Do not laugh at a grandmother in a shiny jacket. Family stories: Inna Bronstein and Yakov Bunimovich

bliss

Inna Yakovlevna Bronstein

What a blessing to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, it means you are alive.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!

What a blessing in old age
Go to the toilet with your feet.
And then - on the way back
And quickly dive under the covers.
And wake up in the morning, wake up and get up
And walk, talk and breathe again.

What bliss to walk around the market
And buy a new sweater one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini bliss
In the stream of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often ...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny sweater.

What a blessing to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you - thanks to sclerosis.

What a blessing to walk through the forest,
Besides, popsicle in chocolate lick.
After all, after breakfast, I'm on a diet for an hour,
And I deserve these joys.
Walking, I'll burn out the calories,
Which means I'll be back for lunch.

What bliss to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair
But just a fright and a little shake.
Now you will agree with me, friends,
Which, after all, I am very lucky.

What a blessing, you know it yourself
When you lay down and already fall asleep ...
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning
No insomnia! I fall asleep ... Hooray!

What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in the house we have a good and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!

What a blessing to stand under the shower
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I did it myself.
How good I am! Don't go crazy...

What bliss: the hand hurts,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if the right hand ached?
Let's note that in life I'm lucky so far.
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blessed, there is a reason.

What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And this bliss to drink to the drop.
And there already legs, groaning, stretch,
But to wake up tomorrow - and go!
So all pedestrians are blissful, sort of.
And where do drivers find joy?

What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the recipe.
Bought blood pressure pills
Side effects in them: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I'll throw those pills away right away.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension, of course, is more useful.

What bliss to crawl from the market,
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
That the banana raises our mood.
How happy monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.
Unlike them, I am always alone,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think brothers!
I came up with lines to laugh.

What bliss fate has given me
- I forgot my bag, and then I found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street,
And, further in the tram I go thoughtlessly.
Enough, returned and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!
Today I found not only a loss
I have regained faith in people!
For a thousand good - one bastard.
You can live, and I lived to gray hair.
I throw happy glances at the bag,
And I don’t need other blessings today.
And if I hadn't lost my purse,
Why would I be blissful?

What a blessing! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my astonished friends.
And like a queen in the backseat
I sit in a delightful stupor.
And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back of the head is cute with a golden tail.
Bliss like this will not experience
Only the one who habitually drives around in a car.

What a blessing it is to have a ticket
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled, the sick are walking by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I among others still - oh-hoo!
As long as I don't have any pain.
And if it hurts, then just a little.
I just made my way to the doctor.

What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for a change
And, without incident, crawl gradually.
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What a blessing! Hooray! Guard!

Inna Bronstein.

Behind the glossy cover of the Beatitudes

Inna Yakovlevna graduated from the Kharkov Pedagogical Institute in 1954. She was offered graduate school, but she, who adored the actress Maretskaya and the film "Rural Teacher", abandoned her academic career and went to work in a rural school. And still considers this time the best in his life.

She lost her son and husband. Left all alone. In order not to go crazy, she composed short poems for herself, most of which began with the words “what bliss!”. In fact, she invented a new genre. It turned out that these Beatitudes, in which a deep content is hidden behind an impeccable humorous form, help to live not only for her, but also for many others. The poems instantly spread around the world thanks to the Internet and won the hearts of readers in different countries: in Belarus and Russia, in Israel and America, in Australia and Germany ...

In her room, on a bookshelf next to a photograph of her son Yasha, a drawing by Devi Tushinsky and a small album by Chagall, there is a bust of Yakov Bronstein, father of IYA, by the sculptor Zair Azg hooray. Azgur - People's Artist of the USSR, winner of two Stalin Prizes, was friends with the parents of Inna Yakovlevna (Azgur studied painting with Marc Chagall at the Vitebsk Artistic and Practical m institute).

So...
Once upon a time there was a happy family: father Yakov Bronstein, mother Maria Minkina and two children, five-year-old Inna and two-year-old Roma. Papa Yakov, a graduate of Moscow University, was a well-known literary critic in Belarus, a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences of the BSSR, a professor, a member of the Writers' Union of the USSR, and a secretary of the Jewish section of the Union of Belarusian Writers. Mom Maria was a teacher, her books on preschool education are still used in kindergartens.

It seems that this photo was taken after the wedding, 1930, dad told mom: “Marunka, we will never part with you, unless it is required the consignment."

