Severyanin ambiguous glory analysis. Igor Severyanin Analysis of Severyanin's poem "Ambiguous Glory"

Is fame ambiguous? and got the best answer

Answer from Lyudmila Shepeleva[guru]
He explained at the beginning of the poem what kind of ambiguity he had in mind:
My ambiguous glory
ambiguous not because
That I am wrongly exalted, -
Not according to his talent, -
But because the explicit challenge
Conventions - in my poems
And a number of exquisite surprises
In capricious words.
They looked for vulgarity in me,
Missing one thing:
After all, who paints the square,
He writes with an area brush.
He means the ambiguity of his fame as the "king of poets", the king of outrageousness. Far from everyone understood and recognized ego-futurism, as well as shocking. The poem "I, the genius Igor Severyanin ..." made a fuss. As soon as he was not called names! And an impostor, and an upstart, and a "philistine in a cap." They said that his poems could not be understood by a Russian person. To understand, not to understand, and after his concerts people walked and repeated incomprehensible, but beautiful lines: "Pineapples in champagne! Pineapples in champagne!" And they sang them, and were happy. This means that he had an "unambiguous" talent, Gumilyov did not call him a poet for nothing by the grace of God. But Balmont and Mayakovsky lost the competition for the king of poets, and therefore they were spiteful.
His fame is indeed ambiguous: on the one hand, he is a favorite, the idol of salons, on the other hand, a shocking ego-futurist known for scandals:
Every line is a slap.
My voice is a mockery.
Rhymes are formed into cookies.
The language seems to be assonance.
I despise you passionately
dim your excellencies,
And, despising, I count
to global resonance.
Almost Mayakovsky.
But there is also the elegy "Classic Roses", the collection "The Thundering Cup".
There is a beautiful life, and there is a parody of a beautiful life. And all this is a Northerner. Really ambiguous glory.

Answer from . [guru]
glory is a heavy burden) therefore, ambiguity is simply necessary for balance)

Answer from ­ [guru]
If she's notorious.

Answer from Elena[guru]
"What was the strange job
His withered hands. Behind the volume
I saw, he extracted, then
I got acquainted with the name by the spine,
Then deftly to your bloodless lips
Tom offered and, with an senile breath
Warming up the letters of the title -
And the headlines blew my mind! -
I erased the name and wrote another,
Completely different with my own hand,
Then again he took the book at random,
Erased the title and wrote another! "

Answer from Alla Kuznetsova[guru]
How it happens! for example, the glory of Herostratus ....

Answer from YoPROL[guru]
medal

Answer from Olechka Krasatulechka[guru]
As my grandmother used to say, she was a smart woman, God rest her soul, everyone has their own glory, everyone has their own truth!

Answer from 3 answers[guru]

Igor Severyanin ... - this literary name loudly and confidently declared itself in certain circles of bourgeois Petersburg on the very eve of the First World War. It screamed in yard-long letters from multicolored posters pasted at all the busy intersections of the city, gathering crowds of enthusiastic admirers and admirers into lecture halls and club rooms, throwing flowers at the poet, who sang his cutesy "poes". The poems amazed the listeners with an abundance of neologisms generated by the author's attraction to the exoticism of the tabloid "novels from high society life" with their invariable countesses, boudoirs, grooms, cocktails, fife-o-clocks, etc. - in a word, all the attributes of luxury, so seductive for the bourgeois taste.

And most of all, the poet himself contributed to this noise and excitement around his name, arrogantly declaring from the stage and from the pages of the collection “The Thundering Cup”:

I, the genius Igor Severyanin,
Intoxicated with his victory:
I'm completely screened!
I am wholeheartedly approved!
. . . . . . . . . .
I conquered literature!
Looked up, thundering, to the throne!
("Epilogue")

In the red-hot atmosphere of the beginning of the century, in the stuffy premonition of impending social catastrophes, bourgeois literature, and in particular poetry, as if not daring to look directly into the face of its frightening reality, led readers into the element of mutual strife and disputes, into the most diverse trends and sects, into art. away from the problems and anxieties of the surrounding life. The tasks of a purely external, stylistic order often overshadowed concerns about content, and innovation in the field of form became one of the main incentives for verbal mastery. Representatives of various literary groups sought to update the poetic style, including the poetic speech itself. Igor Severyanin, who took one of the most extreme positions, joined them. He immediately declared himself a futurist, albeit with the additional pronoun "ego", which was supposed to indicate his personal independence and independence in solving all language problems.

The experiments of the new word creation attracted the attention of readers to him, not to mention the fact that his poems, with their content at that time, met the needs and tastes of a motley audience of auditoriums, greedy for thrills and literary scandals.

Igor Severyanin's first book, The Thundering Cup, appeared in 1913, in the midst of literary civil strife - before it there were only separate publications and thin poetic brochures that went unnoticed. This collection immediately made me talk about myself. What the poet proclaimed at first glance might seem daring, unusual and even to some extent innovative, violating the usual canons of stylistic decency. Since then, each performance of the poet has attracted a vast audience, each of his books (and they came out one after another, often in several editions in one or two years) caused a lot of responses in the press - mercilessly condemning and immoderately enthusiastic.

Igor Severyanin's steadily growing and truly “everyday” fame was supported and inflated by that social environment that needed a spicy, peculiarly exotic unusualness, in essence, of its own generated emotions and exalted fleeting experiences.

In order to imagine the social atmosphere that turned out to be especially favorable for the work of this poet, one must go back to the times when St. Petersburg, the capital of the Russian Empire, began to be called Petrograd in 1914 for patriotic reasons, and the whole country entered a period of severe military trials.

1

My student youth was a direct witness to this tense and disturbing time: the bureaucratic, commercial, philistine-philistine city tried not to think about the tragedy of the people, bearing on the soldiers' shoulders the unbearable hardships of an exhausting and hopeless war. He lived a carefree, idle life and did not seem to hear the thunder of guns rumbled somewhere far from him from the "bloody fields of Galicia", did not notice right there, at his side, gloomy women's queues near bread and petty shops. It was as if he did not want to know about the growing discontent of the workers in the suburbs, about the irresistibly rising wave of revolutionary protest of the proletarian masses.

Restaurants, taverns, pleasure gardens were busy. The abundance of rear officers in impeccable service jackets and riding breeches was striking. The daggers that had just been introduced into use coquettishly dangled from the side. The ladies, in tight-fitting long dresses and huge-brimmed hats, coyly leaned on the arms of their companions. By the end of a summer day, an endless line of dandy carriages rolled along the alleys of Krestovsky Island, hurrying “to the Strelka” to admire the Baltic sunset. And in the center of the capital, nothing violated the established order. Nevsky Prospekt was just as full of shop windows and ladies' outfits; during the hours of traditional festivities, a lively crowd continuously poured along its sunny side; fattened horses of "their own trips" raced along the end flooring, muffled by their hooves; silently flew on tight rubber tires "reckless drivers" (cab drivers), impetuously roared "motors" (as cars were then called). In the white nights at the pale dawn, balls glowed dully at the entrances to country gardens and restaurants, from which came the soul-exhausting lingering melodies of tango - the most fashionable dance of those pre-stormy, doomed days.

Typical figures of that time were beardless, arrogant ensigns and coquettish sisters of mercy in white starched scarves, with a wide red cross on their chests. But they thought just as little about the war, although they came across signboards of infirmaries and groups of wounded in camel-colored dressing gowns on benches in city squares.

In that sweltering summer, an atmosphere of romantic frivolity permeated everywhere. Never have romances arisen and unleashed so easily and thoughtlessly. The philistine public has never read so much tabloid concoction of Verbitskaya, Bebutova, Breshko-Breshkovsky. They turned away from the tragic lyrics of Blok, because this poet disturbed the conscience with his poems about Russia, opposing himself to official leavened patriotism. And just at that time, the perfumery, curled poetry of Igor Severyanin began to enjoy rapid success, sharing fame with the cabaret songs of A.N. Vertinsky and mannered romances of the famous stars of the then restaurant stage. It is absolutely clear that the extravagant poetry of Igor Severyanin corresponded to the tastes of people who fenced themselves off from the terrible events that were imminent in the country, and even during the period of the imperialist war, which was painful for the people.

The excitement around the name of Severyanin is a case very characteristic of the general state of bourgeois literature of the pre-revolutionary period. But we should not forget that at the same time there was also a realistic work of writers opposing it, grouped around the Gorky collections "Knowledge", Mayakovsky's poems and speeches, Blok's lyrics imbued with love for the motherland, Sergei Yesenin's fresh lyrics, coming from the origins of folk imagery, animated magazine disputes about the ways of development of painting, theater, cinema. But all this remained aloof from the interests of Igor Severyanin, who was intoxicated with his resounding success.

Being at the mercy of the tastes of the philistine environment glorifying him, he, even in relation to the tragic theme of the war, could not resist the tactless statement of his aesthetic program: "War is war, and roses are roses." And in the poem “My Answer” (1916), which defends the “rights” of idlers and flaners of Nevsky Prospekt to not be involved in military events, as if recollecting himself, he “consoled” public opinion with such a defiantly catchy stanza:

Friends! But if the day is murderous
The last giant falls
Then, your gentle, your only,
I'll take you to Berlin!

Such jingoistic verses evoked a sharp rebuke from Mayakovsky, who believed that Severyanin's military "position" was "great for those whose circle of desires does not go beyond

The line cited by Mayakovsky is a quote from Severyanin's poem "It does not mean to be a traitor yet ..." (1914), where it precedes such gastronomic "revelations":

Walk along the Marine with brown-haired women,
Twist wreaths of chrysanthemums,
Still drinking cream with foam
And eat cream for dessert.

