why are you standing, bending down, under a white blizzard?
Or what did you see? Or what did you hear?
As if you went out for a walk in the village.
And, like a drunken watchman, going out onto the road,
He drowned in a snowdrift, froze his leg.
Oh, and now I myself have become somewhat unstable,
I won't get home from a friendly drinking party.
There he met a willow, there he noticed a pine tree,
He sang songs to them under a blizzard about summer.
To myself I seemed to be the same maple,
Only not fallen, but with might and main green.
And, having lost modesty, having become foolish on the board,
Like someone else's wife, he hugged a birch.
"Oh, you sleigh!" (1925)
Hey sled! And horses, horses!
Apparently, the devil brought them to earth.
In the dashing steppe acceleration
The bell laughs to tears.
No moon, no dogs barking
In the distance, aside, in the wasteland.
Hold on, my life is remote,
I haven't gotten old yet.
Sing, coachman, in defiance of this night, -
If you want, I'll sing to you myself
About sly girlish eyes,
About my cheerful youth.
Oh, it happened, you break your hat,
Yes, you will lay a horse in the shafts,
Yes, lie down on an armful of hay, -
Just remember what my name was.
Where did posture come from?
And in the midnight silence
Talkative talyanka
Persuaded not one.
Everything is gone. Thinned my hair.
The horse is dead, our yard is empty.
Learned how to talk.
But still the soul has not cooled down,
Snow and frost are so pleasant to me,
Because over everything that was
The bell laughs to tears.
Unspeakable, blue, tender... (1925)
Inexpressible, blue, tender...
My land is quiet after storms, after thunderstorms,
And my soul is a boundless field -
Breathes the scent of honey and roses.
I calmed down. The years have taken their toll
But what has passed, I do not curse.
Like a trio of frenzied horses
Rolled all over the country.
Sprayed around. Have accumulated.
And disappeared under the devil's whistle.
And now here in the forest monastery
You can even hear the leaf falling.
Is it a bell? Far echo?
Everyone calmly sucks in the chest.
Stop, soul, we drove with you
Through a stormy path.
Let's take a look at everything we've seen
What happened, what happened in the country,
And forgive where we were bitterly offended
Through someone else's fault and ours.
I accept what was and wasn't.
Only a pity in the thirtieth year -
I demanded too little in my youth,
Forgetting in the tavern haze.
But the oak is young, not getting sick,
It bends just like grass in a field ...
Oh you, youth, violent youth,
Golden daredevil!
"Who am I? What am I?" (1925)
I lived this life as if by the way,
Together with others on earth.
And I kiss you out of habit,
Because I kissed many
And, as if lighting matches,
I speak love words.
"darling" "sweetheart" "forever"
And in my heart it's always the same
If you touch the passions in a person,
Of course you won't find the truth.
That's why my soul is not hard
Do not desire, do not demand fire,
You, my walking birch,
Created for many and me.
But, always looking for my own
And languishing in unkind captivity,
I'm not jealous of you at all
I don't curse you at all.
Who am I? What am I? Only a dreamer
The blue of the eyes lost in the darkness,
And I loved you only by the way,
Together with others on earth.
"Blue fog. Snow expanse" (1925)
Blue fog. snow expanse,
Subtle lemon moonlight.
The heart is pleased with quiet pain
Something to remember from my early years.
The snow on the porch is like quicksand.
Here, with the same moon without words,
Pushing a hat from a cat on his forehead,
I secretly left my father's firewood.
Again I returned to my native land.
Who remembers me? Who forgot?
I stand sadly, like a persecuted wanderer,
The old owner of his hut.
Silently I crumple a new hat,
I don't like sable fur.
I remembered my grandfather, I remembered my grandmother,
I remembered the graveyard loose snow.
Everyone calmed down, we'll all be there,
As in this life, for the sake of not for the sake of, -
That's why I'm so drawn to people
That's why I love people so much.
That's why I almost cried
And, smiling, the soul went out -
This hut on the porch with a dog
It's like I'm seeing it for the last time.
Goodbye, my friend... (1925)
Goodbye my friend, goodbye
My dear, you are in my chest.
Destined parting
Promises to meet in the future.
Goodbye, my friend, without a hand and without a word,
Do not be sad and do not sadness of the eyebrows, -
In this life, dying is not new,
But to live, of course, is not newer.
You don't love me, don't pity me
Am I a little handsome?
Without looking in the face, you are thrilled with passion,
Putting my hands on my shoulders.
Young, with a sensual grin,
I am not gentle with you and not rude.
Tell me how many have you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?
I know they passed like shadows
Without touching your fire
To many you sat on your knees,
And now you're sitting here with me.
May your eyes be half closed
And you think of someone else
I myself do not love you very much,
Drowning in a distant road.
Don't call this ardor fate
Frivolous quick-tempered connection, -
How by chance I met you
I smile and calmly disperse.
Yes, and you will go your own way
Spread the gloomy days
Just don't touch the unkissed
Only unburned do not mani.
And when with another down the lane
You go talking about love
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet with you again.
Turning your shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a little
You will tell me quietly: "Good evening ..."
I will answer: "Good evening, miss."
And nothing will disturb the soul
And nothing will make her shudder, -
Who loved, he cannot love,
Who is burned, you will not set fire to.