They were romantics, Yakov and his friend, the famous Jewish poet Izi Harik, who was considered a classic, his poems were then in all textbooks. By the way, Izi Harika's wife, Dina, also worked in a kindergarten and was friends with Inna's mother Maria, who often helped Dina in her work. Husbands worked almost around the clock. Here, in Minsk, by the 1930s one of the largest centers of Yiddish culture was formed. It is today that no one speaks or thinks in Yiddish in the republic, the language is on the verge of complete extinction, a great culture has practically perished ... And then the literary and cultural life was in full swing, it was the heyday of the young JewRussian poetry in the country, and they were at the epicenter of this life.

Izzy Harik. Photo from the Hesed Museum, Minsk.

... Yakov Bronstein was arrested on June 6, Izi Harik on September 11, 1937, the arrest warrant was signed by Tsanava with his own hand. Together with Izi Harik, more than 20 people, representatives of the Jewish creative intelligentsia, were arrested. All of them were accused of actions directed against the Soviet regime. The accusations for each were written as a blueprint: “Undermining the state industry, transport, trade, money circulation, cooperation, committing terrorist acts, participation in an anti-Soviet organization, participation in a militant terrorist group that prepared and carried out the murder of S.M. Kirov, communication with German and Polish intelligence services, from which he received assignments of a spy, sabotage and terrorist nature, carried out active counter-revolutionary Trotskyist activities in the field of literature cheers and seals.
The verdict of the court, with rare exceptions, was the same for everyone - execution. On the night of October 28-29, the NKVD executed about a hundred figures of Belarusian culture, including 22 writers, including Izya Kharik and Yakov Bronstein. Total in Belarus in the 20-50s. 238 writers were arrested. Only about 20 of them returned get out of the camps.

Inna's mother Maria Minkina was sent to ALZHIR in 1937. If anyone thinks that this is a hot African resort country, he is mistaken. ALZHIR is the Akmola camp for the wives of traitors to the motherland. Inna's mother served 8 years in Algeria. Her neighbor in the barracks was Ashkhen Nalbandyan, Bulat Okudzhava's mother.

5-year-old Inna and her two-year-old brother Roman were sent to different orphanages. The NKVD officers came to the house and told the children: “Your dad asked me to take you to the cinema.” Grandfather stood in the corner, crying and silent. Inna remembers how the door was nailed crosswise with boards. Then a distributor, a long line of children, in front, far above the heads of the children, the white headscarves of women who registered and distributed children to orphanages. Inna tightly held her brother's hand, this is the only native person who remained with her, a five-year-old, grown-up girl. The aunts in headscarves said: “You are already big, there are few toys where you will be, and your brother is small, and we will send him to where there are a lot of toys.” One aunt snatched her brother's hand, and Romain was carried away.

Mom managed to throw a note out of the window of a freight car, which contained the address of her sisters in Moscow and a request to inform them that she was alive and was being taken to the East. So relatives found out about what had happened and began to look for children - Roman and Inna. Yakov Minkin, my mother's brother, was a shock worker. He achieved a meeting with Kalinin, and he instructed to provide information about the fate of the children. Relatives found the children, Inna was taken away by Aunt Rakhil, her father's sister and her husband Uncle Mark. Roman was taken away by his mother's sisters. 17-year-old Lyubushka Kuntsevich studied at a medical school and worked as a housekeeper with the Bronsteins. When the children were taken to the orphanage, she was at the school. Returning home and seeing the boarded up door, she went to the NKVD to find out where the children were. The policeman simply told her: “Get out of here, otherwise you will be where the Bronsteins are.”

In 2012, Inna Yakovlevna turned 80.
Once she told her students: “I am a fossil who has survived everything that I talk about in class ...”.

What a blessing to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you - thanks to sclerosis.

What a blessing, you know it yourself
When you lay down and already fall asleep ...
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning
No insomnia! I fall asleep ... Hooray!
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in the house we have a good and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!
What a blessing to stand under the shower
Wash and become clean again,

And to know that I did it myself.
How good I am! Don't go crazy...
What bliss: the hand hurts,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if the right hand ached?
Let's note that in life I'm lucky so far.
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blessed, there is a reason.

What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
But know, (if you need a reason for joy),
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.
What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And this bliss to drink to the drop.

