H g scars that opened. Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov

This article presents the biography and work of Nikolai Rubtsov, a talented Soviet poet, whose life was cut short tragically. Rubtsov's legacy is poetry, first of all, about his native land. His lyrical hero is a man who loves his country very much and deeply experiences all the upheavals with her. Now his poetry has been translated into many languages, the poems are being studied by specialists and published. The work of the poet is studied at school. Below will be presented his personal biography, creativity, photos. Nikolai Rubtsov was very interesting person, which you will see after reading this article.

Childhood

The future poet was born in 1936, on the third of January, in the very North of Soviet Russia, in the village of Yemetsk. Not far away were Kholmogory, where Mikhail Lomonosov was once born. A year later, in 1937, the Rubtsov family moved to the town of Nyandoma south of Arkhangelsk. There, Nikolai's father, Mikhail Andrianovich, led a consumer cooperative. But even there the Rubtsov family did not live long, having moved to Vologda in 1941.

There were six children in the family, but during the war two sisters and Nikolai Alexandra Mikhailovna's mother died. The father went to the front, the remaining children ended up in an orphanage. Years later, it will become clear that due to confusion with the documents, when he returned from the front, he could not find his children. At the same time, the father was considered missing or killed, and the children under the age of fourteen lived in the village of Nikolsky in an orphanage. Nikolai Rubtsov will meet with his father only in the fifties.

After graduating from seven years of study, Rubtsov changed several technical schools, but did not finish a single one. He served four years in the Northern Fleet.

First lines

The first poem, as follows from the poet's autobiography, was written by Rubtsov while still in an orphanage. By nature, he was soft and lyrical, relations with peers did not always develop. Maybe that's why the thoughts of little Nikolai found their expression in poetic form. After returning from the fleet, Nikolai leaves for Leningrad and works at the Kirov plant. Then he begins to actively participate in literary life"Northern capital".

In 1962, in the summer, the first book of the poet was printed and multiplied on a typewriter. It was called "Waves and Rocks". Great help was provided by Nikolai's friend, the Leningrad poet and writer Boris Taigin.

In the same 1962, Rubtsov graduated from high school as an external student and entered them. Gorky, which is located in Moscow. He studies in absentia, and lives in Vologda.

Publications, criticism of contemporaries

In the magazine "October" in 1964, a selection of poems appears young poet Nikolay Rubtsov. A few years later, in 1967, the first collection published in Moscow, "The Star of the Fields", was published. It is from this moment that it can be said that the literary community Soviet Union learned a new name: Nikolai Rubtsov. Personal biography and creativity were very closely intertwined in the poems of the young lyricist. Love for Russia in strength was comparable to love for her mother. With his Yesenin-style burning longing, sincerity, the poet attracted the attention of critics. He especially stood out against the background of the poets who thundered then from the stage: Robert Rozhdestvensky, Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Bella Akhmadulina.

Poet's confession

During his lifetime, the poet published four collections of poems: two in Arkhangelsk and two in Moscow. In addition to the collection "Star of the Fields", "Lyric", "Soul Keeps" and "Pine Noise" were released. In 1967, Nikolai Rubtsov finally leaves for Vologda and settles there, only occasionally visiting Moscow or Leningrad.

Personal life

In addition to the fact that in 1962 Rubtsov entered the Literary Institute, he also met Henrietta Menshikova. She was in charge of the club in the orphanage where Rubtsov was brought up as a child. Sometimes Rubtsov visited the orphanage and on one of these visits he met his future wife. The wedding was played a year later, in 1963, but they were not registered in the registry office. In the spring, a daughter appeared, who was named Lena. His wife and daughter remained in the village of Nikolskoye, while Rubtsov continued his studies in Moscow.

In the same year, another event took place: Nikolai met the young poetess Lyudmila Derbina, but then this acquaintance did not lead to anything. Only a few years later, when in 1967, Lyudmila falls into the hands of a collection of Rubtsov's poems, she falls in love - first with his poetry, and then with him.

Lyudmila was already married once and had a daughter, Inga, from an unsuccessful marriage. Despite this, Nikolai Rubtsov took them to Vologda, where in 1971 they planned to get married (this time Rubtsov insisted on official marriage and registration in the registry office). The couple's relationship was complicated: Nikolai drank, sometimes for weeks. Drinking bouts were replaced by periods of absolute indifference to alcohol. They quarreled and dispersed, then reconciled. Registration at the registry office was scheduled for February 19 to legalize the relationship.

Tragic death

Rubtsov has these words: "... I will die in Epiphany frosts ...". So, they turned out to be not just lines of a poem, but a terrible prophecy. Exactly one month before the scheduled registration in the registry office, according to the well-known version, Nikolai was killed (intentionally or accidentally, it is still not clear) in his apartment by his fiancee Lyudmila Derbina. The cause of death was suffocation. Lyudmila herself called the police, she herself escorted the employees to the apartment where the tragedy occurred. According to the woman, during a quarrel, Rubtsov had a heart attack and he fell into a pile of laundry, where he suffocated. Whether this is true or not, no one will ever find out, but Lyudmila did not admit her guilt. She was sentenced to eight years, released under an amnesty after six. The poet Nikolai Rubtsov was buried at the Poshekhonsky cemetery in Vologda, in fact, as he once bequeathed to his friends. That is how the life of Nikolai Rubtsov was interrupted. But the memory and legacy remained in the form of poetry.

The main motives of creativity, Rubtsov's lyrics

In the lyrics of Nikolai Rubtsov, the work and biography of not only his personality, but also the biography of the entire long-suffering people of Russia, is intertwined into one, creating a whole set of interesting images, metaphors. For example, he expressed his impressions of visiting Altai in a poem that ends with these stanzas: " The flowers are silent, the graves are silent, and only one can hear the noise of the Katun ... ". He also has a poem called "Spring on the banks of the Biya", also dedicated to Altai. In general, the biography and work of Nikolai Rubtsov are full of places and events.

Rubtsov's poetic style is based on a song - namely, Russian song traditions. It is not for nothing that Gradsky, Zykov, and many of our other singers sing songs to his poems.

Religious symbols, of course, predominate among the images. Rubtsov himself was a pious man, and icons always hung in his house. The poet's image of Russia is always an ideal. The ideal of holiness, integrity, eternity. Also one of the most frequent images is natural phenomena or landscapes. With the help of nature, the poet, as is traditionally done in Russian poetry, shows inner world lyrical hero. Rubtsov's poems on the theme of Russia sometimes consist entirely of intertwining images of the natural world.

The poet's attitude "not to the physical" - to the soul - is, again, very religious. In the soul, Rubtsov sees a part of a person that is able to establish a connection with God. The lyrical hero of Rubtsov trusts the soul and is ready to follow it without delay. The poet has such lines: "But I will go! I know in advance that he is happy, even knocking him down, who will pass everything when the soul leads, and there is no higher happiness in life!"

Rubtsov is an original poet, and the essence of his originality is that he sang the traditional motives of the Russian people and their land in a new language. Perhaps, among the poets of that era, only one more can be distinguished who possessed such a gift, and even then - he will appear much later than Rubtsov. In the eighties of the twentieth century, Alexander Bashlachev will appear with confessional songs coming from the lips of either the entire Russian people, or God himself. Unfortunately, in the eighty-eighth year, he will commit suicide. Nevertheless, the fate of poets in Russia is often very tragic: both biographies and creativity are filled with tragedy. Nikolai Rubtsov, whose poems are full of despair and pain, was no exception.

Many lines from the legacy of the poet have become catchphrases, came into use, began to be used everywhere. This is not surprising - the entire Russian people lives, breathes, is born and dies in Rubtsov's poems, and people cannot but feel this.

Influence, legacy

After his tragic death, Nikolai Rubtsov left a lot of manuscripts that were carefully collected, reviewed, and then many were published. If we count together with those poetry collections that were released during the life of the poet, then today we get such a list.

In life:

• 1962 - "Waves and rocks".
• 1965 - "Lyric".
• 1967 - "Star of the fields".
• 1969 - "The soul keeps".
• 1970 - "Pine Noise".

  And after the death of Nikolai Rubtsov:

• 1977 - “Poems. 1953-1971".
• 1971 - "Green Flowers".
• 1973 - "The Last Steamboat".
• 1974 - "Selected Lyrics".
• 1975 - "Plantains".
• 1977 - "Poems".

Conclusion

A. Romanov said about the Russian classics that the very nature of our land was waiting for the appearance of such a poet as Nikolai Rubtsov, short biography and whose work is described in our article. There is a majestic chant and a prayerful confession in his poetry. Perhaps there are no better words to say who Nikolai Rubtsov is. Personal life, biography, creativity - everything developed tragically for this person. But his poems, which are known and loved, remained.

Nikolai Konyaev wrote a book in the ZhZL series: Nikolai Rubtsov. Biography and creativity, the life of the poet in this book are described in great detail and vividly. Many books are devoted to the tragic death of Nicholas.

Several streets in the cities of the former Soviet Union were named after him. Monuments to the poet were opened in Cherepovets, Totma, Vologda, and Yemetsk. Every year, Russian writers are awarded the All-Russian literary prize "Star of the Fields" named after the Russian poet Nikolai Rubtsov.

Bibliography of Nikolai Rubtsov

First snow. - Vologda, 1975
First snow. - Barnaul, 1977




Martin. - Kemerovo, 1978

The memory of Nikolai Rubtsov

Audiography by Nikolai Rubtsov

Daughter - Elena.

19.01.1971

Rubtsov Nikolai Mikhailovich

Russian Poet

Russian poet. He published several collections of lyrical poems.
He is the author of many famous songs performed on the Russian stage.

Nikolai Rubtsov was born on January 3, 1936 in the village of Yemetsk, Arkhangelsk Region. The boy grew up in a large family. His father worked as the head of the forestry industry, and his mother was a housewife. When Nikolai was five years old, his father was given a high position in Vologda, where the family moved. Until 1942, the life of the future poet flowed calmly and measuredly, but then adversity rained down literally from nowhere.

After the father received a summons to the front, the mother of the family suddenly died. There was no one to leave the children with. Only Nikolai's older sister was taken in by her aunt, the rest were sent to an orphanage. The boy moved to the city of Kraskov, and then to Totma. The consolation for the boy was the imminent return of his father from the war. But this did not happen.