And yet this self-intoxicated sermon of Severyanin egohedonism enjoyed a resounding success with that part of the bourgeois public that was greedy for literary sensations.

I recall not quite the usual atmosphere of the "poetry concerts" held by Igor Severyanin. The poet appeared on stage in a long raven-colored frock coat narrow at the waist. He held himself upright, looked into the hall slightly from above, occasionally shaking the black curls hanging over his forehead. The face is narrow, according to Mayakovsky, elongated with a “liquor glass” (“A Cloud in Pants”). Laying his hands behind his back or crossing them on his chest near a lush orchid in his buttonhole, he began in a dead voice, more and more intoned, in a special cadenza inherent only to him, with fading, rises and a sharp break in a poetic line, to unwind a ball of unusual, in his own way bright, but very often tasteless phrases. In a minute, he completely captured the wary attention of the public. A lulling, drawing-in motif, close to the usual intonations of a pseudo-gypsy, parlor-petty-bourgeois romance, emerged from a measured half-single. The only thing missing was the guitar chords. The mournfully intoxicating melody of a half-chant half-chant powerfully and hypnotizingly captivated the listeners. She lulled their attention on the rhythmic waves of an all the time modulating voice, and they were already ready to forget that in front of them was a self-confident, mannered reader of his own extravagant "poes", that his frock coat, orchid and even pose were a provincial caricature of the portraits of Oscar Wilde.

In the deliberate aestheticism of these verses, in the sophistication of their rhymes and almost violin melody, the audience recognized something very close to their restaurant tastes. According to critics of solid, "thick" magazines, "northernerism" became a dangerous fashion, a fad, almost a "public disaster." Meanwhile, the intoxicated author of "Gold Lira" and "Pineapples in Champagne" conquered the capital, and his wide popularity began to turn into loud, almost scandalous fame.

Who was this strange character of bourgeois literature on the very eve of the collapse of the old world that gave birth to his poetry?

What allowed his name to stand out in the contemporaneous discord of the most diverse poetic schools and trends? What made it possible for Fyodor Sologub to introduce his author into literature with his preface to The Thundering Cup, and for Valery Bryusov, a connoisseur of the strict and exacting, to praise this book? Obviously, in Igor Severyanin, through deliberate extravagance, moreover, far from excellent taste, something related to poetry was visible.

2

The audience of pre-revolutionary Petrograd knew Igor Severyanin well from his frequent variety performances and "poetry concerts", but few knew his biography. Few people knew that Igor Severyanin was the pseudonym of Igor Vasilyevich Lotarev. The poet himself created around himself a semblance of some kind of romantic legend, created the image of a lyricist of the purest water, arrogantly looking from the heights of his greatness at the crowd conquered by his poems. At the height of his fame, in 191-6, he answered questions put to him.

“I was born on May 4, 1887 in Petrograd.
Educated at the Cherepovets real school.
Best memory: Director of the book. B.A. Tenishev, kind, cheerful, witty.
He made his debut in the monthly magazine Leisure and Business (1905, No. 2, February 1).
Published 35 brochures (2-24 countries) - 1904-1912
Mother - Natalia Stepanovna, born Shenshina, daughter of the marshal of the nobility Shchigrovsky near Kursk province.
Father - Vasily Petrovich, retired staff captain of the 1st Zheleznod (road) battalion (now a regiment). He died on May 28, 1904 in Yalta (aged 44).
Favorite poets: in childhood - gr. A.K. Tolstoy, then - Mirra Lokhvitskaya, Fofanov, Baudelaire.
Favorite composers: Ambroise Thomas, Puccini, Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov. Favorite artist - Vrubel. I read a lot."

This brief biographical note gave little to those interested in the work and personality of the poet. But his appearances in the press began much earlier than he became widely known. He began to print as early as 1905 in the provincial newspapers, issued at his own expense thin pamphlets that did not attract attention in any way. He later included only a few poems of that time in his first book published in the capital, The Thundering Cup (1913), which immediately brought him noisy, scandalous fame. The author himself took care of this fame, persistently inflating it with self-promotional public appearances. With a temperament not devoid of artistry, he presented himself to the public, creating the image of a bold and even daring renovator of ordinary poetic speech, a poet of militant hedonism and, as it seemed to him, a genuine innovator, the initiator of a special stylistic and thematic trend in contemporary poetry. In ecstasy, in the pathos of self-affirmation, the poet put himself in an exceptional position and arrogantly declared in the Prologue:

I thundered all over Russia,
What a disgraced hero!
literary messiah
Sometimes they welcome me

Sometimes they scold me squarely,
Sodom everywhere because of me!
I mock mercilessly
Above the thoughtless judgment! ..

And the next year he continued in the same vein:

All around talented cowards
And the insolent mediocrity ...
("Farewell Poetry")

This already sounded like a scandalous challenge to all conventional decorum. There was a lot here from the author's self-promotion. Both the poet's poems and the haughty posture he adopted immediately gave rise to countless newspaper and magazine responses, critical and polemical articles in the modern press. They were dictated by both naive bewilderment, and attempts to understand the innovation of the Northern style, and immoderate enthusiasm, and poisonous ridicule. An unusually colorful panorama of the most contradictory judgments! Who completely denied (A. Amfiteatrov), who excelled in feuilleton wit (A. Izmailov), who admired the courage of word creation (S. Bobrov), and who indulged in regrets that the poet, undoubtedly gifted and original, clogs the Russian language not always relevant, and sometimes simply worthless verbal inventions. In essence, only Valery Bryusov, in his article dated June 1915, tried to more objectively understand the poetics of Igor Severyanin on the material of the first three collections: The Thundering Cup, Zlatolir and Victoria Regia.

What was the main target of attacks on the poet who showed himself so unusually? Strange as it may seem now, it was not the narrowness of his cultural horizons, not his predilection for the false and often tasteless "bonton" content of poetry, but above all his passion for homegrown word creation, almost always clear in meaning, but invariably pretentious and flashy.

Although there were already speeches by futurists, staunch champions of word creation, and on the book shelves there were a considerable number of their collections with bizarre, shocking titles: “Zasakhr. Kry. ”,“ Dead Moon ”,“ A Slap in the Face of Public Taste ”, - many readers of that time were surprised and puzzled by such verses:

At the Academy of Poetry - in the lake castle
white marble -
Every year in May the first purple concert,
Dedicated to spring twilight, dedicated
mourning maidens...
Here are gazelles and rhapsodies, here is clay,
and an easel.
Ofialchen and olilien lakes castle of Mirra Lokhvitskaya,
The camps of fine poetesses are lilac with different tones,
The noises of the city and the sigh do not reach across the lake
human.
Because women's breasts are not breasts here,
and duchess...
Filled with poets beardless, beardless,
Musically speaking and singing Love.
Golden proud castle with stanzas, golden girls
blond,
Golden youthful inspiration and the absence of slaves!
The guests walk on the sidelines, reclining on the sofa
velvet,
Drink wine, inhale lilies, chain links
paquitos...
Curse sober people! Louder, meaner, crows,
croak!
I, as the rector of the Academy, drink a toast to the lake castle!
("Poetry concert")

There are all the components of the stylistic manner of Igor Severyanin: the sing-song construction of the line, stitched with paeons, and the rhythmic continuity of intonation, and the alliterative euphony, and the sophistication of the compound rhyme, and the author's favorite words of foreign origin, taken mainly from purely aesthetic motives. And, of course, their own neologisms, which, first of all, stop the reader’s attention (“Ofialchen and olilien lakes, the castle of Mirra Lokhvitskaya”; “The camps of fine poetesses are lilac with different tones”)

There was nothing complicated in the content itself: an ordinary evening with guests at a country cottage, a gathering of idle youth with bohemian tastes and habits of that time. But the author is not content with everyday life. He seeks to poeticize the familiar in his own way and chooses for this the dubious path of a certain "greatness" invented by him with all the attributes of the situation and vocabulary inherent in it, and sometimes, without noticing it, falls into blatant bad taste.

However, adherence to this style of embellished speech becomes his poetic credo, in which there is both a daring challenge to everyday philistine "sobriety" and the assertion of "innovation" understood by the author in a peculiar way.

It's time to popularize delights, refine tastes

people.

Spice kitchens on the street, ogimniv kurtosis

In virela!

("Ice cream from lilac")

The linguistic invention of Severyanin is not so original. Any familiar word suits him for transformation, sometimes according to the pattern already existing in the language of grammatical forms, but often contrary to the laws of Russian literary speech. Contemporaries were surprised, and sometimes dumbfounded by such sayings: lesofey, dreamer, surprise dreams, golden noon, peacock, morevo(i.e. by the sea), lawless, luminous halo, mine(i.e. in May), charuynaya pain and even Berlinism - Londonism - New Yorkism. And often such examples of word creation are interspersed - for contrast! - among the most ordinary and very banal text.

In search of originality, the poet even gives various types of his "poes" either ancient or invented names: next to nocturnes, rondos, romances, stanzas, triplets, he has symphoniettes, and overtures, and pastels, and sixths (i.e., sextines), and grandiose, and minionets, and rondolets, and ecstasies, and rondo necklaces, and even “monumental moments”. As for the semantic content of the poems, there are no special innovations here either. This is either an enthusiastic self-affirmation of one’s “I”, or attacks against the philistine well-being, or endless love madrigals and praises - an extensive “Don Juan list” of one’s own unstable hobbies, where it is already difficult to distinguish genuine feeling from its imitations. And right there, next to it, are delights in front of nature - both country and rural ("the soul strives for the primitive").