And there already legs, groaning, stretch,
But to wake up tomorrow - and go!
So all pedestrians are blissful, sort of.
And where do drivers find joy?
What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the recipe.
Bought blood pressure pills
Side effects in them: dystonia,

Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I'll throw those pills away right away.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension, of course, is more useful.
What bliss to crawl from the market,
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.

No wonder doctors everywhere say
That the banana raises our mood.
How happy monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.
Unlike them, I am always alone,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.

Bliss? Which? Think brothers!
I came up with lines to laugh.
What bliss fate has given me
- I forgot my bag, and then I found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street,
And, further in the tram I go thoughtlessly.
Enough, returned and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!

Today I found not only a loss
I have regained faith in people!
For a thousand good - one bastard.
You can live, and I lived to gray hair.
I throw happy glances at the bag,
And I don’t need other blessings today.
And if I hadn't lost my purse,
Why would I be blissful?

What a blessing it is to have a ticket
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled, the sick are walking by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I, among others, still - oh-hoo!
As long as I don't have any pain.
And if it hurts, then just a little.
I just made my way to the doctor.

Inna Bronstein - Behind the Glossy Cover of the Beatitudes

In her room, on a bookshelf next to a photograph of her son Yasha, a drawing by Davy Tushinsky and a small album by Chagall, there is a bust of Yakov Bronstein, father of IYA, by the sculptor Zair Azgur. Azgur, People's Artist of the USSR, winner of two Stalin Prizes, was friends with Inna Yakovlevna's parents (Azgur studied painting with Marc Chagall at the Vitebsk Art and Practical Institute).

It seems that this photo was taken after the wedding, 1930, dad told mom: “Marunka, we will never part with you, unless the party requires it.”

They were romantics, Yakov and his friend, the famous Jewish poet Izi Harik, who was considered a classic, his poems were then in all textbooks. By the way, Izi Harika's wife, Dina, also worked in a kindergarten and was friends with Inna's mother Maria, who often helped Dina in her work. Husbands worked almost around the clock. Here, in Minsk, by the 1930s one of the largest centers of Yiddish culture was formed. It is today that no one in the republic speaks or thinks Yiddish anymore, the language is on the verge of complete extinction, a great culture has practically perished ... And then literary and cultural life was in full swing, it was the heyday of young Jewish poetry in the country, and they were in epicenter of this life.

Izzy Harik. Photo from the Hesed Museum, Minsk.

The verdict of the court, with rare exceptions, was the same for everyone - execution. On the night of October 28-29, the NKVD executed about a hundred figures of Belarusian culture, including 22 writers, including Izya Kharik and Yakov Bronstein. Total in Belarus in the 20-50s. 238 writers were arrested. Only about 20 of them returned from the camps.

In 2012, Inna Yakovlevna turned 80.
Once she told her students: “I am a fossil who has survived everything that I talk about in class ...”.

Inna Yakovlevna Bronstein- an amazing woman. She is already well over 80. In her past life, she was a history teacher… She lives in Minsk. Having experienced more than one tragedy, having lost her son and husband, at the age of 80, a Minsk pensioner began to write poetry. Well, not really poetry in the conventional sense. These are rather verses, bitter, ironic, but warming to everyone who these lines fall into the hands of.

Inna Yakovlevna, one might say, invented her own philosophical system that forbids to lose heart and become sour. The system, at first glance, is simple: actively seek and find reasons to rejoice in life. Let them be subtle. Even the smallest ones! Inna Yakovlevna admits that for her these “bliss” (most of her short poems begin with the words “what bliss!”) have become a kind of “psychological pills” from the virus of loneliness and hopeless sadness. A medicine that can be useful to many ...

Maybe these verses will help you now? Read! And God grant the author of these amazing lines of spiritual strength and physical health.

Bliss of Inna Bronstein

***
What a blessing in old age
Go to the toilet with your feet.
And then on the way back
And quickly dive under the covers.
And wake up in the morning, wake up and get up
And walk, talk and breathe again.

***
What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the recipe.
Bought blood pressure pills
Side effects in them: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I'll throw those pills away right away.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension, of course, is more useful.

***
What a blessing to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you - thanks to sclerosis.

***
What bliss to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair
But just a fright and a little shake.
Now you will agree with me, friends,
Still, I'm very lucky.

***
What bliss to walk around the market
And buy a new sweater one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
In the stream of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often ...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny sweater.

***
What a blessing to walk through the forest,
With that popsicle in chocolate lick.
After all, after breakfast, I'm on a diet for an hour,
And I deserve these joys.
Walking, I'll burn out the calories,
Which means I'll be back for lunch.