Mikhail Rubtsov escaped an enemy bullet, but forgot about his children. His new biography began with his marriage. Nikolai learned about this betrayal while still in the orphanage. In 1950, after graduating from seven classes, Nikolai went to Riga to enter the nautical school. But due to the fact that the guy was only fourteen years old, he was not accepted. Returning to Totma, he began to study at the forest technical school.

After completing his studies, in 1952 he got a job on the minesweeper "Arkhangelsk" and remained there as a fireman for about a year. Then he entered the Kirov Mining College, but became disillusioned with his studies and went to travel. Longing for his native land overtook him in Tashkent. It was there that Nikolai Rubtsov decided to meet with his father, which took place in 1955, which only disappointed. Further, until 1959 he served in the army in the navy.

After demobilization, he moved to St. Petersburg, where he worked for some time at a factory. There he graduated from high school. In 1962 he entered the Moscow Literary Institute, from which he graduated seven years later and returned to Vologda. Then he was on the staff of the Vologda Komsomolets newspaper and lived in his own odnushka.

Nikolai wrote his first poems while still in an orphanage. When he worked in a local newspaper and published there. But those experiments turned out to be far from the style of the real Rubtsov. His first collection, Waves and Rocks, was a standalone publication. But the second book has already become official. Lyric came out in 1965. Then appeared "Star of the Fields", "The Soul Keeps", "Pine Noise". His work is filled with love for his native land and land, it is original and sensual, like Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov himself.

In 1969, the poet met Lyudmila Derbina. Their joint life was distinguished by particular nervousness: the couple either cursed or reconciled. But they were always attracted to each other. Together they lived until the death of the poet, a fatal death, the cause of which was Lyudmila.

The poet has always been somewhat of a mystic. The man believed in all signs, remaining very superstitious. Therefore, his poem "I will die in Epiphany frosts ..." is considered prophetic. On the night of January 18-19, 1971, a fight broke out in Rubtsov's apartment, a family quarrel. Rubtsov was jealous of his common-law wife for a colleague from the newspaper. Nikolai fairly rushed with accusations at Lyudmila Derbina and the woman decided to fight back.

This decision turned out to be fatal. Trying to push him away from her, she accidentally squeezed the poet's carotid artery with two fingers. A few seconds later, the man died. So, completely ridiculous, on January 19, 1971, the life of a talented lyricist ended. Rubtsov Nikolai Mikhailovich was buried in Vologda at the Poshekhonsky cemetery.

Bibliography of Nikolai Rubtsov

Collected works in 3 volumes. - M.: Terra, 2000
"Lyrics". Arkhangelsk, 1965. - 40 p., 3,000 copies.
"Star of the Fields". M., Soviet writer, 1967. - 112 pages, 10,000 copies,
"The soul keeps". Arkhangelsk, 1969. - 96 p., 10,000 copies,
"Pine noise". M., Soviet writer, 1970, - 88 p., 20,000 copies,
“Poems. 1953-1971 "- M., Soviet Russia, 1977, 240 p., 100,000 copies.
"Green Flowers", M., Soviet Russia, 1971. - 144 p., 15,000 copies;
The last ship. - M.: Sovremennik, 1973, - 144 p., 10,000 copies.
Selected lyrics. - Vologda, 1974. - 148 p., 10,000 copies;
Plantains. - M .: Young Guard, 1976. - 304 p., 100,000 copies.
First snow. - Vologda, 1975
First snow. - Barnaul, 1977
Selected lyrics. Second edition, corrected. / Comp. and ed. post-last V. Obaturov. // Woodcuts by G. and N. Burmagin. - Arkhangelsk, North-Western book publishing house, 1977. - 160 p. - 50,000 copies.
Poems. - M., Children's literature, 1978
With all my love and longing. - Arkhangelsk, 1978
Green flowers. - Barnaul, 1978
Martin. - Kemerovo, 1978

The memory of Nikolai Rubtsov

Since 1996, the House-Museum of N.M. has been operating in the village of Nikolsky. Rubtsova (in the building of the former orphanage); the street on which the museum is located is named after the poet, as well as the village high school.

In the city of Apatity, Murmansk Region, on January 20, 1996, a memorial plaque in memory of the poet was installed on the facade of the library-museum building, where the Rubtsovsk readings in Apatity have been held since 1994.

In Vologda, a street was named after Nikolai Rubtsov and a monument was erected (1998, sculptor A. M. Shebunin).

In 1998, the name of the poet was given to the St. Petersburg Library No. 5 (Nevskaya TsBS) (Address 193232, St. Petersburg, Nevsky District, Shotman St., 7, building 1). In the library. Nikolai Rubtsov, the literary museum "Nikolai Rubtsov: poems and fate" operates.

In Totma there is a monument by the sculptor Vyacheslav Klykov.

In Kirovsk on the facade of the new building of the Khibiny technical college(in the past - the Kirov Mining and Chemical College, where the poet studied in 1953-1955) On January 19, 2000, a memorial plaque was erected in memory of the poet.

In 2001, in St. Petersburg, a marble memorial plaque was installed on the building of the administrative building of the Kirov Plant, with the famous cry of the poet: “Russia! Rus! Save yourself, save yourself! A monument to Rubtsov was also erected in his homeland, in Yemetsk (2004, sculptor Nikolai Ovchinnikov).

In February 2006 at the "Kirovskiy Zavod" (Saint-Petersburg) in shop 420 a concert "Hello, Russia, my Motherland" was held, dedicated to the 70th anniversary of the birth of Nikolai Rubtsov.

Since 2009, the All-Russian Poetry Competition named after I. Nikolai Rubtsov, whose goal is to find and support young aspiring poets from among the pupils of orphanages.

In Vologda there is a museum “Literature. Art. Century XX” (a branch of the Vologda State Historical, Architectural and Art Museum of the Reserve), dedicated to the work of Valery Gavrilin and Nikolai Rubtsov.

In Yemetsk: secondary school. Rubtsov, Yemetsky Museum of Local Lore named after N.M. Rubtsov, a monument to Rubtsov was erected.

Bust of N.M. Rubtsov in Cherepovets.

A bust of Nikolai Rubtsov was erected in Cherepovets.

In January 2010, a musical and literary performance "Songs of the Russian Soul" dedicated to the memory of the poet was held at the Kirovsky Zavod (St. Petersburg) in shop 420.

In November 2011, Nikolai Rubtsov Literary Center was opened in the House of Knowledge in Cherepovets. It recreates the apartment of Galina Rubtsova-Shvedova, the poet's sister, whom he often visited when he came to Cherepovets. The Center hosts literary and musical evenings and conducts research work related to the biography and work of Rubtsov.

In January 2013, College No. 20, Department 5 (Moscow) opened reading room named after N.M. Rubtsov with the literary map "On the Roads of Nikolai Rubtsov" and the exposition of the non-profit organization "Rubtsov Creative Union".

Rubtsovsk centers operate in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Saratov, Kirov, Ufa.
In Dubrovka, a street is named after the poet.

Monument to N.M. Rubtsov in Murmansk

In Murmansk, on the alley of writers, a monument to the poet was erected.

In Vologda, since 1998, an open festival of poetry and music "Rubtsov's Autumn" has been held.

In St. Petersburg, a street in the village of Pargolovo in the vicinity of the Parnas metro station is named after the poet.

In 2016, on the occasion of the 80th anniversary of the outstanding poet, the Vologda Union of Local History Writers established the Nikolai Rubtsov public medal.

Audiography by Nikolai Rubtsov

In 1981, at the “Song-81” competition, the Lithuanian performer Gintare Yautakakaite for the first time performed a song based on the verses of Nikolai Rubtsov “It is light in my upper room” (composer Alexander Morozov).

In 1982, in the album Star of the Fields (Suite on poems by Nikolai Rubtsov), Alexander Gradsky performed songs to the words of the poet.

In 1984, the Forum group released their debut album White Night, in which the song Leaves Have Flew was written to the verses of Nikolai Rubtsov.

The song "Bouquet" to the poems of the poet, the music for which was written by Alexander Barykin in 1987 (included in the album of the same name in 1988), gained great popularity.
The song of the bard A. Dulov "The Blurred Path" to the poem "Departure" by N. Rubtsov is widely known.

Daughter - Elena.

Civil wife - Lyudmila Derbina

Them me: Nikolay Rubtsov

Zodiac sign: Capricorn
Age: 35 years
Date of death: January 19, 1971
Place of Birth: Yemetsk, Arkhangelsk region
Activity: poet
Family status: not married

Childhood and youth

The poet was born in 1936 in the North. In the village of Yemetsk, near Mikhail Lomonosov's Kholmogory, the first year of Nikolai Rubtsov's life passed. In 1937, the Rubtsov family moved to the town of Nyandoma, 340 kilometers south of Arkhangelsk, where the head of the family ran a consumer cooperative for three years. But the Rubtsovs did not live long in Nyandoma either - in 1941 they moved to Vologda, where the war found them.

My father went to the front, communication with him was lost. In the summer of 1942, the mother died, and soon the one-year-old sister Nikolai died. The pain of loss resulted in a 6-year-old boy in the first poem. In 1964, Nikolai Rubtsov recalled his experience in the verse “My Quiet Homeland”:

“My quiet home!
Willows, river, nightingales...
My mother is buried here
In my childhood."

Nikolai Rubtsov and his older brother were sent as orphans to an orphanage in Nikoly, as the people called the village of Nikolskoye. The poet recalled the years of the orphanage life with warmth, despite the half-starved existence. Nikolai studied diligently and graduated from Nikolskoye 7 classes (in former school equipped the House-Museum of N. M. Rubtsov). In 1952, the young writer went to work in Tralflot.

The surviving autobiography of Rubtsov indicates that he is an orphan. In fact, the father returned from the front in 1944, but because of the lost archive, he did not find the children. Mikhail Rubtsov married a second time. Looking ahead, 19-year-old Nikolai met his father in 1955. After 7 years, Rubtsov Sr. died of cancer. For two years, starting in 1950, Nikolai was a student at the "forest" technical school in Totma.

After graduation, he worked as a stoker for a year, and in 1953 he went to the Murmansk region, where he entered the Mining and Chemical College. In the second year, in the winter of 1955, student Nikolai Rubtsov was expelled due to a failed session. And in October, the 19-year-old poet was called to serve in the Northern Fleet.