3

Igor Severyanin sincerely considered himself an innovator of the poetic language, meaning the neologisms he introduced, which he invented at almost every turn. And at the same time, obviously, he did not suspect that long before him, back in the 19th century, there were many examples of verbal invention. H.M. Yazykov has the word “foreign land”, E.A. Baratynsky "Old Believer", V.G. Benedict's "ruler", "okat", "calm", "sworn", "thunder-verbal" - and, probably, more than a dozen of such new word formations. If we leave aside V. Benediktov, who is especially partial to intentional word creation, these innovations never seem deliberate and are always brought to life by the need to convey one or another shade of figurative thinking where there is no usual word.

The word creation of poets - contemporaries of Igor Severyanin - in most cases also had a different character. Among the Symbolists, for example, it was most often associated with their desire to convey the mysterious depths of the world. Recall the typical "Balmontisms" - luminosity, lunarness, radiance, immensity etc. Valery Bryusov in the first period of his career also did not shy away from neologisms. You can also meet them at Vyach. Ivanova. Velimir Khlebnikov created his poetic language on the basis of the original soil of ancient Slavic and folk speech. Mayakovsky searched for and successfully found neologisms in the very element of the rapidly changing and renewing life of his turbulent era, using the inexhaustible wealth of natural inflections and modulations of his native Russian language.

Something different is observed in the poetics of Igor Severyanin. His word formations are generated by the desire to stand out at all costs against the general smoothed speech background of other poets. In this regard, to a certain extent, he adjoins, although in a purely external way, to the general trend of those years, to fight against clichés and depersonalize the everyday poetic vocabulary. But he solves this problem very primitively. And, most importantly, he draws his verbal finds from the environment of philistine or pseudo-salon life that attracts him, revealing a particular predilection for words of foreign origin, which seem to him the pinnacle of aesthetic sophistication.

However, the very "innovations" of his style are unraveled without much difficulty. As a poet of a clearly expressed emotional structure, he feels especially at ease in the sphere of continuous movement, lyrical excitement, and therefore, of all parts of speech, he clearly prefers the verb. With the verb and there are mainly lexical metamorphoses. Outwardly, this is expressed in the fact that, by widely using the prefix "o", the poet creates more and more new semantic units, giving the noun a purely verbal appearance. Hence the neologisms (by type: cap - to fool): to make a fool of, to gouge, to marry, to marry, to lazorize, to encircle, to enflame, to flicker, to castigate, to screen, to drop.

Somewhat less often, a noun turns into a verb in other ways: to blow up, to squat, to immortalize, to drape, to center etc.

In the same uncomplicated way, it became possible to create adjectives-epithets: leafless(book), powerless(king), bezpopya(wedding), sofy(velvet). Compound adjectives were fabricated with no less ease. Examples: golden dreaming(grape), dew-chirp(garden), lilybatista(blouse), birch(chalet), wicked(crepe), etc.

To this it must be added that the main stimulus for such linguistic experiments was the author's persistent desire to draw the attention of the public to his work as something completely unusual. Hence his predilection for catchy words and details, for everything spicy, flowery, marked by excessive "prettyness". And, of course, special care for sonorous and non-banal rhymes.

In search of verbal originality, Igor Severyanin enthusiastically indulges in the invention of new nouns: dreamlessness, black-browed, equal-bloodedness, threat, flower, suffering, lilov, spring, light-light, charunya, universal, married woman, genius, forest tree, lake castle, lunopol, wind whistle, wing-flyer etc.

All this is perceived without much difficulty, because the root of the word is clear, and the neologisms themselves are formed in most cases on the basis of the grammatical norms of the literary language. Another thing is how all this is artistically justified.

Severyanin's word creation becomes equally controversial when he uses roots of foreign origin. This sounds more than strange, if not completely tasteless: excess, dreamer, amulet, amazonia, vassal, Mirrelia, dissona, sketch, somnambulistic. etc.

In general, the poet is addicted to verbal foreignness. He is simply fascinated by the sound beauty and imaginary grandeur of this vocabulary that seems to him:

Garzon, improvise a brilliant fife-o-clock...

If you start listing at least one "Thundering Cup", it's hard to stop: violet, kurtosis, squitter, cocktails, hat, couvert, harlequinia, chalet, kaisers, beau monde, adjutantess, sombrero, comfortable, - something similar can be found in almost every poem.

The pages of Igor Severyanin's collections are just as full of historical names and geographical names, terms of various arts - and only fleetingly and as if intentionally without any connection, only for the sake of sonority, exoticism and contrasting oppositions:

I praise enthusiastically...
...A dove and a hawk! Rigsdag and the Bastille!
Cocotte and a schemer! Impulse and sleep!
To a champagne lily! Champagne in a lily!
In the seas of disharmony - a beacon of unison!
("Champagne Polonaise")

An endless catalog of names and titles, sometimes difficult to match in their neighborhood, unfolds in the sections “Lilac Ice Cream” and “Behind the Lyre’s Stringed Fence”: Verlaine, Lady Godiva, Columbus, Antichrist, Chopin, Venus, Paul de Cock, Niagara, Sibyl, Norway, Jeanne d "Arc, Shulamith, Grail, Ahasuerus, Vrubel, Suvorov, Baudelaire - and all this briefly, hastily, with almost no direct relation to the main content of the text.

Judging by these external stylistic signs and details, the poetry of Igor Severyanin appears to the modern reader in a not very attractive form. It is both mannered and reflects a narrow circle of interests of a conditional and specific nature. True, one cannot deny her emotional elation, a certain melody, a great rhythmic variety, not to mention the conspicuous features of the speech system itself.

Nevertheless, according to the first three books, which gained the greatest success for the author, it was possible to form a different idea of ​​the talent and capabilities of Igor Severyanin.

Valery Bryusov wrote: “I don’t think that it was necessary prove that Igor Severyanin is a true poet. Everyone who is able to understand poetry will feel it, who will read the “Thundering Cup”. Later, noting a number of achievements in the field of rhythm and several successfully found definitions, the author of the article adds: “This is a lyricist who subtly perceives nature and the whole world and knows how to several characteristic features to make you see what he draws. This is a true poet, deeply experiencing life and with his rhythms forcing the reader to suffer and rejoice with him. " True, it is further said that, along with pure manifestations of genuine lyricism, Igor Severyanin - and very often - there are poems where the poet's addiction to false prettiness and rapture with his own successes border on complete bad taste and even vulgarity. "Lack of knowledge and inability to think belittle the poetry of Igor Severyanin and extremely narrow its horizon." However, Valery Bryusov also notes a number of poems written without pretentious fabrications, in a simple, clear, sincerely excited language.He sees the true face of Igor Severyanin where it is not hidden under the mask of deliberate extravagance, where the poet speaks of his true anxieties, worries and escapes from boudoir far-fetched illusions into the world of simple human feelings.

One cannot but agree with these fair remarks, even bearing in mind that we are talking about the very first collections of the poet, published at a time when their author was striving in every possible way to confirm the successes he had already won and, unfortunately, went towards the tastes of an unpretentious, enthusiastic the receiving public.

But even at that time (1913-1916) in the work of Igor Severyanin, three completely different and sometimes seemingly contradictory tendencies were outlined. Along with self-intoxicated chanting of fashionable bourgeois-bourgeois life, the poet was not alien to the attraction to simplicity and immediacy of feelings. And then there were poems, devoid of pretentious stylistic embellishments, expressing genuine lyrical excitement, such as "Spring Day", "Elementary Sonata", "It's all for the child", "Amber Elegy", "Everything is the old way ...", "Stans", "Her monologue", "Charmed", "Spring apple tree", "A girl was crying in the park...", "You won't come back to me...", "October" and some others. Everything here is simple, maybe even somewhat sentimental, but imbued with the truth of the author's experiences. To some extent, one can feel the influence of the slightly naive, but fresh poetry of Konstantin Fofanov, the poet to whom Igor Severyanin dedicated many heartfelt poems.

There is another lyrical dominant in Severyaninsk creativity. It is far from soft elegiacism, its intonations are sharp, defiantly bravura, breathe the pathos of self-affirming hedonism. Here you can already hear the voice of the Bacchic monologues and dithyrambs of Mirra Lokhvitskaya - another passion of the Severyaninskaya muse, which in turn makes us recall some of the rhythmic modulations of Konstantin Balmont in their most major sound.

In the work of Igor Severyanin, one can find another, though not so pronounced trend. He notes it

Such verses as "The courtesan's carriage", "In the boudoir of yearning, rouged Nellie ...", "The Ladies' Club", etc. can be considered ironic. However, the poet's irony does not rise to the height of social denunciation. This is most likely a light, non-committal mockery.

Your Excellency to the thirty-year-old -
fashionable - age
You have a universal body... like a bas-relief...
Soul fragrant, carefully hidden
in a silken veil,
Very convenient for prostitutes and queens...
("Dissona")

This irony refers mainly to non-Christians or, in general, to some impersonal, philistine, spiritually inert environment, which, in the author's opinion, does not understand the greatness of the poet who has risen above it. The invective "Ordinary people" is addressed to her:

I despise calm, sad, light and strict
Talentless people: backward, flat,
dark stubborn.
My road is not theirs
My idols are not in crowded temples...
... Why love them, so alien to me? For what
kill them?
They are so pathetic, so primitive and so colorless.
Go past in your events, -
I am unquestionable, you are unanswerable.

Standing in a proud pose of contempt for all who are unable to understand him, the poet emphasizes his exclusivity in every possible way, convincing himself of the right to rise above the crowd and dictate his own tastes to it. He offers his listeners and readers “Lilac Ice Cream!” and "Pineapples in Champagne", sincerely confident that "it's time to popularize the delights", and sees in this the realization of his aesthetic ideals, and perhaps a kind of protest against the dullness and banality of the everyday, philistine environment. He proudly declares: "I want to make fun of", calls himself an "ironist", but in a fatal way, this irony first of all turns to the author himself, enthusiastically praising the spicy beauty of the artificial world caused by his imagination.