***
What bliss, at the sight of advertising
Think how much rubbish there is
Which I don't need at all.
I am quite satisfied with what I have.
And how much do I save, guys,
without buying "Sorti" and pads!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?

***
What a blessing! I know in my old age
That I will not lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
Beauty is worse. But that is their business.
For them, this fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hold on, poor things!

***
What a blessing, you know it yourself
When you lay down and already fall asleep.
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning.
No insomnia! I fall asleep ... Hooray!

***
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in the house we have a good and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!

***
What a blessing to stand under the shower
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I did it myself.
How good I am! Don't go crazy...

***
What bliss: the hand hurts,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if the right hand ached?
Let's note that in life I'm lucky so far.
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blessed, there is a reason.

***
What a blessing - remember it -
When nothing hurts you
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know, if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.

***
What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And this bliss to drink to the drop.
And there already legs, groaning, stretch,
But to wake up tomorrow - and go!
So all pedestrians are blissful, sort of.
And where do drivers find joy?

***
What bliss to crawl from the bazaar
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
That the banana raises our mood.
How happy monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.
Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think brothers!
And the lines came up to laugh.

***
What bliss fate has given me -
I forgot my bag and then found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street
And further in the tram I go thoughtlessly.
Enough, returned and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!
Today I found not only the loss -
I have regained faith in people!
For a thousand good - one bastard.
You can live, and I lived to gray hair.
I throw happy glances at the bag,
And I don’t need other blessings today.
And if I hadn't lost my purse,
Why would I be blissful?

***
What a blessing! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my astonished friends.
And like a queen in the backseat
I sit in a delightful stupor.
And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back of the head is cute with a golden tail.
Bliss like this will not experience
Only the one who habitually drives around in a car.

***
What a blessing to have a ticket
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled, the sick are walking by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I, among others, still - oh-hoo!
As long as I don't have any pain.
And if it hurts, then just a little.
I just made my way to the doctor.

***
What a blessing to hear the call
And in the receiver such a beloved voice,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is fine, but the bell is a custom.
What a blessing to know and answer!
I don't need another happiness in the world.
Wizard Bell's invention,
Oh, my phone - you're a great deal!

***
What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for a change
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What a blessing! Hooray! Guard!

***
Share hopeless, my bitter,
No one needs me, I live.
Death has been delayed, which means we must live
And to find different “bliss” in life.
I just don't want to torment my friends with tears.
With stupid "bliss" is still more fun

Inna Bronstein is not a poet. An eighty-year-old pensioner from Minsk, a teacher in the past ... who lost the most precious thing in her life - her son ...

***
What a blessing to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, it means you are alive.
And old age is not a bad time.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!

* * *
What a blessing! I know in my old age
That I will not lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
Beauty is worse. But that's their business.
For them, this fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hold on, poor things!

* * *
What bliss to walk around the market
And buy a new sweater one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
In the stream of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often ...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny sweater.

* * *

Go to the toilet with your feet.
And then on the way back
And quickly dive under the covers.
And wake up in the morning, wake up and get up
And walk, talk and breathe again.

* * *
What a blessing to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you, thanks to sclerosis.

* * *
What a blessing, you know it yourself
When you lay down and already fall asleep.
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning.
No insomnia! I fall asleep ... Hooray!

* * *
What a blessing in old age
Do not surf the Internet with your own hands,
And quietly look for your man
In ancient volumes of the last century.

* * *
What bliss fate has given me,
I lost my keys and then found them.
There is a wonderful way to be happy -
Lose and suffer, and then find!

* * *
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in the house we have a good and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!

* * *
What a blessing to stand under the shower
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I did it myself.
How good I am! Don't go crazy...

* * *
What bliss: the hand hurts,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if the right hand ached?
Let's note that in life I'm lucky so far.
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blessed, there is a reason.

* * *
What a blessing to walk through the forest,
Moreover, eskimo in chocolate lick.
After all, after breakfast, I'm on a diet for an hour
And I deserve these sweets.
Walking, I will burn out calories
And so I'll be back for lunch.

* * *
What bliss, at the sight of advertising
Think how much rubbish there is
Which I don't need at all.
I am quite satisfied with what I have.
And how much do I save, guys,
Without buying "Sorti" and gaskets!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?