Literature

The literary debut of Nikolai Rubtsov took place in 1957: his poem was published by the regional newspaper in the Arctic. Demobilized in 1959, the northerner went to the city on the Neva. He earned his living by working as a locksmith, stoker and factory labourer. He met the poets Gleb Gorbovsky and Boris Taigin. Taigin helped Rubtsov break through to the public by releasing the first poetry collection Waves and Rocks in the summer of 1962 in a samizdat way.

In the same year, Nikolai Rubtsov became a student at the Moscow Literary Institute. Staying at the university was interrupted more than once: because of the ruffy character and addiction to alcohol, Nikolai was expelled and again restored. But in these years the collections "Lyric" and "Star of the Fields" were published. In those years, the cultural life of Moscow was seething: poems by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Robert Rozhdestvensky and Bella Akhmadulina thundered on the stage.

The provincial Rubtsov did not fit into this loudness - he was a "quiet lyricist", not "burned with a verb." The almost Yesenin lines of the poem "Visions on the Hill" are characteristic:

“I love yours, Russia, antiquity.
Your forests, graveyards and prayers.

The work of Nikolai Rubtsov differed from the works of the fashionable sixties, but the poet did not strive to follow fashion. Unlike Voznesensky and Akhmadulina, he did not collect stadiums, but Rubtsov had fans. He was not afraid to write seditious lines either. In the "Autumn Song", which the bards loved, there is a verse:

"I forgot that night
All the good news
All calls and calls
From the Kremlin gates.
I fell in love that night
All prison songs
All forbidden thoughts
All persecuted people."

The poem was written in 1962, and the authorities did not stroke the head for this.

In 1969, Nikolai Rubtsov received a diploma and became a staff member of the Vologda Komsomolets newspaper. A year before, the writer was given a one-room apartment in the "Khrushchev". In 1969, the collection “The Soul Keeps” was published, and a year later the last collection of poems “ Pine noise". The collection "Green Flowers" was ready for printing, but came out after the death of Nikolai Rubtsov. In the 1970s, poetry collections " The last steamer», « Selected lyrics", "Plantains" And " Poems».

Songs based on Rubtsov's poems

The poetic works of Nikolai Rubtsov became songs that were first performed in the 1980s and 90s. the same " autumn song”, only without the seditious verse, Sergey Krylov sang. The music for it was written by the composer Alexei Karelin. At the competition "Song-81" Gintare Yautakaite sang "It's light in my upper room"(composer Alexander Morozov). A verse was set to music the following year. "Star of the fields". The composition was performed by Alexander Gradsky (album " Star of the fields»).

The popular Leningrad group "Forum" also introduced into the repertoire a song based on the poet's poems " Leaves flew away". The composition of the same name was included in the album " White Night”, released in the mid-1980s. Poem " Bouquet"Sang Alexander Barykin: melody and words" I will ride the bike for a long time» known to more than one generation Soviet people. In the late 1980s, the song was played at all concerts.

The lines of the poem Bouquet"Written by Nikolai Rubtsov during his years of service in the Northern Fleet. In the 1950s, in the village of Priyutino near Leningrad, where Rubtsov's brother Albert lived, Nikolai met a girl, Taya Smirnova. In 1958, the poet came on a visit, but the meeting with Taya turned out to be a farewell: the girl met another. In memory of youthful love, there was a poem written by Rubtsov in 15 minutes.

In the 2000s, they returned to the poetry of Nikolai Rubtsov: the song " Cloudberries will bloom and ripen in the swamp"Tatyana Bulanova sang, and the group" Kalevala"introduced into the repertoire a composition for the poem" came down».

Personal life

1962 was an eventful year for the poet. Nikolai Rubtsov entered the Literary Institute and met Henrietta Menshikova, the woman who bore him a daughter. Menshikova lived in Nikolskoye, where she was in charge of the club. Nikolai Rubtsov came to "Nikola" to see his classmates, rested and wrote poetry. In early 1963, the couple played a wedding, but without formalizing the relationship. In the spring of the same year, Lenochka was born. The poet visited Nikolskoye from time to time - he studied in Moscow.

In 1963, in the institute hostel, Rubtsov met the aspiring poetess Lyudmila Derbina. A fleeting acquaintance then did not lead to anything: Nikolai did not impress Lucy. The girl remembered him in 1967, when a fresh collection of the poet's poems fell into her hands. Lyudmila fell in love with the poetry of Nikolai Rubtsov and realized that her place was next to him.

The woman already had a failed marriage and daughter Inga behind her back. In the summer, Lyudmila arrived in Vologda and stayed with Nikolai, for whom the poetess Lyusya Derbina became a fatal love. Their relationship cannot be called equal: Rubtsov was addicted to alcohol. In a state of intoxication, Nikolai was reborn, but binges were replaced by days of repentance. The couple quarreled and parted, then reconciled again. In early January 1971, the lovers came to the registry office. The wedding day was set for February 19th.

Tragic death

Before the wedding, the poet did not live exactly a month. His lines " I will die in Epiphany frosts' turned out to be a prophecy. The events of that terrible night are still being debated today. Nikolai Rubtsov was found dead on the floor of the apartment. Lyudmila Derbina confessed to manslaughter.

Pathologists agreed that the cause of death was strangulation. The woman was sentenced to 8 years, released under an amnesty after 6. In an interview with reporters, she said that during a quarrel that Epiphany night, Rubtsov, who had drunk, had a heart attack. Liudmila did not admit guilt. They buried Nikolai Rubtsov, as he bequeathed, at the Poshekhonsky cemetery in Vologda.

Bibliography

• 1962 - Waves and Rocks
• 1965 - "Lyric". Arkhangelsk
• 1967 - "Star of the Fields"
• 1969 - "The soul keeps". Arkhangelsk
• 1970 - Pine Noise
• 1977 - “Poems. 1953-1971"
• 1971 - "Green Flowers"
• 1973 - "The Last Steamboat"
• 1974 - "Selected Lyrics"
• 1975 - "Plantains"
• 1977 - "Poems"

Photo

And by the way, autumn is in the yard.

Well, this isn't the first time I've seen this.

A dog whines in a wet kennel,

Healing battle wounds.

Cars are running, rushing straight ahead

And suddenly from a pothole they plop down into a puddle.

When, skidding, the truck howls,

This howl exhausts my soul.

Cold water rushes all around

And everything around is vague and hazy,

Invisible wind, as if in a net,

From all sides tightens the leaves ...

There was a knock. I pulled the bolt.

I'm happy to hug true friends.

Have fun for a few hours

Have fun with sad eyes.

When we said goodbye again in the hallway,

It was the first time I heard it so clearly

How about the harsh proximity of winter

A heavy downpour complained to the roofs.

The time has passed when in the green meadow

I opened the patterned window -

And all the rays, like hundreds of good hands,

The sun shines on me in the morning...

Oh why do I...

Oh why do I

Sadness pierced my heart

What is the sadness in my heart?

You just

Looked into the stoker

And nothing else happened.

I managed to see

Just a bang

But behind you, as if behind fate,

I ran out

Then he chatted to no avail

About something unimportant with you.

I spoke indistinctly:

Like a grandmother

Who needs a coffin, not love,

know because

Your friend Lucy

Laughing, raising an eyebrow?

You were waiting for Vova

We were very worried.

You asked: "Where is he now?"

And lightly fluttered in the wind,

Worried too

You have hair.

Unrest is your reason

And the fact that I'm superfluous here -

I also knew!

And therefore, having said goodbye rank by rank,

He walked through the puddles to his boilers.

No, about love

Poems are not out of date!

It cannot be said that this is rubbish and scrap.

Who are you with now

Walking on Trout?

And who kisses you around the corner?

And if you

You sit alone in an apartment

Tell me: are you waiting for anyone?

There isn't a single girl in the whole wide world

To say about love: "It's a lie!"

And there are no such guys in the whole world,

That they can live without loving girls.

I look out the window

Where only rain and wind

All I see is you, you, you!

Larissa, listen!

I'm not lying at all -

Each sound of the verse is consonant with the heart.

And you, perhaps

You say: "Well, Kolya!" -

And just laugh: ha-ha-ha!

Then not this

Infection in my soul -

Anguish that can burn stronger than fire.

And don't look again

To us in the stoker!

Understood me?

birches

I love it when birch trees rustle

When the leaves fall from the birches.

I listen and tears come

Eyes weary of tears.

Everything will wake up in memory involuntarily,

Resounds in the heart and in the blood.

It will become somehow joyful and painful,

As if someone is whispering about love.

Only prose wins more often,

As if the wind of gloomy days will blow.

After all, the same birch makes noise

Above my mother's grave.

In the war, father was killed by a bullet,

And in our village near the fences

With wind and rain rustled like a beehive,

Here is the same yellow leaf fall ...

My Rus', I love your birches!

From the first years I lived and grew up with them.

That's why tears come

On eyes weaned from tears...

Bouquet

I will be long

Drive a bike.

In the deaf meadows I will stop him.

Narva flowers.

And I'll give you a bouquet

The girl that I love.

I will tell her:

alone with others

You forgot about our meetings

And so in memory of me

Take these

Humble flowers!

She will take.

But again at a late hour,

When the fog thickens and sadness

She will pass

Without looking up

Not even smiling...

Well, let.

I will be long

ride a bike,

In deaf meadows I will stop it.

I just want

To take a bouquet

The girl I love...

I'm lying in a white shirt in a sedge,

Ancient Shuya is rolling.
I value every dim ray,
I cherish every flower.

It's darker, it's brighter
Quiet, a little sad
The same star that is above my life,
Will burn over the grave...

It's light in my upper room...

There is light in my chamber.

It's from the night star.

Mother will take a bucket,

Silently bring water...

My red flowers

Everything in the garden withered.

Boat on the river bank

It will soon rot completely.

Slumbering on my wall

Willow lace shade.

Tomorrow I have under her

It's going to be a busy day!

I will water the flowers

Think about your destiny

I'll be up to the night star

Build your own boat...

Away

Gleb Gorbovsky

Slum yard. Figure on the corner.

It seems that this is Dostoevsky.

And the yellow light in the window without a curtain

It burns, but does not dispel the mist.

Granite thunder struck from heaven!