A poet of pure feelings, a lyricist who rebels against human vulgarity, himself becomes its humble victim. To what does he give more spiritual strength - irony over the philistinism of the spirit or selfless delight in front of all the temptations of the aesthetically perceived secular-philistine way of life? Criticism, contemporary to the poet, tried to answer these questions, but could not find a common solution - this is evidenced by the contradictory nature of its responses.

In any case, contemporaries perceived the poetry of Igor Severyanin as a completely unusual phenomenon: she admired some, aroused enmity and ridicule in others, and it was difficult to say who she had more - detractors or admirers. But both those and others did not remain indifferent to her.

4

Severyanin's talent was judged by the first three collections. But after all, this was only half of a long literary journey, which later passed abroad in an environment alien and even hostile to the poet. It would seem that, having found himself abroad, in an emigrant environment, Igor Severyanin could safely count on the success of his pop muse. But it happened differently. His word-creative extravagances were not recognized. True, in the early years he tried to remember himself, continuing touring "poetry concerts", but they did not bring him either his former success or even material satisfaction. He lost his usual audience, they began to forget him. Separate poetry collections were published, but in small editions, and none of them required a reprint: Vervena (1920), Minstrel (1921), Fairy Eiole (1922), Falling rapids - a novel in verse (1922) , "The Nightingale" (1923), the poem "The Dew of the Orange Hour" (1925), "The Bells of the Cathedral of Feelings" - a novel in verse (1925), "Classic Roses" (1931), "Adriatic" (1932) and translations of Estonian poets.

Over the years, the very nature of his poetics has undergone significant changes. Poems have become more natural, simpler, unjustified verbal innovations were less common in them, although relapses of former skills, no, no, yes, reminded of themselves. Memories of the past become the dominant feature of his lyrics, which is quite natural in the position of a person who is torn away from his homeland and acutely feels his literary and social loneliness. It is noteworthy that at the time of spiritual and material deprivation, Igor Severyanin feels more and more hostility towards the emigrant environment. It is perceived by him as a kind of generalizing image of bourgeois militant vulgarity, spiritual philistinism. Here is an invective from 1923:

They live in politics, strife and wars,
Clothes and cards, gluttony and drinking,
Intrigues and gossip, contagious and purulent,
impudence, malice, envy, debauchery and
whining.
("Than they live")

Sharply separating himself from the emigrant environment, the poet says:

No, I'm not a refugee, and I'm not an immigrant, -
To you, parent, my Russian talent,
And all my soul, all my thought is true
You, the country that doomed me to life! ..

I have nothing to repent, Russia, before you:
I did not betray you either in thought or soul ...
("Painful...")

His interest in everything that happens in the Soviet country is unchanged, his hope does not go out:

And maybe someday
To your country, Comrade Lenin,
We'll be back...
("The Bells of the Cathedral of the Senses")

There is no way to assert that this interest and sympathy for Soviet Russia was quite persistent in Igor Severyanin. But the very presence of such a mood put the poet in a special position and explained the hostility towards him of the foreign emigre press of all ranks and directions.

Biographical information about the life of Igor Severyanin abroad is generally very scarce. We do not even know under what circumstances he left the Soviet land. One can only assume that he was caught by the revolutionary events in Estonia, in the town of Est-Toila, which he had long chosen, and found himself cut off from Petrograd. Probably, not without reason, he could consider himself an involuntary refugee. The militant emigrants could not forgive him for the position of a “free poet”, who did not want to take part in her political squabbles and discords. They stopped publishing it, took little interest in it, and in the end they doomed it to complete oblivion. He himself only occasionally reminded of himself, preferring to live away from the foreign literary environment, in a small fishing village on the Baltic coast.

Almost deprived of literary earnings, Igor Severyanin lived in great need. The thought of returning to his homeland increasingly arose in his mind.

In the poems of these years, it is often said that, forgetting the successes of his former glory, the poet finds special joy in communicating with the modest northern nature and ordinary working people. He lives now with the cares of the current day, and spiritually he is all lost in poetry, in the lyrics of clear, immediate feelings.

Freed from delusions
Clawed fashion, the verse came to life -
Pet of Pure Inspirations
And spring joys of the living.

The poems of this last period differ from what was written before. They are much simpler, more cordial, and in them one can no longer often find admiration for deliberate neologisms and the previously familiar “delicacy” of style. Igor Severyanin now writes mainly “for himself”, no longer counting on a wide public outcry, and his meager collections are published in scanty circulations and mainly in local, insignificant publishing houses. His lyrics have a free, almost improvisational character, which gives it a touch of immediacy, although it is sometimes embodied in the refined forms of sonnets and terzan.

And yet, Igor Severyanin, who replaced the props of salon exotics with a living feeling of merging with nature, did not become completely different. Having lost his poetic originality, he, in essence, returned to what he once said in those lyrical confessions that he had previously written, only from time to time, without pretensions to the sophistication of the “innovative” manner invented by him. The horizon of the poet's worldview did not expand, he remained in the sphere of his superficially idealistic ideas about good and evil, that the lyricist should stand above any topic of the day and that his spiritual duty is to glorify beauty (in general) and condemn evil and violence (also in general). ). This naive faith was supported in him by a special attitude towards the Motherland, towards Russia, which invariably seemed to him the embodiment of the highest moral ideals. It is noteworthy that the memories of his youth and past literary glory do not obscure his tireless and sympathetic interest in the new Russia.

All his life trying to be a "non-politician", Igor Severyanin was poorly versed in historical causes and consequences, he could amaze with the naivety of his judgments, but he always considered himself a Russian poet ("Because I'm a Russian poet, that's why I dream in Russian!"), He was proud this was what convinced him of the superiority of Russian culture over the soulless civilization of the capitalist West. Especially close to him was the idea of ​​the peacefulness of the Russian people. Even in the collection "Vervena" (1920), he spoke about V.I. Lenin:

His immortal merit
There is an end to the war.
greet him like a friend
People, you sincerely should.
("In Justice")

It was already written abroad. And in one of the last books - "Classic Roses" - there is a poem called "The Cradle of a New Culture" (1923):

Russia will rise, yes, Russia will rise,
Eyes will open their blue
Speeches will begin to speak fiery, -
The world will bow before her!

Russia will rise, all disputes will be judged ...
Russia will rise - the nationalities will be crowded ...
And the West will no longer have
Take a sprout from a worthless culture.

Not at all such statements could have been expected from Igor Severyanin by his former enthusiastic admirers who found themselves abroad, in exile, dreaming of the Russia of the past and turning a blind eye to its present, and even more so the future.

5

In the short pre-war period of Soviet Estonia, Igor Severyanin's hopes were resurrected to return to literary work. He wrote letters to Leningrad and Moscow, sent his poems. Some of them were published in the magazines Krasnaya Nov and Ogonyok. In the spring of 1941, the Writers' Publishing House in Leningrad received from him several sonnets about Russian composers, which it was decided to place in one of the almanacs. It fell to me, as the editor of the collection, to notify the author of this, and the publishing house at the same time transferred the fee to him. In response, an excited letter was received, where the poet wrote that he "with tears in his eyes" thanks for the help in his extremely difficult financial situation, and most importantly for the fact that he "is still remembered at home." He sent me a small collection of his "Adriatic" (1932) with a dedicatory inscription - a book that was destined to be his last.

An almanac with poems by Igor Severyanin was already in production when the war broke out. During the first bombings of Leningrad, a publishing house, located in one of the side facades of the Gostiny Dvor, caught fire from the explosion of a fascist bomb. Everything about him was reduced to ashes.

And a few days before that - what seemed like a miracle! - I received a letter from Igor Severyanin. It came with a Soviet stamp and marked July 20, 1941. It was written by someone else's hand, under dictation, and only signed by the poet himself.

“You probably condemn me for impolite silence and are surprised at it. No, having received your wonderful, your truthful and deep letter, literally in the same days I fell severely ill, and heart disease forced me to lie almost motionless for countless days. Now for several days I am moving again, but it is difficult for me to write myself, so I dictate to Vera Borisovna.
I will personally answer your letter, but in the meantime, help us get out of here. Of course, through Leningrad. My health is such that in general conditions it will not survive. A long vertical position is painful for me, needles pierce my heart. I could only ride reclining in the car. But where can you get it here? Apparently, they didn't even hear my name here!!! Maybe you could send a car. Then we would go straight to you. I'm so glad to see you, get to know you!! And in the evening we would go to Moscow and beyond. Maybe ask Comrade. Zhdanova: as I heard, he is a sympathetic and cordial person ...
The money ran out a long time ago, there is nowhere to get it, even to borrow it. We sell things for pennies, and in Moscow and Ashgabat I have to get more than two thousand for the submitted work. Now money is not transferred here.
For some reason, I believe in you, Vsevolod Alexandrovich, and I know that if you want, you will help me get out of here.
I repeat, under general conditions, my heart will not stand it and I won’t get there alive ... I can’t walk at all and still carry the necessary luggage! ..
I firmly and affectionately shake your hand. Waiting for an answer: please answer immediately. Thank you for your sweet little book: how many words at a meeting !! I sent my Adriatic.

Igor Severyanin.

My address: Ust-Narova, Rahu st., 20 (Mirnaya).
My family consists of a wife and a 9-year-old girl.”

But it was too late to answer: the fascist troops had already occupied the Baltic states.

Much later it became known that Igor Severyanin, hopelessly ill, died in complete poverty on December 20, 1941 in occupied Tallinn and was buried there, in a common cemetery.