* * *
What bliss to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair
But just a fright and a little shake.
Now you will agree with me friends,
Which, after all, I am very lucky.

* * *
What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know, if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.

* * *
What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And this bliss to drink to the drop.
And there already legs, groaning, stretch,
But to wake up tomorrow - and go!
So all pedestrians are blissful, sort of.
And where do drivers find joy?

* * *
What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the recipe.
Bought blood pressure pills
Side effects in them: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I'll throw those pills away right away.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension, of course, is more useful.

* * *
What bliss to crawl from the bazaar
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
That the banana raises our mood.
How happy monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.
Unlike them, I am always alone,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think brothers!
And the lines came up to laugh.

* * *
What bliss fate gave me -
I forgot my bag and then found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street
And further in the tram I go thoughtlessly.
Enough, returned and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!
Today I found not only a loss -
I have regained faith in people!

For a thousand good - one bastard.
You can live, and I lived to gray hair.
I throw happy glances at the bag,
And I don’t need other blessings today.
And if I hadn't lost my purse,
Why would I be blissful?

* * *
What a blessing! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my astonished friends.
And like a queen in the backseat
I sit in a delightful stupor.
And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back of the head is cute with a golden tail.
Bliss like this will not experience
Only the one who habitually drives around in a car.

* * *
What a blessing to have a ticket
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled, the sick are walking by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I, among others, still - oh-hoo!
As long as I don't have any pain.
And if it hurts, then just a little.
I just made my way to the doctor.

* * *
I'm sitting behind bars in my apartment,
It's cold outside, warm inside the house.
And in a warm room - a blue screen
Talking quietly to me about something.

And if I see an ugly face in him,
I will press the button and destroy it.
I will not suffer and languish in tears,
What a blessing to be on my feet!

* * *
What a blessing to hear the call
And in the receiver such a beloved voice,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is fine, but the bell is a custom.
What bliss - to know and answer!
I don't need another happiness in the world.
Wizard Bell's Invention,
Oh my phone - you're a great deal!

* * *
What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for a change
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What a blessing! Hooray! Guard!

* * *
What bliss has come today -
Heat was turned on in a cold apartment.

The plumber finished the flood yesterday.
What bliss on land! Hooray!

My TV went out again.
But he turned on again. I am blessed.

What bliss - the trolleybus has come,
And I've been waiting for it! How good!

And if our world reached perfection,
Where would I get these blessings!

* * *
Without luck, there will be no luck.
Time to be blessed, time to sigh.
Black is white, what does it mean?
So, you have to walk along the zebra!

If white is not for me,
What else will I rejoice in!
So, in this I find bliss.
And if it doesn't help, I'll take the food.

There is salvation from failure -
Somewhere to eat something tasty.

* * *
Share hopeless, my bitter,
No one needs me, I live.
Death has been delayed, which means we must live
And to find different “bliss” in life.
I just don't want to torment my friends with tears.
With stupid "bliss" is still more fun.

* * *
What a terrible word - freedom.
When no one on earth needs
When you don't owe anything to anyone.
The free years are fruitless.
What a longing - do not rush anywhere,
Get up when you want, lie in bed,
Do not think about the matter, do not take up the matter,
Do not set or start an alarm clock.

What a misfortune to cook for yourself
And there is in loneliness even to satiety.
Forget about the dress that I bought yesterday,
Do not wait for changes in a lonely fate.
What a blessing that I have
My brother and friends are on the phone and nearby.
So loving, with a gentle look.
And I wipe away the tears and I rejoice.

Her room is like a scientist's office. Paintings, portraits, a framed profile of Pushkin, a bronze bust of a handsome man in a cap… And crowded bookshelves. The hostess, Inna Yakovlevna Bronshtein, worked as a history teacher all her life. Now she is 83 years old.

Bliss can be taken
From all sorts of nonsense.
Then scoop handfuls
And write poetry.

« I'm from another era" she says, and continues in verse: " Here is old Inna before you. It is a historical ruin. It is not a cultural heritage, therefore it is not protected by law". But Inna Yakovlevna is disingenuous. There is no question of a "ruin" - it is not for nothing that there is a portrait of Che Guevara on the wall. This amazing woman also raised a rebellion - against old age, loneliness and disease. Having experienced more than one tragedy, having lost her son and husband, at the age of 80, a Minsk pensioner began to write poems beginning with the words “what bliss” - about how good it is to live in the world. Neighbors were the first listeners. Then the poems hit the Internet, rave reviews from different countries went. " We don't have to worry about getting old...' they wrote to her. Inna Yakovlevna created a whole philosophy of life, her figurative, ironic poems became pills for depression and despondency for thousands of people. Or rather, candy. " Pills are about illness, and sweets are bliss' she smiles. Recently, a collection of poems by Inna Yakovlevna Bronshtein "Morning of a Cacker" appeared in bookstores in Minsk.