A sharp wind rushed into the slum yard,

And I saw how Dostoevsky shuddered,

How hard he stooped, disappeared ...

It can't be that it wasn't him!

How can you imagine these shadows without him,

And yellow light and dirty steps

And thunder, and walls from four sides!

I keep believing in this nonsense

When in your brothel dwelling

Along the corridor in the terrible darkness,

Having bowed, the poet leads me...

Where have I gone, poor thing!

You have never seen such pictures,

Such dreams did not hover over you,

And may such evil pass you by!

A poet, like a wolf, gets drunk on an empty stomach.

And motionless, as if in a portrait.

He sits more and more heavily on a stool,

And everything is silent, not moving in any way.

And in front of him, imitating someone

And fussing, like everyone else, through the cities,

A strange woman sits and smokes ...

Ah, why do you smoke, madam!—

He says everything goes away

And every path mourns the wind,

What a strange delirium, similar to a bear,

He was haunted again all night

He says that we are of the same blood,

And he points his finger at me

And I'm embarrassed to look like a sufferer,

And I laugh to look alive.

And I thought: "What kind of poet are you,

When in the midst of a meaningless feast

Less and less fading lyre is heard,

And she hears a strange noise in response? .. "

But they are all seriously entangled

Some general nervous system:

An accidental cry, resounding over the bohemia,

Brings everyone to scream and to tears!

And everything sticks out:

A neighbor sticks out at the door,

Awakened aunts stick out behind him.

Words stick out

A bottle of vodka sticks out

A meaningless dawn sticks out in the window!

Again window glass in the rain.

Again fog pulls and chills ...

When the crowd reaches for the coffin

After all, someone will say: "He burned out ... in labor."

On patrol

From spray and wind

lips were salty

There was a sharp fatigue in the muscles,

on decks,

stretching out

flew over

through the rail.

It seemed like a dream shorter than a volley flash,

And the intensity of feelings was such

What sharp calls of sudden alarms

Ringing in my ears

like bells!

But the ship was moving, throwing waves,

With an angry howl tilting the mast,

And in flakes of foam, as if soaring,

Only hardened heavy armor.

And I realized -

survive first!

And you will stop loving the roof over your head,

Let flowers

pave the way for you

But you will go

stormy!..

In the hut

There is a hut, smoking a pipe,

An old pockmarked man lives in a hut,

Lives behind carved windows

An old woman proud of herself

And firmly, firmly to your limit -

Far from all universal affairs -

A hut has grown over the hillock

With all the family and good!

And only the son starts a speech,

That does not want to guard the house,

And everyone looks over the pass,

Where he has never been...

In the stoker

A white flame curls in the furnace,

White-white, like snow,

And stands heavy

Near the firebox a man.

Instead of "Hello":

To the side!-

There's a fire here, don't get burned!

In the furnace, the slag broke in a big way

Scrap red from the heat.

Came through the shirt

Sweaty muscle bumps.

He threw a crowbar, wiped himself with a handkerchief.

He squinted his eyes at me.

And what about a vest, for force? -

He asked ironically.

I laugh: - According to me for socks

There is no better thing, really!

Naval, then? - So, naval.

Well, not bad if so!

A stoker, you need to think

You will be fine, - said

And a shovel as a reward

He handed me: - Take it, sailor! -

Smell of charcoal

Dust climbed into the eyes and mouth,

And at the feet of hot steam

The slag floated like a steamship.

How I wanted it to blow

Deck wind here ...

But it didn't blow. I thought:

"And it is not necessary! Nonsense!"

And he worked with such fervor,

As if an order had been given

Become a good stoker

Me, who has retired!

In moments of sad music

And the noise of impetuous birches,

And the first snow under the gray sky

Among the fading fields

And the path without the sun, the path without faith

Cranes driven by snow...

For a long time the soul is tired of wandering

In former love, in former hops,

It's high time to understand

That I love ghosts too much.

But still in the dwellings of unsteady -

Try to stop them! -

Calling to each other, violins cry

About the yellow stretch, about love.

And still under the low sky

I see clearly, to tears,

And the noise of impetuous birches.

As if the farewell hour is eternal,

It's like time doesn't matter...

In moments of sad music

Don't talk about anything.

In the sacred abode of nature,

In the shade of overgrown birches

The muddy waters flow

And the wheels creak...

Sleep, mighty consciousness,

But someone's whistle and someone's light

Suddenly, like a memory

My love is disturbed by a trace!

Farewell haze twisted

Old women-huts over the river...

Unforgettable views!

Unforgettable peace!

And how silent at night

The visions are meek! their dream

And everything that is behind their silence,

Worries us from all sides!

And a lonely grave

Takes the mind under the sky

And there are midnight lights

They suggest a lot, a lot of thoughts ...

In a Siberian village

That yellow bush

That boat is upside down,

That cart wheel

In dirt...

Between burdocks -

He is probably looking for -

baby sits,

The puppy is whining up close.

Puppy whining

And everything crawls to the child,

And he forgot

Probably about him

Draws to chamomile

Weak hand

And says...

God knows what!

What peace!

It's only autumn here

Above the ice-bearing

rushing by the river,

But a stronger dream

When the night is deaf

From all sides

The tops of the pines rustle,

When it's customary

Heard in the air

Aspen dreary

Moans and prayers -

Into such a wilderness

Returning after the battle

What a soldier

Didn't shed a tear?

random guest,

I'm here looking for a home

And here I sing

About a corner of Rus'

Where is the yellow bush

And the boat is upside down

And the wheel

Forgotten in the dirt...

Spring on the banks of the Biya

How much rubbish was nailed to the birches

Broken hollow water!

Tractors, drags with manure,

Foals with a passing convoy,

Geese, horses, golden ball,

The bright ball of the rising sun

Chickens, pigs, cows, rooks,

Bitter drunkard with a new chervonets

At the counter

and a bush under the window -

Everything bathes, drowns, laughs,

Wade through the water and through the mud!

Along the shore of the mad Biya

Riding a herd of bulls are driven -

And, bending the mighty neck,

A formidable roar is raised by bulls.

I tell you: - The deaf will hear! -

And what are in the vicinity of Biya -

Look - the skies are blue!

I tell you: the blind will see,

And their paths will be easy.

I say to the pretty girl:

Don't look at me so sadly!

Gloom, blizzard - it was all

And it's over - smile as soon as possible!

Smile! - I repeat dear. -

So that the flood does not wash us away,

So that it is not in vain with inescapable strength

The sun was beating with a fountain of rays!

Spring at sea

Blizzards resounded in the rocks.

Filling the air with light

The sun streaked with rays

To the jubilant bay!

The day will pass - your hands will get tired.

But, shading fatigue,

Living sounds from the soul

In a slender asking for a motive.

The light of the moon is thin at night,

The beach is bright at night

The sea is quiet as a kitten

Everything is scraping against the pier...

about spring

The wind whistled like a child...

The wind whistled like a child

Around the corner of a darkened house.

In the wide yard, rustling,

Straw scattered across the ground...

You and I didn't play love

We did not know such art

We're just at the woodpile

Kissing from a strange feeling.

Is it possible to part jokingly

If it's so lonely at home

Where only the crying wind-child

Yes, a pile of firewood and straw.

If the hills darkened like that,

And the gates creak without ceasing,

And the breath of the approaching winter

You can hear everything from the icy swamp...

about loneliness

about relationships

Wind from the Neva

I remember cold

wind from the Neva

And a sad slope

your head.

I remember who blew you away

And yellow walls

from all sides.

I remember mine

crazy night

And the waves flying

past and away!

Love, not spray

river blue,

brought me cold

wind from the Neva...

Evening incident

I met a horse in the bushes.

And I shuddered. And it was too late.

Fear lurked in every water

In any hay barn ...

Why is she in such a wilderness

Appeared to me at such a time?

We were two living souls

But unable to speak.

We were two different faces

Although they had two eyes.

We are terribly so, not to the end,

We looked at each other twice.

And I was in a hurry - I confess to you -

With one thought to the household:

What is better for different creatures

In places of anxiety -

don't date!

Visions on the hill

I'll run up the hill

And antiquity will suddenly blow from the valley.

And suddenly pictures of formidable discord

I will see in this moment in reality.

Desert light on starry shores

And strings of your birds, Russia,

Outshine for a moment

In blood and pearls

The blunt shoe of the high-cheeked Batu! ..

Russia, Rus' - wherever I look ...

For all your suffering and battles -

I love yours, Russia, antiquity,

Your lights, graveyards and prayers,

I love your huts and flowers,

And skies burning with heat

And the whisper of willows by the muddy water,

I love forever, until eternal rest ...

Russia, Rus'! Save yourself, save yourself!

Look again into your forests and valleys

They came from all sides,

Other times Tatars and Mongols.

They carry a black cross on their flags,

They baptized the sky with crosses,

And it's not the forests that I see around,

A forest of crosses

around

Crosses, crosses...

I can not do it anymore!

I will sharply take away my palms from my eyes

And suddenly I see: quietly in the meadow

Grass is chewed by hobbled horses.

They will neigh - and somewhere near the aspens

Will pick up this slow whinny

And above me

immortal stars of Rus',

Of the high stars, the quiet flickering...

During a thunderstorm

Suddenly the sky broke

With cold flames and thunder!

And the wind began at random

Rock the gardens behind our house.

Veil of muddy rain

Covered the forest distances.

Slicing the darkness and furrowing,

Lightning flew to the ground!

And the cloud went, the mountain was a mountain!

The shepherd shouted, the herd rushed about,

And only the church under a thunderstorm

Silent pious and holy.

He was silent, thinking, and I,

Contemplating with a familiar eye

The sinister holiday of being,

Confused view of the native land.

And everything was shattered,

Crying sounded like a lullaby,

And the lightning bolts all rushed

In the expanse of disturbing, boundless.

Return from flight

Ah, how bright the lights swarm!

How we hurried to the earth from afar!

Coastal glorious days!

Coastal joyful meetings!

The soul of a sailor in his native city

At first it wanders, as if in a fog:

Where to go in a pea jacket weekend,

With all the longing, with a paycheck in your pocket?

He is in no hurry to answer the question,

And in the midst of this spiritual turmoil

Worries maybe a sailor

In a harsh life, the best moments.

And yet the faces would be gloomy

And the sailors looked hard

If the holds were not bursting from the fish,

When I had to say: "Unlucky."