On his grave there is an inscription - a couplet taken from the collection "Classic Roses":

How good, how fresh the roses will be,
Thrown into my grave by my country!

It's time to draw some conclusions.

If Igor Severyanin's entire literary career had been limited to a few years of dizzying success with an unpretentious public, his poetry would have remained only a literary fact characterizing the tastes of bourgeois society on the eve of its inevitable catastrophe. But already due to the dissonance of critical responses collected for advertising reasons by the publisher of the first books of the poet V.V. Pashukanis and published in 1916, one could be convinced that the poetry of Igor Severyanin is a more complex phenomenon than it might seem at first glance.

Valery Bryusov, whose article opens the collection, noting the successes and failures of the Severyanin style, drawing the readers' attention to the author's primitive aestheticism, sometimes reaching "monstrous vulgarity", and explaining that "all the shortcomings of Igor Severyanin in his bad taste", nevertheless considered it is necessary to say that he considers the author of "The Thundering Cup", "Gold Lira", "Victoria Regia" a true poet. A.M. Gorky, sharply condemning the petty-bourgeois content of Igor Severyanin's poetry, also did not refuse him a gift.

The glory of this undoubted lyric really turned out to be ambiguous: through self-rapture, devoid of taste and tact, self-affirmation and the pose of a “genius” renovator of poetic language, sometimes the true face of a person capable of keenly experiencing personal pain, weighed down by a mask put on himself, tired of pleasing the cheap predilections of his admirers, was sometimes visible.

The wide popularity of Igor Severyanin in the initial, pre-revolutionary period of creativity largely depended on those verbal innovations with which the poet surprised the readership. He really managed to create, if not his own style, then, in any case, his own manner of expression, which could not enrich our poetry, for it was not born out of an internal need to find new means for embodying new thoughts, as happened later with Mayakovsky, a true reformer of poetry. speech. Mayakovsky's linguistic innovations were caused by deeply social reasons and met the needs of the revolutionary era, appealed to a vast public audience. Igor Severyanin, who considered himself an innovator, depended on the demands of a completely different social environment, moreover, historically doomed.

Now, when his literary path has long been completed, when we know all his books, including those published abroad, there is an opportunity to get a more complete picture of his creative path and the features of his talent.

Sat. "Criticism about the work of Igor Severyanin", M., 1916.

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V. Terekhin, N. Shubnikov-Gusev. "My ambiguous fame, my unambiguous talent...". Memoir biography of Igor Severyanin

“How little the combination of the words “Igor Severyanin” promises,” Boris Pasternak wrote in a letter to K. G. Loks, after hearing the poet’s poetry read at the Society of Free Aesthetics at the end of 1912. “Meanwhile,” he continued with surprise, “after the ambiguities, oscillating between cosmetics and acosmism, a poem follows, unfolded in all the splendor of rhythm and melody, which is composed of the names of ice cream, sung by the garcon in the square under the discordant splashing hubbub of tables. In this poem, for all its pretentiousness, - at the level of primitive observations, - the sadness of diversity, any variety, unconquered by integrity, is captured. As for further poems, they already have an open sea of ​​​​lyricism. I had to forget about Aesthetics, its gray upholstery, its deadness. What a pity that you did not have time to visit this Thursday.

From the Caspian to Ladoga...

One of the brightest Russian lyricists of the 20th century, Igor Severyanin (I.V. Lotarev, 1887-1941), was remembered by many contemporaries. But these evidences of interest in the poet were scattered in various, sometimes hard-to-reach publications, or were not published. It was believed that memoirists wrote almost nothing about him. In fact, this is not entirely true.

They wrote about the Severyanin. For some, he is a young, thirsty for fame poet under the pseudonym "Igor-Severyanin", for others - "loud-boiling" Igor Severyanin and the variety success of his poetic concerts, others recalled with gratitude how the poet "warmed up" their youth with his friendship and recognition. And only a few revealed the Russian soul of this man, who tasted the glory of the King of Poets and the bitterness of exile.

Among the memoirists are relatives and friends of the poet, artists and writers, as well as famous writers, critics and actors Zinaida Gippius, Georgy Ivanov, David Burliuk, Boris Pasternak, Yuri Olesha, Konstantin Paustovsky, Irina Odoevtseva, Vsevolod Rozhdestvensky, Alexander Deich, Ruben Simonov and a lot others.

Igor Severyanin met with bright and talented contemporaries - from Anastasia Chebotarevskaya to Alexandra Kollontai, who was the poet's cousin. “My path is surprising with love...”, the poet wrote. Igor Severyanin devoted many poems and autobiographical poems to his countless "falls in love". Women also did not ignore their poet. Nadezhda Teffi, whom he called "pale Iris", Olga Gzovskaya, Princess Arusya Shakhnazarova wrote memoirs about him.

The story about Igor Severyanin is supplemented by notes in diaries, letters from contemporaries, poems and parodies. The poet appreciated and knew how to keep those brief moments of meetings, which, as he was sure, are reflected in the character of a person, in his fate. For example, he annually celebrated the day of his acquaintance with the poet Konstantin Fofanov as the best holiday, a turning point in his biography. It is no coincidence that Igor Severyanin considered the fact of being born in May, on Spirits Day, to be a predestination of his poetic, spiritual career and wrote about it more than once, and the motives of spring, May, lilacs are generously scattered throughout his poems of different years:

I'm crowned on the morning of May
Under the young sunbeam.
Spring comes from paradise
The forehead will adorn me with a crown ...

This is the personification of the flowering of life, beauty, love, poetry.

On the contrary, Severyanin associated memories of the departed, of the past with “sleeping springs”. That is how the cycle of memoir essays about Fofanov, Bryusov, Sologub, Ignatiev, Chebotarevskaya, on which the poet worked in the 1920-1930s, was named. But, it must be admitted, poetic novels were closer to him in form. It was they who gave the poet during the years of emigration the opportunity to get rid of nostalgia for a while and talk about his childhood and youth. In his autobiographical books The Dew of the Orange Hour, Falling Rapids, Bells of the Cathedral of Feelings, he spoke with captivating sincerity about those who left their noticeable mark on his life. However, poetic memories are cut off at futuristic performances in 1914, and we can learn a lot about Igor Severyanin's biography only from his contemporaries.

Interesting stories emerge from the pages of their memoirs about Igor Severyanin's meetings with Balmont, Remizov, Tsvetaeva. Sometimes the proximity of materials from different genres helps to create an objective picture of the relationship between the poet and the memoirist.

What, for example, attracted Balmont in this strange lonely man?

Why did the proud and proud Balmont so cherish the meeting with the poet: "And we will sing and we will be light and cheerful." On February 17, 1927, Konstantin Balmont wrote about the desired hour of a meeting with the "phoned" Igor Severyanin in a poem dedicated to him.

To you, consonant, related, melodious,
Sing, my verse. Fog fell on the ground.
You were - I was - always - everywhere - with the Princess.
But the drum burst into the shots.
............
Our goodbye hour - remember? - was desired.
There, in Revel. We are both made of fire.
I love you, my Igor-Severyanin.
You speak your own - and for me!

Many memoirists captured the portrait of Igor Severyanin, finding in it a resemblance either to Oscar Wilde or to a red-skinned Indian. B. Livshits recalled that Severyanin "tried to be like Wilde." Actress O. V. Gzovskaya also saw "... outwardly resembling Oscar Wilde Igor Severyanin, who read, singing, his poems ...".

David Burliuk wrote about the outward resemblance of the poet to Karamzin, noticed at the first meeting: “Hiding behind the heavy red damask curtains, the candles are still glowing, and with their pale splashes, in front of me is an arrogant, mealy-colored face raised to the ceiling, with slightly puffy cheeks and nose.

See if he's wearing a camisole.

Before you is Catherine's grandee, the Severyanin himself felt in himself these even outward features of the eighteenth century, it is not for nothing that he several times reminds of his relationship with Karamzin. This desire to express these feelings in refined "gallicisms" is not groundless. And only such a poet could arise in St. Petersburg.

In the autobiographical poem "The Dew of the Orange Hour" Severyanin mentions among the people who were in the house of his parents, the son of Karamzin. Vadim Bayan recalled the clash between Severyanin and Mayakovsky:

“As you know, Severyanin was proud of his great-grandfather Karamzin and even dedicated a poem to him, which contains the lines<цит. вторая заключительная строфа>. Once Igor mechanically purred these lines. Mayakovsky immediately paraphrased them and, in the same tone as Severyanin, hissed a more prosaic version in a bass voice:

And my lot is not bitter at all!
I believe, my valiant grandfather,
That I am in poetry - an astoric,
How are you in "Astoria" - a poet.

This allusion to the "gastronomic" poetry of Severyanin and the poet's frequent visits to the restaurant of the new hotel "Astoria" in St. Petersburg jarred Igor, he frowned, stretched his face and "with dignity" turned to Mayakovsky:

Vladimir Vladimirovich, is it possible to parody my poems less often?

Mayakovsky, smiling broadly, said not without mockery:

Igor, baby, what's offensive here? Look how beautiful it is! Well, for example...

And then he improvised some new poisonous parody of Severyanin's poems. Igor had no choice but to come to terms with this "inevitable evil" and in the future to meet such parodies with smiles.

As you know, one of the critics, V. Gippius, called Severyanin’s genealogy, “very instructive in general”, flattering and unflattering in relation to neologisms: “The neologisms of the ancient sentimentalist were not particularly fiction, but they strove to Russify the nasty dictionary - still of the dandy’s Elizabethan origin French in Russian speech in the most tasteless way. The whim of the "descendant of Karamzin" is expressed, unfortunately, in the desire to French where people have long been accustomed to speaking Russian, and sometimes in mixing French with Nizhny Novgorod. His new words with Russian roots are composed according to two or three templates taken in advance, therefore they are full of monotonous and far-fetched.