Analysis of the poem "You do not love me, do not regret" Yesenin
Yesenin's love lyrics are presented big amount works. The poet had many women, to each of whom he dedicated his poems. In most cases, it is possible to establish a specific addressee, given the circumstances of Yesenin's life. The poem “You don’t love me, don’t feel sorry for me…”, written by the poet shortly before his death (December 1925), does not allow us to speak with confidence about a particular woman. From the content it becomes clear that the poet means a simple "night butterfly".
From the very beginning of the verse, Yesenin shows the unnaturalness and temporary nature of love relationships. The woman does not look lyrical hero in the eyes, he himself is "not gentle and not rude to her." In fact, lovers are deeply indifferent to each other. They were brought together by an animal sensual passion that will not leave the slightest trace in the soul. The author addresses the woman with rhetorical questions about how many men there were in her empty and cold life.
Yesenin does not blame a woman who is forced to earn a living in this way. Her memories of numerous lovers do not cause him feelings of jealousy. He admits that he himself loves her "not very much." Perhaps the poet feels some spiritual kinship with the prostitute. His ardent romances also did not lead to a lasting relationship. Continuing a disorderly life, the author no longer expects a miracle. He is limited to fleeting connections, only in memories "drowning in a distant road."
Sergei Yesenin is infinitely sorry for his past youth. He understands that fame and glory corrupted him, dulled his former lofty feelings, made him feel disappointed in love. Emotional emptiness has led to the fact that the author already feels like a deep old man. He does not want anyone to repeat his fate, so he asks his experienced girlfriend "do not touch the unkissed."
Yesenin never mentions the woman's name. It becomes clear that for him it does not matter. Most likely, it was a one-night stand. The meeting can be repeated only quite by chance on the street, when the "night butterfly" will be carried away by another partner. The poet's ironic appeal "miss" shows the unnaturalness of such "love relationships".
In the finale, the poet declares "whoever burned down, you can't set it on fire." This means that true love can only be experienced in youth. You need to cherish this great feeling and not waste your spiritual strength on fleeting connections.
“You don’t love me, you don’t regret ...” Sergei Yesenin
You don't love me, don't pity me
Am I a little handsome?
Without looking in the face, you are thrilled with passion,
Putting my hands on my shoulders.Young, with a sensual grin,
I am not gentle with you and not rude.
Tell me how many have you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?I know they passed like shadows
Without touching your fire
To many you sat on your knees,
And now you're sitting here with me.Empty your half-closed eyes
And you think of someone else
I myself do not love you very much,
Drowning in a distant road.Don't call this ardor fate
Frivolous quick-tempered connection, -
How by chance I met you
I smile and calmly disperse.Yes, and you will go your own way
Spread the gloomy days
Just don't touch the unkissed
Only unburned do not mani.And when with another down the lane
You go talking about love
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet with you again.Turning your shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a little
You will tell me quietly: "Good evening ..."
I will answer: "Good evening, miss."And nothing will disturb the soul
And nothing will make her shudder, -
Who loved, he cannot love,
Who is burned, you will not set fire to.
Analysis of Yesenin's poem "You don't love me, don't feel sorry for me..."
The personal life of Sergei Yesenin still hides many secrets. It is known that the poet was officially married three times, but few of his bibliographers would dare to name the exact number of lovers. It is for this reason that the addressee of the poem “You don’t love me, don’t feel sorry for me ...”, written in 1925, a few weeks before the tragic death of the poet, has not been established.
Meanwhile, from the context of the work it is clear that, most likely, it is dedicated to a woman of easy virtue, with whom fate accidentally brought Yesenin. Driven to despair by the realization of his uselessness, the poet in last years life often sought sympathy from prostitutes. But at the same time, he perfectly understood that one could count on their favor only for money or treats. It is for this reason that the first line of the poem “You don’t love me, don’t feel sorry for me” was probably born.
The poet characterizes his casual acquaintance quite eloquently and unambiguously, noting: "Young, with a sensual grin." But at the same time, Yesenin emphasizes that in her life he is just another episode, a fleeting phenomenon. And the prostitute is unlikely to remember the name of the one with whom she spent that night. “You sat on the knees of many, and now you are sitting here with me,” the author notes. This connection also does not excite him and does not cause lofty feelings. A man who has been in the beds of many women perceives another love adventure without enthusiasm. “As by chance I met you, I will smile, calmly dispersing.” he notes.
Yesenin is well aware that his new girlfriend will also forget about him the very next day. However, less experienced gentlemen will surely fall into her network, who will sincerely believe in false words about love and simulated passion. Therefore, the author warns his counterpart: “Just don’t touch the unkissed, just don’t beckon the unburned.” He understands that the frivolity of this woman, who is beautiful in her own way, can cause inexperienced young people a deep spiritual wound.
The poet does not exclude that someday fate will again bring him to the insidious temptress, but this does not bother him at all. Indifferent to false words, he admits to himself that he has already ceased to see their best qualities in women. His soul is devastated, and the blame for everything is a series of unsuccessful novels, a lack of understanding with the chosen ones. The poet bitterly notes that “whoever loved, he cannot love, whoever burned down cannot be set on fire,” implying that pure and sincere feelings are no longer available to him. And that means life is coming to its logical conclusion.