Meeting

How much you have changed! —
I exclaimed. And the friend was taken aback.
And he became sadder than an orphan ...
But I, laughing, comforted him:
- Changing the old features,
Changing age, anger and mercy,
Not only me, not only you
And the whole of Russia has changed! ..

about life

Yes, I will die!

Yes, I will die!

And what is it?

At least now from the revolver to the forehead!

May be,

Undertaker is sensible

Make me a good coffin.

And what do I need a good coffin for?

Bury me anyway!

My pathetic trail

Will be trampled

With the shoes of other vagabonds.

And everything will remain

As it was,

On Earth, not for everyone dear ...

It will be the same

Shine Luminary

On the spitting globe of the earth!

Village nights

Wind under the windows

quiet as a dream

And behind the gardens

in the twilight of the fields

quail cries,

early stars twinkle,

with a bridle

I will run out of darkness

the hottest

choose a horse

And on the mowed grasses,

jingling with the bits,

Horse to the neighboring village

will carry me.

Let the daisies meet

avoid hooves,

shuddered willows

sprinkle with dew,

For me, like music,

the world will be filled again

By the joy of goodbye

with a simple girl!

I love everything without memory

in the village camp I

Excite my heart

in the twilight of the fields

quail cries,

distant stars twinkle,

Neighing hobbled

young horses...

To end

To end,
To the silent cross
Let the soul
Stay clean!

Before this
yellow, dull
By my birch side,
Before the stubble
Cloudy and sad
In autumn days
sad rains,
Before that
Strict village council,
Before that
Herd by the bridge
in front of everything
antique white light
I swear:
My soul is pure.

Let her
Stay clean
To end,
To the death cross!

Kind Phil

I remember how wonderful

That forest farm

dozing off happily

Between animal roads...

There in the wooden hut,

Without claims and benefits,

So, no gas, no bathroom,

Good Phil lives.

Phil loves cattle

Eats any food

Phil goes to the valley

Phil is blowing the dudu!

The world is so fair

Nothing to cover...

Phil, what is silent?

What to talk about?

Road elegy

Road, road

Separation, separation.

Familiar before term

Road flour.

And the father's tribe

And close souls

forest magpie

One friend of mine.

Road, road

Separation, separation.

Tired in the dust

I drag myself like a guard.

Darkness in the distance

The plantain is despondent.

And a little scary

No light, no friend

Road, road

Separation, separation...

Cranes

Between the swamp trunks flaunted the fire-faced east ..

September will come - and the cranes will suddenly appear!

And wake me up like a signal, crane cries

Above my attic, above the swamp, forgotten in the distance.

Here they fly, here they fly, announcing to us the time of withering

And patience is a term, like the saying of biblical pages, -

Everything that is in the soul expresses sobs to the end

And the mighty flight of these proud illustrious birds!

Widely in Rus' farewell hands are waving to the birds.

The darkness of the marshes and the desertedness of the chilling fields -

It will express everything, like a legend, heavenly sounds,

The flying cry of cranes will spread far!

Here they fell silent - and again the hills and villages become orphans,

The river is orphaned in its joyless banks,

The rumor of swept grasses and trees orphaned

Because - be silent - so no one will express them!

lyrical

blocked

my way

consignment I stepped into the stubble.

And I thought to myself:

little by little

My village is changing!

Now in the fields

Cars everywhere

And not to see thin mares,

And only eternal

Buckthorn spirit

It's still sad and sad.

They go, they go

Convoys to the city

On all roads without end

I don't hear the idle

conversations,

I can't see the idle

For what?

She's still just a child

She's still quite a child -

Lives playing and joking.

Let's walk in the dark forest!

Let's wake up the nightingale!

There by the road under a canopy

My favorite bench.

Let's run away to the field!

Let's look at the dawn! .. -

I reluctantly submit

And I also say something.

But feelings fight in me

I know too much in life

And often alone with her

I'm not easy and lonely.

And now she's sad

And now a more serious meeting,

She's totally confused

A ball of my contradictions!

Why did we go through the forest?

Why did they wake up the nightingale?

Why was she standing under a canopy

That lonely bench?

about relationships

Star of the fields

The star of the fields in the icy haze

Stopping, he looks into the hole.

It's already twelve o'clock,

And a dream enveloped my homeland ...

Field star! In moments of upheaval

I remembered how quiet it was behind the hill

She burns over the autumn gold,

She burns over the winter silver...

The star of the fields burns without fading,

For all the anxious inhabitants of the earth,

Touching with your friendly beam

All the cities that have risen in the distance.

But only here, in the icy haze,

She rises brighter and fuller,

And I'm happy as long as the world is white

Burning, burning star of my fields...

green flowers

Sadness brightens when flowers bloom

When I wander through a multi-colored meadow

Alone or with a good old

Which itself does not suffer fuss.

Behind us is noise and dusty tails -

Everything calmed down! One left

That the world is arranged menacingly and

Wonderful,

What is easier where the field and flowers.

Stopping in slow

I watch the day playing

blooms.

But even here .. something is not

enough..

Missing what can't be found.

How not to find the extinguished

Like never, wandering blooming

Between white leaves and on white

I can't find green flowers...

Winter evening

The wind is not the wind -

I'm leaving home!

In the barn is familiar

straw crunches,

And the light shines...

And more -

no sound!

Not a twinkle!

In the darkness of a blizzard

Flying over bumps...

Oh, Rus', Russia!

Why don't I call?

What made you sad?

What did you doze off?

Let's wish

Good night everybody!

Let's go for a walk!

Let's have a laugh!

And we'll arrange a holiday

And let's open the cards...

Eh! Trumpets are fresh.

But the same fools.

Winter night

Someone groans in a dark cemetery

Someone is knocking on my door,

Someone is staring into the dwelling,

Appearing in the midnight window.

At this time from the stormy road

Came to my place for the night

Incomprehensible and strange

A man from a different side.

And the old woman-blizzard is not accidental,

There is some terrible secret

In this plaintive weeping at night.

Dilapidated rafters bend,

And up the shaky stairs into the darkness,

To scare away the impure force,

With a lantern I go to the attic.

Shadows creep into the corners...

Who's here? .. - Deaf. Not a sound in response.

Under me, as if alive, steps

So they walk ... There is no salvation!

Someone moans all night in the cemetery

Someone is dying in a blizzard - unbearable,

And it seems to me that in the dwelling

Someone stares all night long...

winter song

You do not prophesy me longing!

Quiet winter night.

Quiet glow, wonderful glow,

The noise of the polynya is heard ...

My paths were difficult, difficult.

Where are you, my sorrows?

A modest girl smiles at me

I am smiling and happy!

Difficult, difficult - everything is forgotten,

Bright stars are burning!

Who told me that in the dark

Will the abandoned meadow die?

Who told me that hope is lost?

Who came up with this, friend?

In this village the lights are not extinguished.

You do not prophesy me longing!

Delicately decorated with bright stars

Quiet winter night...

Why are you growing up

Over a navigable river

And you caress the muddy waves

Like they need rest?

Barriers not knowing and detours,

How noisy, destroying your life,

From passing steamers

The waves are crashing down on you!

And there is a secluded edge of nature,

Where they can, sounding related,

Flowing water in the shade

Respond to kindness with kindness...

When my soul

peace will come

From high, after thunderstorms, unfading skies,

When inspiring worship in my soul,

Herds go to doze under a willow canopy,

When my earthly soul breathes holiness,

And the full river carries heavenly light,

I'm sad because

that I know this joy

Only I am alone. I have no friends...

white horse

In a dark field

The river freezes below.

For the night

In a secluded hut

I settled with the old man.

I told him:

The cold is angry!

And the barking of dogs scares ...

He looked

smoked and listened

And he answered me: - Sleep!

In my window

Full of autumn stars!

And in the heart

Cats are scratching * …

* The poem "White horse ...",

it didn't seem to be over.

Different sources give different options.

Compiler of the selection Vita Pshenichnaya (Pskov)

offered Almanac-45 exactly this text ...

At the cemetery

one fuss

There was a rebellion of heroic forces

And oblivion will collapse summer

To the orphan stars of the graves?

Stalin said something while drunk -

And there was a rifle salvo!

Stalin said something with a hangover -

The hymns were sung by the meeting hall!

Stalin is dead. He is no more.

What to do - I say to myself -

So that a liquid dawn over the homeland

Looked like a big dawn?

I'll walk the gloomy path

To remember the sob of the blizzard

And born in a long struggle

Lonely stars of graves.

I'll go bow to the fields...

Maybe it's better not to think about everything,

And to leave, from the Berdanka fire,

around villages...

On the river Sukhona

Lots of gray water
lots of gray skies
And a little sloping unsociable land,
And some lights along the shore... I would
Again a free sailor
Get on the ships!
So that with a cheerful soul
Sailing into the unknown again
Maybe the former happiness will flash ahead! ..
In the meantime, no mercy
This good area
Like someone's revenge, pouring rains.
But on the other side under the global flood
Dragged to the shore
It can be seen that it is necessary - an old woman with a hump,
But again the men in the courtyard rushed at a gallop
And with a cart, with horses
We boarded the ferry again.
Here, I think, I would like to become a hairy ferryman!
If only to choose it, as others could, -
Lots of gray water
lots of gray skies
And a little gentle native land,
And some lights along the shore...

came down

There were no dogs - and suddenly barked.

Late at night - what a miracle! -

Someone is going to the field behind the sheds.

There were no guests - and now they came.

There was no news - so get it!

And again under the crimson willows

The holiday passed by accident.

Forgive us, weary field,

Forgive me like brothers and sisters:

Maybe we are for all our past

We lit our last fire.

Maybe the last time they came

Maybe they won't visit soon...

As in a garden, a crimson garden

Sad, sad leaves rustle.

Under the moon, under the fading willows

See my favorite area

And they sped off again, hurried,

And the dog barking disappeared in the distance ...

Nightfall

dawn again

Dusks and glimmers

On frozen snow

On the rooftops of the villages

And in the grave

The calm of the coasts

The unknown day is gone.

The world is fading...

That's it... a little more.

And rising

In the fading distance

All the horror of the night

Right outside the window

As if getting up

Suddenly out of the ground!