With his reading, his melodic melodiousness, he literally fascinated and bewitched the audience. Friends and enemies of the poet left vivid records of Severyanin reading or singing his poems. Here are lines from the memoirs of A. M. Argo, which were not included in this book: “As a rule, acting poetry reading differs significantly from the author's.<...>Poets for the most part go too far in the direction of melodious pronunciation, sacrificing the meaning, content and plot of their poems in the name of euphony and melodiousness. According to contemporaries, this is how Pushkin read his poems, and many poets before him, starting with Horace and Ovid.<...>

Just as singsongly, neglecting the inner meaning of the verse, Igor Severyanin uttered his works in a completely monotonous way, but here there was a different presentation and a different reception from the public. With long, yard-long steps in a long black frock coat, a tall man with a horse-like oblong face came out onto the stage; clasping his hands behind his back, spreading his legs with scissors and firmly planting them on the ground, he looked in front of him, seeing no one and not wanting to see, and proceeded to chant his chanted caesura stanzas. He did not notice the audience, did not pay any attention to it, and it was this style of performance that delighted the audience, caused a certain reaction from a contingent of a certain type. Everything was planned, prepared and executed. The poet began with a neutral "blue" sound:

It was at mo-o-or ...

In the next half line, he flaunted the pronunciation of Russian vowels in some foreign way, namely: "where is the openwork pe-e-na"; then came the third half-line: "where re-edko meets," and the half-stanza ended with a double word: "city carriage" - and here one could catch the click of the latch of the garden gate, this male rhyme sounded short, sharp and clear. The material of the second couplet was distributed in the same way:

Queen of the game-a-ala
in the tower of the castle Shope-e-na,
And, listening to Shop-en,
fell in love with her page!

Of course, here the shamanistic presentation of the text played a role, and the poet's emphasized indifference, and the very rhymes, to which iron controversy imparted hypnotic power: "foam - Chopin, page - crew." We must do justice: there was not much ideological content here, the content was not painfully deep, but you couldn’t get enough of the external brilliance! Having finished reading, having slammed the ringing latch of the supporting rhyme for the last time, Severyanin was moving away with the same yard-long steps, not giving a bow, a look, or a smile to the public, which in its known part was melting, mellowing and bleeding with the juices of admiration for the "real", "pure "poetry".

Georgy Shengeli ended his poems “On the death of Igor Severyanin” in this way:

And there is no one from the Caspian,
and there is no one to Ladoga,
Who, hearing you, would not bring you
love with a full cup ...

"Ambiguous Glory"

Collected together, memories of Igor Severyanin make up his memoir biography. About the young years of the poet, spent in the far northern side, on the banks of the Suda River (near the village of Vladimirovka), where the poet's uncle, Mikhail Petrovich Lotarev, had a small estate, his cousin Lidia Vechernyaya and Georgy Zhurov tell. It was a happy time. For days on end, and sometimes for days, Igor disappeared on the river or in the forest with a familiar hunter. He liked to listen and wrote down peasant colloquial speech, folk songs in a book. Later, Igor Severyanin, to whom a number of critics, even serious and benevolent ones, denied the nationality, called "the dialect of huts" the inspirer of his searches.

Even before the publication of The Thundering Cup (1913), the poetry of Igor Severyanin captivated contemporaries. Valery Bryusov, who did not personally know him, sent him several of his books: three volumes of "Roads and Crossroads", the story "Fiery Angel" and translations from Verlaine. On the first volume of poems there was an inscription: “To Igor Severyanin as a sign of love for his poetry. Valery Bryusov. “I don’t know if you like my poems,” wrote the recognized poetic master in 1911, “but I positively like yours.”

As soon as on March 4, 1913, the collection of poems by Severyanin “The Thundering Cup” was published, A. M. Gorky, worried “how to get books by Igor Severyanin”, sent on April 4 from Capri an insistent request to V. V. Shaikevich: “Very interested in the “futurists” , in particular, Igor Severyanin, whom Sollogub - he is the old man Teternikov with a wart - calls "the most brilliant poet of our time."

And the point is not that for Gorky the demand expressed in a letter to D. N. Semenovsky on May 26, 1913 remained the first: “Rus' needs a great poet. There are many talented ones, even Igor Severyanin is gifted! And we need a great poet, like Pushkin, like Mickiewicz, like Schiller, we need a poet - a democrat and a romantic, because we, Rus', are a democratic and young country.<...>Do not forget that literature here, in Rus', is a sacred matter, the greatest matter.

The expectation of such a poet did not exclude the original existence of Igor Severyanin, whose books Gorky was impatiently waiting for, probably not suspecting that Dmitry Semenovsky, together with Yakov Korobov, had just published in Vladimir a booklet of parodies on Severyanin "Silver Moon Ornament" (in the spirit of his early brochures).

“I don’t think it was necessary to prove,” V. Bryusov wrote, “that Igor Severyanin is a true poet. Anyone who can understand poetry will feel it, who will read The Thundering Cup.

But fame came to Severyanin even earlier and, as usual, after the scandal. On January 12, 1910, Leo Tolstoy burst into "a flood of indignation at the obviously ironic "Habanera"" of a young, then unknown poet ("Around - the gallows, hordes of the unemployed, murders, incredible drunkenness, and they have the elasticity of a cork!"):

Let us plunge the corkscrew into the elasticity of the cork,
And the eyes of women will not be timid ...

“The all-Russian press,” Severyanin remarked, “raised a howl and wild hooting, which made me immediately known throughout the country! ..” Everyone forgot the positive part of Tolstoy’s review, who “especially liked this poem”. This is how legends were created.

The ambiguous glory accompanied Igor Severyanin all his life and obscured the true image of the poet. Feuilletons were written about him, cartoons and caricatures were drawn, he was parodied. “Sorin is already drawing me, / Chukovsky is writing a feuilleton ...”, the poet wrote in his autobiographical novel Leander's Piano.

The name of Severyanin, according to I. Bunin, “was known not only to all high school students, students, students, young officers, but even many clerks, paramedics, salesmen, cadets ...”

The Bureau of Newspaper Clippings sent him fifty clippings a day, reviews full of enthusiasm or rage, feuilletons, caricatures. His books had an unprecedented circulation for poetry, the huge hall of the City Duma in St. Petersburg did not accommodate everyone who wanted to get to his “poetic evenings”. It was a real, somewhat acting glory. Interest in the poetry of Igor Severyanin became a sign of the times, not without reason Korney Chukovsky wrote to his colleague S. M. Botkin in September 1913: “But we have a lot in common<...>both love literature and art most of all - we both live on the shores of the Gulf of Finland and both revel in Igor Severyanin.

“What did Severyanin tempt us then?” - Arseniy Formakov asked a question. And he answered: “First of all, of course, dissimilarity to others. The originality of melodious speech, freshness, simplicity and cordiality. Along with this, there were sonority, bravado, oratorical pathos, formal skill, many of the poetic rhythms and intonations he set in motion are still alive.

Even V. Khlebnikov, who called Severyanin “Usyplyanin”, in a letter to M. V. Matyushin in April 1915, reported: “For me, there are 3 things: 1) me; 2) war; 3) Igor Severyanin?!!!”

A lot of critical responses and memoirs were caused by Igor Severyanin's verse manifestos “Prologue. "Ego-futurism" and "Epilogue. "Ego-futurism". Zinaida Gippius considered that the first stanza and, especially, the first line of the Epilogue, Severyanin brought into the light of God and defined it so naively and precisely that it is impossible to invent better, “the central Bryusov, passion, his soul burned.<...>Bryusov's "sigh" of his whole life was refracted into Igorev's "achievement". There is no need that only Igor himself is convinced that he has "achieved". For "he who is intoxicated with his victory" it makes no difference whether he is intoxicated with imaginary or real victory.

Viktor Hovin, who gave presentations at Severyanin's poetry concerts, remarked: "I am alone in my task," writes Igor Severyanin, "and this is not only an expression of the poet's personal mood, but really fidelity to the artistic conscience, not tempted by doctrinairism, faith into a blessed, divine intuition."

"From now on, my cloak is purple..."

On February 27, 1918, in the overcrowded Great Auditorium of the Polytechnic Museum, the evening "Election of the King of Poets" took place. It was attended by Vladimir Mayakovsky, Konstantin Balmont and Igor Severyanin. "Universal, direct, equal and secret ballot" this title was awarded to Severyanin. The second place was taken by Mayakovsky, the third - by Balmont. Such was the true triumph of the poet.

Today, the details of this event are forgotten. To some it seems funny, to others - significant and serious. And what was really? Did Igor Severyanin deservedly receive the title of King of Poets?..

A participant in that competition, S. D. Spassky, recalled that everyone was allowed to perform: “The presidium was sitting on the stage. The famous clown Vladimir Durov presided.

The hall was packed to capacity. The poets walked in a long line. It was crowded on the stage, like in a tram ... Mayakovsky read "Revolution"<по другим сведениям - отрывок из поэмы "Облако в штанах">, barely having the opportunity to wave his hands ... He threw words to the top rows, in a hurry to meet the deadline allotted to him.

But he was not the "king". The northerner arrived towards the end of the program. Here he was in his usual coat. He stood in the artistic room, rigid and "separate".

I wrote a rondo today, - he gritted through his teeth to a fan who was spinning around.

Went to the stage, sang old poems from the "Cup". Having fulfilled the contract, he left. The counting of notes began. Mayakovsky ran out onto the stage and returned to the artistic room, his eyes sparkling. Without attaching much importance to the result, he nevertheless became interested in the game. His constant excitement, passion for all kinds of competitions affected.