And so anxious

The hour before the raid

pitch darkness

Without a life and a trace

As if the sun

Red over the snow

Huge

Gone forever!

Did not come

From the restaurant window

light green,

marsh,

From asphalt to stars

shaded night

snowfall,

The snow is deaf

candid,

impassive,

cold

Above me,

over the Neva

over the sailor

tough squad.

Crazy,

along the iron fences,

Surprising people

what am I wandering?

And why do I freeze?

You have come to me before

came soon,

But it didn't come at all...

strange light,

poisonous,

marsh,

snow and snow

without blizzard

whistle and howl.

The snow is deaf

candid,

impassive,

cold,

dead snow,

won't you let me rest?

autumn

There is a time -

My soul's joy:

Everything is shaky

But it's already green!

There is a time

autumn decay,

Kindred to the soul!

Dirt all around

And pulls into the swamp

Rain all around

And pulls to the river

And the hut is sad

between boats

On your stormy

Leaves are flying,

float away

Past the bare branches

During these days

More expensive to me are

And images of loss!

Do not shed tears

Above the swamp

Because it's too

Here I die

And I'll be cold

That's when, my love,

And although despair

You understand

Already in a new way

Autumn decay -

Kindred to the soul!

Autumn evening

Evening. Floating on the roads

Autumn cold and groan.

Croaks around a haystack

A flock of chilled crows.

Slippery uneven path

In the thickets of windy willows

The horse comes from the watering hole

Head down.

Called by the sky without measure,

As if from many sieves

Rain, cold and fine,

Everything drizzles, drizzles ...

Response to the letter

What will I answer you for deceit?

That our meetings are old at the haystack?

When you fled to Azerbaijan,

I didn’t say: “Good riddance!”

Yes, I loved. So what? Well, let.

It's time to leave the past alone.

For a long time already I feel no sadness

And not wanting to fix anything.

We will not repeat the words of love

And we won't make appointments.

But if we meet again,

Together we will deceive someone ...

departure

Blurred path. Crooked poplars.

I listened to the noise - it was time to fly away.

And so I got up and went out the gate,

Where the yellow fields stretched

And he went into the distance ... In the distance he sang sadly

The whistle of a foreign land, the whistle of separation!

But, looking into the distance and listening to the sounds,

I haven't regretted anything yet.

There was a harsh marina at a late hour.

Sparkling, cigarettes burned in the darkness,

And the ladder groaned, and the gloomy sailors

They hurried us wearily.

And suddenly such a breath came from the fields

Longing for love, longing for short dates!

To the hazy shore of his youth.

Mother's memory

Here it is, peace ends!

Whipping up the snow, a blizzard howled.

The wolves howled across the river

In the darkness of the meadow.

Sitting among my poems

Paper and rubbish.

And somewhere in the haze of snow

Mom's grave.

There is a field, sky and stacks,

I want to go there - oh, kilometers!

After all, they will dump me from the feet of snow,

The night winds will drive you crazy!

But I can, but I can

By good will

Make your way through the blizzard

In the animal field! ..

Who knocks there?

Get away!

Tomorrow I'm waiting for the cherished guests ...

Or maybe mom?

Maybe the night

night winds?

First snow

Ah, who doesn't love the first snow

In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,

In the fields, in the villages and in the forest,

Slightly humming in the wind!

Dozhinki are celebrating in the village,

And snowflakes fly on the accordion.

And covered in glowing snow

Elk freezes on the run

On a distant shore

Why are you holding the whip in the palm of your hand?

Horses gallop easily in harness,

And along the roads between the fields,

Like flocks of white doves

Snow is flying up from under the sleigh...

Ah, who doesn't love the first snow

In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,

In the fields, in the villages and in the forest,

Slightly humming in the wind!

In the evenings

From the bridge the road goes uphill.

And on the mountain - what sadness! -

The ruins of the cathedral lie

As if the former Rus' is sleeping.

Former Rus'! Wasn't it in those years

Our day, as if at the chest,

Was nurtured by the image of freedom

Always flashing ahead!

What life resonated

Burned out, gone!

And yet I hear from the pass,

How it blows here, how Rus' lived.

All the same fun and powerful

Here the guys get along stirrups,

The evenings are warm and clear

Like in those old days...

Through wet squares

autumn passes,

Frowning face!

On loud violins

dense pines

The storm is playing!

Embracing the wind

I walk in the square

In the darkness of the night.

looking under the roof

your cave -

It's very quiet in there.

Lit desert

electric flame,

In the same place

Like a precious stone

sparkling ring,

And the thought, flying,

looking for someone

In the wide world...

Who's knocking there

to my dwelling?

There is no rest!

Ah, this evil old woman autumn,

Frowning face

knocking on me

and in the pine needles

The storm is not silent!

Where from the storm

from bad weather

Will I hide myself?

I remember the old years

And I'm crying...

Tale of first love

I also served in the Navy!

I am also full of memories

About that incomparable work -

On the crests of monstrous waves.

You - ah, the sea, the sea! -

I'm excited to the very core,

But, apparently, on the mountain

Served you for so long...

Beloved almost died, -

Oh mama motherland! -

Sobbing, beating against my chest,

Like the sea against the chest of a ship.

In my endless sorrow

As if following a ship

Whispered: "I'm waiting for you ... forever,"

She whispered: "I... love you."

Love you! What sounds!

But the sounds are neither this nor that, -

And somewhere at the end of parting

She forgot about everything.

One day from some road

Sent a few words:

"My dear! After all, so many

Now the love is passing ... "

And yet on cold nights

Sadder than the visions of others

Her eyes, very close,

And the sea that took them.

about relationships

Under the branches of hospital birches

Under the branches of weeping trees

In the clean windows of hospital wards

Woven all out of purple feathers

For some, the last sunset ...

It seems strong, like a fresh vegetable,

Man, and his life is easy, -

Suddenly an ambulance passes by

And the siren screams: “Pass!”

Here I am in the hospital.

And such speeches are sung to me,

What a sin for participation is

Don't fall in love with hospital comfort!

On a bright evening to the music of Grieg

In a quiet grove of hospital birches

I would probably die without crying

But I could not, probably, without tears ...

No, not everything, I say, flew by!

We are stronger than this trouble!

So the sweetest thing

Is to drink some water

Whistle like a canary

And think seriously about life

On some old bench

Under the branches of hospital birches...

Train

The train rushed with a roar and a howl,

The train rushed with clanging and whistling,

And to meet him with a yellow swarm

Lights rushed in the hazy expanse.

The train was running at full speed.

Powerful forces, mind incomprehensible,

In the midst of worlds indestructible.

The train raced with the same tension

Somewhere in the wilds of the universe

Just before, perhaps, the crash,

In the midst of phenomena without a name...

Here he is, with a fiery eye sparkling,

Takes off... Give way, pedestrian!

At the junction somewhere by the barn

He picked it up, carried me like a goblin!

Together with him and I in the hazy expanse

I don't dare to think about peace,

Rushing somewhere with clanging and whistling,

Rushing somewhere with a roar and a howl,

Rushing somewhere with full tension,

I, as I am, the mystery of the universe.

Just before, perhaps, the crash

I shout to someone: "Goodbye!"

But enough! fast moving

Everything is bolder in the world year by year,

And what a wreck can be

If there are so many people on the train?

philosophical

I remember how the path

barely noticeable

In the thick sedge, where the ducks quacked,

We went with a prison in the summer

Catch burbot

under the river banks.

Catching a burbot was not easy.

Not only one wish.

We were tired and we were shivering

From prolonged bathing

But we were brave: - The fisherman does not cry! -

splashed in the water

dizzy

And finally on the hot sand

Together they fell in exhaustion!

And long after dreaming of lying

About something very big and bold,

Looked at the sky, and the sky too

Through the eyes of the stars

looked at us...

Port night

In the snow like seals

boulders lie,

Seagulls splash in the foam

Rushing wave.

The port is silent at night

All finished work

Flashing lights

Their comfort...

Suddenly the water roars

On the sides of the ships

Bubbling, bubbling,

Waking up again

There will be sailors' wives

Turn on the lights in the houses.

Will be anxious again

Their midnight comfort

And excited too

Children cling to the windows.

Know, therefore, squalls,

terrifying,

To the marked rocks

Ships do not turn.

Dedication to a friend

My dahlias are freezing.
And the last nights are close.
And on clods of yellowing clay
Petals fly over the fence ...

No, I will not be pleased - what are you! -
Lonely wandering star.
My planes have flown
My trains whistled.

My steamboats roared
My carts creaked, -
I came to you in the days of bad weather,
So if you please, give me some water to drink!

Do not break my worldly chains,
Do not rush off, eyes of grief,
In the Pugachev free steppes,
Where the soul of a rebel walked.

Do not break my painful connection
With the long autumn of our land,
With a tree at a damp hitching post,
With cranes in the cold distance ...

But I love you in the days of bad weather
And I wish you forever
So that your ships roar,
Let your trains whistle!

about friends

Poetry

Through the wind singing flight

And waves of thunderous applause

The ship of my life is sailing

to demobilization.

The fleet will not be forgotten all my life,

And you, ship's quarters,

And the sea where the service goes

Under the flag of the Soviet Republic.

But the hour is near when I

I'll get off the train at the station.

My youth will continue

In the alleys with flowers and dances.

In labor and among stone piles,

In canteens where prices are reduced

And beer is served on the table

Ordinary beautiful women.

Everything will turn into a golden reality,

What sailor nights dreamed of...

The ship of my life is sailing

Across the sea of ​​love and poetry.

Holiday in the village

How much vodka has been drunk!

How many glasses have been broken!

How much money has been cut!

How many women are abandoned!

Some children were crying

Somewhere Finns tinkled ...

Oh, sivukha sivukha!

Life was... beautiful!

Hello Russia

Hello, Russia - my homeland!
How happy I am under your foliage!
And there is no singing, but I clearly hear
Invisible choral singing singing ...

As if the wind drove me along it,
All over the earth - in villages and capitals!
I was strong, but the wind was stronger
And I couldn't stop anywhere.

Hello, Russia - my homeland!
Stronger than storms, stronger than any will
Love for your barns at the stubble,
Love for you, a hut in an azure field.

For all the mansions I do not give
Your low house with nettles under the window.
How peacefully in my upper room
The sun was setting in the evenings!

Like the whole expanse, heavenly and earthly,
Breathed in the window of happiness and peace,
And the glorious breath of antiquity,
And rejoiced under the showers and heat! ..

Nature

Ringing, laughing like a baby,

And looks after the sun.

And between houses, birches, woodpile

Burning, streaming, heavenly light.

Like a crying baby

Playing with her, after thunderstorms

Patterned clean towel

A rainbow hangs from birches

And peaceful

smell of honey

A wave rolls over the grasses, -

All nature eats it

And generously share with me!

And breathe freely

starry night

Under the lullaby creak of carts...

And suddenly angry menacingly

Just like an adult.

about nature

farewell song

I will leave this village...

The river will be covered with ice

Doors will creak at night

There will be deep mud in the yard.

Mother will come and fall asleep without a smile...

And in the lost gray land

This night at the birch bark

You will pay for my betrayal.

So why, screwing up your eyelashes,

At a deaf swamp stump

Ripe cranberries, like a good bird,

Did you feed me from the palm of your hand?

Can you hear the wind blowing through the barn?

Do you hear your daughter laughing in her sleep?

Maybe the angels are playing with her

And under the sky they are carried away with her ...

Don't be sad! On the chilly pier

Don't wait for the steamer in the spring!

Let's have a drink, let's say goodbye

For a short tenderness in the chest.

You and I are like different birds!

What can we expect on the same shore?

Maybe I can return

Maybe I never can.

You don't know how the paths are at night

Behind my back, wherever I go,

Someone's evil, overtaking stomp

I hear everything as if in delirium.

But one day I will remember about the cranberry,

About your love in the gray land

And I will send you a wonderful doll,

Like your last fairy tale.

To a girl, shaking a doll,

Never sat alone.

Mommy, mommy! What a doll!

She blinks and cries...

Farewell

Sad Vologda

On the dark sad earth

And the people of the outskirts of the ancient

Anxiously pass in the darkness.

Darling! What else will

With me? native dawn

Tomorrow won't wake me up

Playing in the window and grief.

The merry trumpets have fallen silent

And dancing all over the floor

And the door of an empty club

Sadly already closed.

Darling! What else will

With me? native dawn

Tomorrow won't wake me up

Playing in the window and grief.

And the restrained speech is sad

On a dark sad porch.

Everything was fun in the beginning

Everything turned sad in the end.

At the dark junction of parting

And in a dark farewell car

I hear sad sounds

that no one hears...

Let the poets sing!

It's hard for me to think:

So much noise.

I want speech

simple, human

What are they buzzing about

My friends, poets,

In a restless house until late?

I hear an argument

I see silhouettes

Against the vague background of a late window.

Already their thoughts

Filled with strength!

Where will they start?

What word will they say?

They scream

They wave their hands

They seem to have just been born!

In what words

Praise thee, O companion!

Your proud rise is my fall.

I was informed about this by a staff member,

Directing a pen into verses,

Like a spear.

Like, the rocket age,

automobile age,

And the music is so calm and quiet!

And an inky cross

Like a grave cross

Confidently put in verse.

On this with the world

And we would part

But why

With the "Left March" in harmony

Quiet Yesenin iambs

So loudly in the heart they beat and sound!

With cheerful singing

In the serene sky

With all your love and longing

Eagle is not a couple

Tender lark,

But they both fly high!

And, glorifying the rise

space rocket,

Getting ready to fly to the skies in it,

Let them not make noise

Let the poets sing

Discord

We met

At the mill dam.

And I immediately

He said everything right!

To whom, he said,

Need your quirks?

Why, he said

Did you go to the station?

She said:

I'm not to blame.

Answer, I said.

Who is to blame?

She said:

I met my brother.

Ha ha, I said.

Is it a brother?

Something was missing in my brain:

Waving at everything

I started laughing.

I laughed

And the echo laughed

And rumbled

Mill road.

She said:

What do you want?

I want, I said,

That's what I want!

She said:

You never know what you want!

I don't want to hear it anymore.

Of course, I'm nothing

Not scared

Like everyone

Who is not to blame

And in vain that night

Blazed and fluttered

At the end of a deserted street

Pay

I forgot what love is

And under the moonlight over the city

So many cursed words

I get gloomy when I remember this.

And one day, pressed against the wall

Disgrace, following the trail,

Lonely I scream in my sleep

And I'll wake up, and I'll go, and I'll go...

The door will open late at night

It will be a sad moment.

At the threshold I will stand like a beast,

Wanting love and comfort.

Turn pale and say: - Go away!

Our friendship is now over!

I mean nothing to you!

Leave! Don't look at me crying!

And again along the forest road

Where weddings used to fly,

Restless, gloomy, nocturnal,

I anxiously leave in a blizzard ...

Home village

Although the passerby curses
The roads of my coasts
I love the village of Nikola
Where did you end up primary school!

It happens that a dusty boy
For the guest we come on the trail
The road is in a hurry too:
"I'm leaving here too!"

Among the surprised girls
Brave, barely out of diapers:
- Well, what about the provinces?
It's time to go to the capital!

When he grows up in the capital,
Look at life abroad
Then he will appreciate Nicola,
Where did you finish elementary school...

Russian light

Immersed in bitter cold
The snow around me is numb!
Small fir trees numb
And the sky was dark, without stars.
What a wilderness! I was alone alive
Alone alive in the endless dead field!
Suddenly a quiet light - a dream, or what? —
Flickered in the desert, like a sentry ...

I was just like a snowman
Entering the hut - the last hope! —
And I heard, shaking off the snow:
“Here’s a stove for you… And warm clothes…”
Then the hostess listened to me,
But in the dim look of life was not enough,
And sitting motionless by the fire,
She seemed to be dozing off...

How many yellow pictures in Rus'
In such a simple and gentle frame!
And suddenly opened up to me and struck
The orphan meaning of family photos!
Fire, enmity, the earth is full,
And the soul will not forget all those close to you ...
- Tell me, dear, will there be a war?
And I said
- Probably not.
- God forbid, God forbid ... after all, you can’t please everyone,
And from discord, no benefit will come ... -
And suddenly again: - It won't, you say?
“No,” I say, “probably not!”
- God bless, God bless...
And long on me
She looked like a deaf-mute
And, without raising his gray head,
Again she sat quietly by the fire.
What did she dream about? All this white light
Perhaps he stood before her at that moment?
But I am the dull strumming of coins
Interrupted her old visions.
- The Lord is with you! We don't take money.
“Well,” I say, “I wish you good health!”
For all the good we will pay with good,
For all love we will pay with love ...

Thank you, humble Russian light,
For the fact that you are in a premonition of anxiety
You burn for those who are in the roadless field
Far from all friends,
For the fact that, with good faith, I am friends,
Among the great anxieties and robbery
You burn, you burn like a good soul,
You burn in the darkness, and you have no rest ...

For the seventh day, the rain does not stop ...

For the seventh day, the rain does not stop.

And there is no one to stop him.

Increasingly, a gloomy thought flickers,

That the whole village can be flooded.

Stacks are floating. Spinning, rushing boards.

And sank slowly to the bottom

Forgotten wagons on the shore

And the black threshing floor sank.

And roads become rivers

Lakes turn into seas

And water breaks through the rapids,

Family breaking anchors...

It's pouring for a week. The second pours... Picture

Such - we have not seen sadder!

Lifeless water plain

And the sky is hopeless above her.

Graves flooded in the cemetery

The fence posts are still visible.

Rolling like crocodiles

Between thickets of flooded coffins,

Break, pop up, and in the dark

Under the harsh unrelenting rain

Terrible debris is carried away

And then they remember for a long time ...

Hills and groves became islands.

And fortunately, the villages are on the hills.

And the men, shaking their heads,

Called to each other with rare words,

When the boats moved in the dark,

And they shouted at the children strictly,

Saved livestock, saved every house

And deafly said: - Thank God!

The rain is weakening... just about... a little more.

And everything will go on as usual.

September

Glory to you, celestial

Joyful brief peace!

Your wonderful sunshine

Plays with our river

Crimson plays with the grove,

With a scattering of berries in the hallway,

As if the holiday has come

On golden-maned horses!

I rejoice in loud barking

Leaves, cow, rook,

And I don't want anything

And I don't want anything!

And nobody knows

That, speaking with winter,

Heaven lurks in the abyss

Wind and sadness of October...

about autumn

Sergey Yesenin

The rumors were stupid and harsh:

Who is, they say, Yesenin Seryoga,

Judge for yourself: he strangled himself with longing

Because he drank a lot.

Yes, he did not look at Rus' for long

With the blue eyes of a poet.

But was there any tavern sadness?

Sadness, of course, was ... Yes, not this one!

Miles of all the shaken earth,

All earthly shrines and bonds

As if nervous system entered

In the waywardness of Yesenin's muse!

This is not the muse of yesterday.

With her I love, resent and cry.

She means a lot to me

If I myself mean anything.

Does the wedding jump ...

Does the wedding ride in the wilderness of the shocked forest,

Or, like a weasel, in moments of inclement weather

Somewhere you can hear the singing of a children's choir, -

So - I remember - it happened in previous years!

Will the stars flare - I will remember that they used to shine

These same stars. And I'll go out by chance to the ferry, -

Before - I think - the same oars splashed ...

It's like you can't think of life any other way!

You speak, speak, as in the homeland of the moon

Illuminated snow flew under the feet of a crow,

As without looking back, excited, strong and young,

In the open field you raced down the road!

Did you believe in happiness, as they believe in simple luck,

I listened to the infantile talk of nature about happiness, -

Well, speak up! But don't think that if I cry

So, I myself regret the same years.

Sad thoughts are driven by a gusty wind.

But not about that. And I remembered that sadly

Before I didn’t think: “This, I remember, it was!”

Before he was brave: “Will this be in the world!”

Will the stars flare up - will this be in the world! -

That's what I said. And I'll go out by chance to the ferry, -

“Soon,” I thought, “they will wake me up at dawn,

How far I will sail from a boring house! .. "

Oh, if tomorrow I would rise, perking up,

With childish faith in countless eternal years,

Oh, if you believe that the years will seem fluff -

How the ships would deceive me again!...

Worth the heat

Worth the heat. Flies fly.

The garden languishes under the sultry sky.

Sleepy old women near the church

They jostle, rave, screech.