Only they put me and Severyanina. My left, him right.

Severyanin collected a little more notes than Mayakovsky.

The magazine "Rampa and Life" reported: "The audience applauded, whistled, scolded, stamped their feet, drove the artists who read the poems of Bunin and Blok." The northerner made three poems: "Spring Day", "It was by the sea", "Meet to part." Read "crystal, sunny, flowing." One of the most famous poems by Severyanin “Spring Day”, dedicated to the poet K. M. Fofanov, the author especially liked to read from the stage.

“I also read Spring Day,” Mayakovsky said.

Spring day is hot and golden, -
The whole city is blinded by the sun!
I am again - me: I am young again!
I'm happy and in love again!

The soul sings and rushes into the field,
I call all strangers on "you" ...
What space! what a will!
What songs and flowers!

Hurry up - in a cart over potholes!
Hurry - to the young meadows!
Look into the face of ruddy women,
Like a friend, kiss an enemy!

Make noise, spring oak forests!
Grow grass! blossom, lilac!
There are no guilty: all people are right
On such a blessed day!

A week after the election, the almanac "Poezokontsert" was published, opening with a photograph with the inscription: "The King of Poets Igor Severyanin." On March 9, the evening of the “King of Poets Igor Severyanin” took place at the Polytechnic Museum - the last of the twenty-three poetry evenings he held in Moscow in 1915-1918. Perhaps it was then that the "King's Rescript" was first heard:

From now on, my cloak is purple,
Beretta velvet in silver:
I have been chosen as the king of poets
To the envy of a boring midge.

Coryphaeus do not like me -
They are uncomfortable with my talent:
They were cheated by woodsofei
And no longer weave garlands.

Only to me admiration and worship
And glory spicy incense,
Mine - love and chants! -
Inaccessible verses.

I'm so big and so sure
So convinced of myself
That I will forgive everyone and every faith
I will give you my respectful regards.

In the shower - impulsive greetings
Uncountable number.
I have been chosen as the king of poets -
Let there be light for the subjects!

The evening of poetry was literally a milestone for the poet, whose return to the “coniferous monastery”, to the Estonian Toila at the end of March 1918, coincided with the Brest-Litovsk redistribution of borders and turned into a twenty-year emigration for Severyanin.

According to the memoirs of A. Formakov, it is known in what grave condition the poet was abroad. “At that time - regularly once a year, usually in winter, Severyanin left for Europe, earning money by reading poetry and publishing his books, where and how he could. One has only to wonder how he managed - in the then state of Russian book publishing abroad - to still publish seventeen collections of his poetry.<...>From everything it was clear that in material terms his life was difficult, and even very. At first, as a novelty, his poetry evenings in the Baltics and Poland met with some success. Then he began to perform in Riga cinemas, in divertissement between sessions, which was then in vogue. He tried to "save face", demanded that magicians or cheeky singers not perform with him. Soon, however, this opportunity to earn money also disappeared.

"You are... Artisan..."

But the title of the king of poets was not only deserved by him - the Severyanin later remained the King of Poets, he was reckoned with as a King, he was admired as a King, he was overthrown as a King ...

In the Reval newspaper Posledniye Izvestia, in a report on Igor Severyanin's "first tour" in Estonia, they ironically remarked: "Even for the Kings of Poetry, there is no special way in our democratic days of the "revolutionary period of art."<...>The poet was nevertheless raised "by the people to the shield" - the public gave him his due.

As the king of poets, Sergei Prokofiev addressed Severyanin in 1922 (he signed futuristically, with only consonants - SPrkfv):

“Do not be angry at the call for impartiality. After all, you are not only an Artificer, but also a King. It is the duty of the King to protect his subjects…”

It is no coincidence that in the note “S. S. Prokofiev’s Concerto” in the “New Russian Word” (New York), the composer’s bold and original manner was compared with the work of his old acquaintance, Igor Severyanin: “The tenderly longing melody characteristic of classicism is replaced by bold challenges of impressionism... The work of Sergei Prokofiev in music is reminiscent of Igor Severyanin in poetry.” Unfortunately, the author added, the works of S. Prokofiev "are little accessible to the understanding of the general public, like everything that is especially elegant and boldly original."

In May 1923, one of Severyanin's acquaintances presented him with a book by Boris Gusman, just published in Russia, One Hundred Poets. Literary portraits” with a dedicatory inscription: “In memory of the one whose name is on page 237 of this book. If it were not compiled alphabetically by the authors, then undoubtedly the name would probably be where "Adalis" is now written. M. Kabanov. May 1923” (Literary Museum of Estonia, Tartu).

Marina Tsvetaeva, in an unsent letter to Severyanin, sharing her impressions of his performance in Paris (1931), “on behalf of truth and poetry” admitted: “This was the result. Twenty years. (What!) Perhaps no one's heart was beating like mine, for others (everyone!) listened to their youth, their twenty years (then!). Except me. I staked on the strength of the poet. Who will win - he or time! And he pulled: You.

In foreign countries, Igor Severyanin really worked a lot, wrote not only the usual poetry, but succeeded in complex poetic forms, he himself was the inventor of many, which he described in detail in The Theory of Versification. His autobiographical novels The Dew of the Orange Hour, Falling Rapids, Bells of the Cathedral of Feelings found both an interested reader and ironic criticism. V. V. Shulgin, who met with the poet during his trips around Yugoslavia, recalled: “At that time, he seemed to be ashamed of what he wrote in his youth; all those "pineapples in champagne", all that talented and original antics that made him famous. The glory is well-deserved, because Igor Severyanin's young break was fresh and fragrant. But years have passed: he has aged, according to some, has grown - according to others. He wanted to become a "serious" poet; I wanted to "bronze my granite" [an expression of you. Shulgin]".

From myself - in the old days of the poseur,
Who loved the delights of spiritual hops -
I go once a month to the lakes
There, there - "for distant lands" ...

An almost impenetrable swamp.
Rotten shit. And suddenly - a mountainous forest,
Where are the pines - the masts of the future fleet -
Dressed in irreplaceable attire...

"And soon the spring day will come..."

“To the humility of the reconciling water”, to the “nightingales of the monastery garden”, to the dream of a “resurrected Russia”, to “crown love”, Severyanin addresses. He acquired that “light and naturally free breath”, which, as Nikolai Otsup noted, is rarely seen in modern poets. The best poems of 1922-1930 were included in the book "Classic Roses" published under the auspices of the Yugoslav Academy of Sciences. Among the variety of lyrical landscapes, portraits, confessions there is a poem “And it will be soon ...” about a spring day - but how far it is from the former intoxication with the joy of life! Between two spring days, a tragic period of Russian history seemed to lie in that deeply personal, intimate refraction that is characteristic of Igor Severyanin:

And the spring day will come soon
And we'll go home to Russia...
You put on a silk hat:
You are especially beautiful in it ...

And there will be a holiday ... big, big,
Which were not, perhaps,
Since the creation of the entire globe of the earth,
So funny and goofy...

And you whisper: "We're not in a dream? .."
I will pinch you with laughter
And sob, praying for spring
And kissing the Russian land!

Twenty years have passed since the triumphant election of the king of poets. It seemed that Severyanin had lost everything: he was tormented by illness and lack of money, his family broke up, he had no home, the books remained in manuscript, and the collections “Medallions” and “Adriatic” published at the expense of the author did not compensate for the losses ...

And homesickness...

In the Literary Museum of Estonia (Tartu), Severyanin's notebook is kept among the unique archival materials. On one of the pages one can barely read the lines of a poetic draft:

I could only be born in Russia
Everything Russian was counted in me:
Religiosity, longing, rebellion,
Cruelty, tenderness, vice and pity,
And hopelessness, and the light of hope.

It was not for nothing that the well-known critic Pyotr Pilsky emphasized in the late 1920s: “The former Petersburg has long since disappeared, its fractures and fractures have ended, Severyanin has become a permanent resident of the lovely Toylovskaya wilderness, cursed civilization - and at the same time the whole culture, - made friends with silence, -

He wilted, delighting the demons of the capital,
The pain that caused more than one ...
I'll put on a fresh dress!
I will breathe fresh air!

Much has changed, but not everything - Igor Severyanin himself remained unchanged. Communication with nature, with lakes, solitude did not corrode his faith in himself. As before, he is stubborn, persistent and arrogant. This man settled down in many ways - he remained the same wasteful manufacturer or creator of verbal innovations.

Thus, changeable and constant, known to all and completely misunderstood, the poet appears on the pages of this book.

Notes

My ambiguous glory...

Scenario literary and musical evening

(To the 120th anniversary of the birth of Igor Severyanin)

In the center of the hall on the piano is a portrait of the famous Silver Age poet Igor Severyanin. Candlestick, flowers are located near the portrait. The chairs are located as close as possible to the piano, thus creating a chamber atmosphere. There is a screen by the piano for demonstration of documentary shots, a video presentation dedicated to the biography of the poet. Classical music sounds (recorded). The audience and artists take their places. The pianist comes out. Sounds like Chopin's Nocturne. The presenter takes the stage a minute later.

presenter (to the music):

Good afternoon dear friends! We look forward to our new meeting in the Literary Lounge! Russia at the beginning of the 20th century gave the world the Silver Age and with it the poetry of emotions, symbols and prophecies. Many bright stars shone in the sky of the Silver Age. One of them is Igor the Severyanin, who proclaimed himself a genius and was recognized by his fans as the King of Poets. His pen belongs to poems so different that sometimes it seems that they cannot be written by one person. Lyrical sonnets, full of irony and parody of "poetry", filled with romantic reverie "dream farces" ... probably, any admirer of poetry, whatever his poetic tastes, can find in Severyanin's poems something that will become a reflection of his feelings and thoughts. Let's open our meeting with the poems of the poet.