I look sullenly at the cripple,

I wonder how it is -

I can't give to a person

Does he deserve a nickel?

And how is it that I'm less and less

Worry, cry and love?

It's like I'm sleeping too

And in this dream I am anxiously delirious ...

Secret

A wonderful moon burns over the river,

Over the places of adolescence,

And in a homeland full of peace,

The light is wide open...

This month is burning for a reason

Russian lyric poet

Nikolay Rubtsov

short biography

Nikolai Mikhailovich Rubtsov(January 3, 1936, the village of Emetsk, Northern Territory - January 19, 1971, Vologda) - Russian lyric poet.

Nikolai Rubtsov was born on January 3, 1936 in the village of Yemetsk, Kholmogory district of the Northern Territory (now the Arkhangelsk region). In 1937 he moved with his large family to Nyandoma. In 1939-1940, Rubtsov's father, Mikhail Andrianovich, worked as the head of the Nyandoma Gorpo. In January 1941, Mikhail Rubtsov left Nyandoma for the Vologda City Party Committee. In Vologda, the Rubtsovs found the war. In the summer of 1942, Rubtsov's mother and younger sister died, his father was at the front, and the children were sent to boarding schools. That same summer, 6-year-old Nikolai wrote his first poem.

Nikolai and his brother first ended up in the Krasovsky orphanage, and from October 1943 until June 1950, Nikolai lived and studied in an orphanage in the village of Nikolsky, Totemsky district Vologda region, where he graduated from the seventh grade of the school (now the House-Museum of N. M. Rubtsov is located in this building). In the same village, his daughter Elena was subsequently born in an actual marriage with Henrietta Mikhailovna Menshikova.

In his autobiography, written when he entered Tralflot in 1952, Nikolai writes that his father went to the front and died in 1941. But in fact, Mikhail Adrianovich Rubtsov (1900-1962) survived, after being wounded in 1944 he returned to Vologda and remarried the same year, lived in Vologda. Due to the loss of documents in the Krasovsky orphanage, he could not find Nikolai and met him only in 1955.

From 1950 to 1952, Rubtsov studied at the Totma Forestry Technical School. From 1952 to 1953 he worked as a stoker in the Arkhangelsk trawl fleet of the Sevryba trust, from August 1953 to January 1955 he studied at the mine surveying department at the Mining and Chemical College of the Ministry of Chemical Industry in Kirovsk, Murmansk Region. In January 1955, he did not pass the winter session and was expelled from the technical school. From March 1955, Rubtsov was a laborer at an experimental military training ground.

From October 1955 to October 1959 he served as a rangefinder on the destroyer "Ostroy" of the Northern Fleet (with the rank of sailor and senior sailor). On May 1, 1957, his first newspaper publication took place (the poem "May has come") in the newspaper "On Guard of the Arctic". After demobilization, he lived in Leningrad, working alternately as a locksmith, fireman and labourer at the Kirov plant.

Rubtsov begins to study in the Narva Zastava literary association, meets young Leningrad poets Gleb Gorbovsky, Konstantin Kuzminsky, Eduard Shneiderman. In July 1962, with the help of Boris Taigin, he published his first typewritten collection Waves and Rocks.

In August 1962, Rubtsov entered the Literary Institute. A. M. Gorky in Moscow and met Vladimir Sokolov, Stanislav Kunyaev, Vadim Kozhinov and other writers, whose friendly participation helped him more than once both in creativity and in publishing poetry. Problems soon arose with his stay at the institute, but the poet continues to write, and in the mid-1960s he published his first collections.

In 1969, Rubtsov graduated from the Literary Institute and was accepted into the staff of the Vologda Komsomolets newspaper.

In 1968, Rubtsov's literary merits received official recognition, and in Vologda he was allocated a one-room apartment No. 66 on the fifth floor in a five-story building No. 3 on the street named after another Vologda poet, Alexander Yashin.

The writer Fyodor Abramov called Rubtsov brilliant hope of Russian poetry.

Death

Nikolai Rubtsov tragically died on the night of January 19, 1971, at the age of 36, in his apartment, as a result of a domestic quarrel with the aspiring poetess Lyudmila Derbina (Granovskaya) (born 1938), whom he was going to marry (January 8 they filed documents to the registry office). The judicial investigation established that the death was of a violent nature, occurred as a result of strangulation - mechanical asphyxia from squeezing the neck organs with hands. Derbina, in her memoirs and interviews, describing the fatal moment, claims that a heart attack occurred - “ his heart just could not stand it when we grappled". She was found guilty of the poet's murder, sentenced to 8 years, released on parole almost 6 years later, as of 2013 she lived in Velsk, did not consider herself guilty of the crime and hoped for posthumous rehabilitation. Vladimir Bondarenko, a publicist and deputy editor-in-chief of the Zavtra newspaper, pointing out in 2000 that Rubtsov’s death somehow came as a result of Derbina’s actions, called her memoirs “ senseless and vain attempts to justify».

Biographers mention Rubtsov's poem "I will die in Epiphany frost" as a prediction of the date of his own death. In the Vologda Museum of Nikolai Rubtsov, the poet's testament, found after his death, is kept: "Bury me where Batyushkov is buried."

Nikolai Rubtsov was buried in Vologda at the Poshekhonsky cemetery.

Creation

I will not rewrite
From the book of Tyutchev and Fet,
I won't even listen
The same Tyutchev and Fet.
And I won't invent
Myself special, Rubtsova,
For this I will stop believing
In the same Rubtsov,
But I'm at Tyutchev and Fet
I will check the sincere word,
So that the book of Tyutchev and Fet
Continue with Rubtsov's book!..

The Vologda "small motherland" and the Russian North gave him main theme future creativity - "ancient Russian originality", which became the center of his life, "sacred land!", where he felt "both alive and mortal" .

His first collection, "Waves and Rocks", appeared in 1962 in samizdat, the second book of poems "Lyric" was published in 1965 in Arkhangelsk already officially. Then the poetry collections "Star of the Fields" (1967), "The Soul Keeps" (1969), "Pine Noise" (1970) were published. The Green Flowers, which were being prepared for publication, appeared after the death of the poet.

Rubtsov's poetry, extremely simple in its style and themes, associated mainly with his native Vologda region, has creative authenticity, internal scale, and a finely developed figurative structure.

Memory

Memorial plaque to N. M. Rubtsov in Apatity

Monument to N. M. Rubtsov in Murmansk

• In Murmansk, on the alley of writers, a monument to the poet was erected.
• In Vologda, since 1998, an open festival of poetry and music "Rubtsov's Autumn" has been held.
• In St. Petersburg, a street in the village of Pargolovo in the vicinity of the Parnas metro station is named after the poet.

Bibliography

• Collected works in 3 volumes. - M.: Terra, 2000
• "Lyrics". Arkhangelsk, 1965. - 40 p., 3,000 copies.
• "Star of the Fields". M., Soviet writer, 1967. - 112 pages, 10,000 copies,
• "The soul keeps". Arkhangelsk, 1969. - 96 p., 10,000 copies,
• "Pine noise". M., Soviet writer, 1970, - 88 p., 20,000 copies,
• “Poems. 1953-1971 "- M., Soviet Russia, 1977, 240 p., 100,000 copies.
• "Green Flowers", M., Soviet Russia, 1971. - 144 p., 15,000 copies;
• The last ship. - M.: Sovremennik, 1973, - 144 p., 10,000 copies.
• Selected lyrics. - Vologda, 1974. - 148 p., 10,000 copies;
• Plantains. - M .: Young Guard, 1976. - 304 p., 100,000 copies.
• First snow. - Vologda, 1975
• First snow. - Barnaul, 1977
• Selected lyrics. Second edition, corrected. / Comp. and ed. post-last V. Obaturov. // Woodcuts by G. and N. Burmagin. - Arkhangelsk, North-Western book publishing house, 1977. - 160 p. - 50,000 copies.
• Poems. - M., Children's literature, 1978
• With all my love and longing. - Arkhangelsk, 1978
• Green flowers. - Barnaul, 1978
• Martin. - Kemerovo, 1978

Translations

• Komm, Erde. Ausgewaehlte Gedichte. Russisch und Deutsch. Uebersetzt und herausgegeben von Raymond Dittrich, Tamara Kudrjavceva und Hartmut Loeffel. Mit einem Nachwort von Raymond Dittrich. Schweinfurt, 2004.

Audiography

• In 1981, at the “Song-81” competition, the Lithuanian performer Gintare Yautakakaite for the first time performed a song based on the verses of Nikolai Rubtsov “It is light in my upper room” (composer Alexander Morozov).
• In 1982, in the album Star of the Fields (Suite on poems by Nikolai Rubtsov), Alexander Gradsky performed songs to the words of the poet.
• In 1984, the Forum group released their debut album White Night, in which the song Leaves Have Flew was written to the verses of Nikolai Rubtsov.
• The song "Bouquet" to the poet's verses gained great popularity, the music for which was written by Alexander Barykin in 1987 (included in the album of the same name in 1988).
• The song of the bard A. Dulov is widely known "Blurred Path" to a poem by N. Rubtsov "Departure".
• In 1994, singer Sergei Krylov recorded the song "Autumn Song" by composer Alexei Karelin to the verses of Nikolai Rubtsov. She was included in the album of the series Russian collection. Volume 1 (2CD).
• In 2006, at a concert dedicated to the 70th anniversary of the birth of Nikolai Rubtsov and held on the territory of the Kirov Plant, the premiere of the song "Cloudberry will fade and ripen in the swamp" (composer Andrey Petrov, lyrics by Nikolai Rubtsov), performed by Honored Artist of Russia Tatyana Bulanova.
• In 2013, the Kalevala group released the album "Moon and a penny", in which the song "Rushed" was written to the verses of Nikolai Rubtsov.

Plagiarism of Rubtsov's works

In 2013, a member of the Union of Journalists of the Russian Federation, Irina Kotelnikova, who lives in Transbaikalia, addressed the reception of the Legislative Assembly of the Vologda Region. The journalist pointed to the increasing facts of plagiarism of Rubtsov's works on the Internet, gave a number of examples of unscrupulous copying of the poet's poems by different "authors", which is the theft of someone else's intellectual property. Some plagiarists, attributing Rubtsov's poems to themselves, even claim to receive prizes and awards in the field of poetry.