The reader performs poem by Igor Severyanin

Musical number (dance "Charleston")

Presenter:

So, who was Igor Severyanin? Why did he, and not someone else, receive the honorary title of "King of Poets"?

Let's turn to interesting facts from his life. In fact, Severyanin is a literary pseudonym. Igor Vasilievich Lotarev, this is the real name of the poet, was born on May 4 (16), 1887 in St. Petersburg. His father, Vasily Petrovich, a military engineer (a native of the "Vladimir philistines"), who rose to the rank of staff captain, died in 1904 at the age of forty-four. His mother came from the well-known noble family of the Shenshins, to which A.A. Fet (1820-1892) belonged, and the threads of kinship connected him with the famous historian N.M. Karamzin. In 1896, the parents divorced and the future poet left with his father, who had retired by that time, to Cherepovets. And after the death of his father, in 1904, he settled with his mother in Gatchina. He studied nothing at all, finished four classes of the Cherepovets real school.

Severyanin began writing poetry at the age of 8. But neither childhood nor youthful experiences attracted the attention of readers and criticism, and the poet had to publish more than thirty different brochures at his own expense, sending them out for review to the editors of magazines and eminent people (“Zarnitsy thought”, 1908, “Intuitive colors ”, 1908, “Princess Necklace” 1910, “Electric Poems”, 1910, etc.).

Lotarev's teacher and mentor, the poet Konstantin Fofanov, helped him come up with a pseudonym. The pseudonym first appeared on the cover of the 1908 pamphlet Lightning of Thought. Moreover, it is interesting that the poet insisted on writing a pseudonym " Igor-Severyanin» through a hyphen, since for him Northerner was a middle name, not a surname. According to one version, the pseudonym Northerner emphasizes the "northern" origin of the poet. In addition, in his youth, Lotarev had other pseudonyms - "Mimosa", "Needle" and "Count Evgraf D" Aksangraf.

Glory to Severyanin came in September 1909. One journalist read to Leo Tolstoy an erotic trio of the 22-year-old poet:

"Put the corkscrew into the resilience of the cork,

And the eyes of women will not be timid!

The fury of the count was boundless: "Around the gallows, murders, funerals, and they have a corkscrew in a traffic jam." Soon these words were replicated in many newspapers. From then until now, it has become good form for critics to scold Igor Severyanin . And the readers knew and know: if they scold, then they must read. Less than six months after the verse that excited Leo Tolstoy and excited the whole country, a new masterpiece appeared:

It was by the sea, where openwork foam,
Where the city crew is rare...
The queen played - in the tower of the castle - Chopin,
And, listening to Chopin, fell in love with her page.

Everything was very simple, everything was very nice:
The queen asked to cut the pomegranate,
And she gave half, and exhausted the page,
And the page fell in love, all in the motives of sonatas.

And then gave up, gave up thunderously,
Until sunrise, the mistress slept like a slave ...
It was by the sea, where the wave is turquoise,
Where is the openwork foam and the sonata of the page.

Is it any wonder that in the camp of opponents there were immediately talented imitators. It is impossible not to read the wonderful parody of I. Severyanin's contemporary poet A. Shiryaevts, which absolutely accurately conveys the rhythm and intonation of Severyanin's verse:

It was at the square where they eat curdled milk,

Where is the fruit water, that was yesterday.

There Glasha said to me: “Oh, I swear, I will be yours!

And I swear that my mother is very kind!"

But where is the mother? - I said turning pale.

Oh, it’s impossible without a mother - I’m a poet and an esthete!

But Glasha answered: “I don’t dare without my mother.

I will be yours with my mother, without my mother - no!

And she left without saying goodbye, without eating yogurt,

And the melancholy oppressed me until dawn.

I wanted by decree, without priests, without mother.

So I broke up with Glasha. It was yesterday.

Musical number (dance "Matchish")

Presenter:

Although the poet lived in exile until 1941, his poetic Silver Age fits in only 9 years - from 1909 to the beginning of 1918. In 1911, in order to consolidate his success, and, perhaps, in order to create a theoretical basis for his poetic work, the ideological and substantive basis of which was the most common opposition of the poet to the crowd, Severyanin founded the Ego circle in St. Petersburg, from which ego-futurism began.

And a little later, in January 1912, the "Academy of egopoetry" was created in St. Petersburg, under the roof of which, around their leader I. Severyanin, G. Ivanov, K. Olympov and Grail-Arelsky, who had not yet had literary experience, united. They issued a manifesto of universal egofuturism under the loud title "Tablets of egopoetry". However, the current did not last long. Only a year has passed between the "Prologue of Egofuturism" and its "Epilogue". After a fierce polemic, the founding fathers of Olympov and Severyanin, after saying many unpleasant words to each other, dispersed; then Grail-Arelsky and G. Ivanov publicly renounced the "Academy" ... In fairness, it must be said that, apart from Igor Severyanin, this movement did not produce a single bright poet.

During these years, the glory of the Severyanin truly bordered on idolatry. Poetry evenings were bursting with enthusiastic public, collections of poems were produced in huge editions and snapped up like hot cakes. Severyanin was particularly successful in his "poetry concerts", with which he traveled almost all over Russia, and after emigration he performed in Europe. The collection of his poems "The Thundering Cup", which was accompanied by an enthusiastic preface by Fyodor Sologub, won unprecedented recognition from readers and withstood nine editions from 1913 to 1915!

For some time, Severyanin teamed up with the Cubo-Futurists (Mayakovsky, D. Burlyuk and Kamensky), whom he joined during their tour of the cities of southern Russia in 1914 and took part in their performances in the Crimea. But Severyanin and Mayakovsky are truly ice and fire, is it any wonder that the union was very, very short-lived! The last straw in the relationship between the two poets was the date of February 27, 1918. In the election of the king of poets in Moscow, at the Polytechnic, Severyanin won first place. The second was Mayakovsky, the third went to K. Balmont. I. Severyanin, as it should be for the king, publishes the poetic "King's Rescript".

From now on, my cloak is purple,

Beret velvet in silver:

I have been chosen as the king of poets

To the envy of a boring midge.

I'm so big and so sure

I'm so convinced of myself

That I will forgive everyone and every faith

I give my respectful regards...

... I have been elected the king of poets, -

Let there be light for the subjects!

1918

Music number. O. Podvorchan "I like it" (M. Tsvetaeva, M. Tariverdiev)

Presenter:

At the beginning of 1918, together with his sick mother Igor Severyanin leaves hungry Petrograd for the Estonian village of Toila. In February 1920, Estonia declared itself an independent republic. The poet ended up on the other side of the Russian border. For many years he was not left longing for his homeland. "I'm not an emigrant or a refugee. I'm just a summer resident," I. Severyanin said about himself.

In 1921, in Toila, Severyanin marries the daughter of a local carpenter, Felice Kruut, a stately, gray-eyed girl. Well-read, she wrote poetry herself and helped the poet with translations from the Estonian language. Marriage finally connects Severyanin with Toila. The poet fell in love with the sun-drenched surrounding meadows, tall pines, the shore, which offers a beautiful view of the sea. A true fisherman, he fished for hours on the river and on the lakes.

With Felissa, they lived together for 15 years. He dedicated his best love poems to her.

You are not at all like other women:
You have moderately long dresses,
You have an expressive, restrained verse
And slipping out of the embrace
You don't paint your face, you don't thicken your eyebrows
And you don’t cut your hair as a sacrifice to fashion.

But in 1935 Severyanin parted with his beloved and left Toila. He has a new life partner - Vera Borisovna Korendi, a young gymnasium teacher. The attraction didn't last long. Realizing what a mistake he made, the poet tries to return to his wife, writing to her: “I am dying for you ... Do not reject, Felissa: everything is in your hands - and my creativity, and my peace, and my cloudless joy.” However, Felissa did not forgive him.

During the years of emigration, Severyanin published 17 books, but there were fewer and fewer readers, the circulation of books was scanty, and even they did not disperse. The last years the poet spent in need and obscurity. ". He was starving. For whole days he fished from his blue boat and from the sparkling water ripples began to lose his sight.

He once came to Paris. They gave him an evening where he read simple and sad poems: “I have a blue boat, I have a poetess wife. The last ended with the words: “So what is it like to be a poet In your cruel land ...”

Difficult years have come for the poet. He suffered a lot outside of his homeland. In letters from that time, Severyanin constantly complains about the lack of money, debts, and complete loneliness. He died on December 20, 1941 in German-occupied Tallinn, in poverty and obscurity, far from his homeland. He was only 55 years old.

Remained verses, like an epitaph:

They will put me in a porcelain coffin
On the fabric of apple snowflakes,
And they will bury (.. like Suvorov ..)
Me, the newest of the new.
Horses will not carry the poet
A century will give a motor for a hearse.
You will put bouquets on the coffin:
Mimosa, lily, violet.
Under the sparks of orchestral music,
Under the breath of pampered raspberries,
She, whom I so greeted,
Shoot the polonaise Owl.
Everyone will be happy and sunny
Mercy illuminates the faces,
And luminous, halo
My immortality will warm everyone!

Musical number (romance "Fragrant clusters of white acacia")

Leading:

A coquettish and gentle ego-futurist, a singer of courtesans, he remained like the Art Nouveau buildings, miraculously preserved to this day. Russia was not mistaken in choosing him as the king of poets. Mayakovsky is a tribune, Blok is a prophet, and Severyanin is just a king. Reading his poems, people, even if not for long, only for about nine years, felt themselves not subjects, but kings.

Musical number (dance "Tango")

At the end of the evening, all participants go on stage. Presentation of participants.