From reviews:

- Inna melts all the troubles into Bliss, full of subtle humor and self-irony. These are sweets with a reduced content of sugar, chocolate and everything else.

- People of the "golden age" are mercilessly squeezed out of the fast modern life. One of the officials called them a "surviving fund." The Beatitudes turned out to be almost the only reference to the topic.

She is a true folk poet.

About poetry

What a blessing it is to wake up and know
You don't have to run to work!
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, then you are alive.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!

I have always been an optimist. I didn’t philosophize, I didn’t delve into myself. As it is, so it is. When I was young, it went by itself. But then I began to cultivate optimism in myself intentionally - after all, the only alternative could be suicide. I worked until I was 80. I never had a hobby, sewing, knitting and other female prowess are also not mine. I, as a man - only work. She didn't last long after she retired. I am alone, my heart is in despair. I realized that I can’t live like this and I need to look for some kind of consolation. If in the eyes of others you look like an optimist, the mask gradually grows, you change. There is no other choice if you want to live. Here are the verses themselves in my head appeared. Wrote " What a blessing it is to wake up and know you don't have to run to work.' and smiled. I consciously, if it’s bad or something really gets me, I send myself into poetry. I am grateful to the wonderful doctors that treated me, but once I went to the doctor, but he did not understand anything, wrote out nonsense. I go back and write: An idiot went to an idiot doctor. And that idiot didn't know anything. Now the idiot got involved in the treatment, it turned out to be quite idiotic ... I barely got to the house and sat down. Oh, it's hard, idiotic business". Poems heal me. Even during a heart attack, she wrote. I have atrial fibrillation. I will take the medicine, it will become a little easier - I sit down and write. Sometimes I don't feel like getting up in the morning, I lie down and compose. I write when I wash the dishes, I write on the bus. It happens that the line is not given. I won't rest until I finish or remake it. I write down on the sheets, something is lost. But the book came out - thanks to friends.

About son

So I would sit, leaning slightly.
So I would look at the clouds.
And they would turn white, float above me.
Maybe my son really is there.

I wake up and my first thought is: wow! Every morning I repeat: I woke up, I'm alive! Very important words!“I don’t wake up well, I’ll probably die in my sleep. Sometimes I dream that I am dying in my sleep and cannot wake up. And before going to bed I read - otherwise I will think about my son and not fall asleep. You know, the degree of happiness depends on what kind of happiness is lost. Leo Tolstoy has: “Happiness is the absence of two misfortunes: a terrible deadly disease and an unclean conscience.” My son was amazing, my whole life with Yashutka was pure happiness. He graduated from the Radio Engineering Institute and GITIS in Moscow and stayed there. Wrote poetry. When he arrived, I was completely happy. Somehow arrived, arrived late. In the morning I looked at him - he was sleeping. I left for work. And it turns out he died in his sleep. The cause of death was cardiac arrest; why is unknown. He was 32 years old. I went to work right after the funeral. My colleagues supported me a lot, took care of me together, did not leave me alone until they put me in the hospital - without treatment I would have gone crazy. Less than two years later, her husband died. I read somewhere: God forbid a person survive as much as he can. We must rejoice in the little things, grandchildren, if any. Grandmothers are busy with children - this is such happiness and joy if you can help someone. There is nothing better. This is my horror, the horror of loneliness.

You can seek solace in religion. But I can not. Religion is incompatible with logic, it is from the heart, not from the mind. Unfortunately, I can't be trusted. My salvation is poetry.

About parents and myself

What bliss - in old age
Do not go online with your own hands,
And quietly look for your man
In ancient volumes of the last century.

My family lived in Minsk. My father was a professor, a well-known literary critic, a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences of the BSSR and the Union of Writers of the USSR. This is his bust on the shelf, the work of the famous sculptor Azgur, they were friends. Mom was a teacher and methodologist, her books on preschool education are still in kindergartens. A very beautiful couple... My childhood memories begin with a terrible June evening in 1937. For years I tried to understand how I ended up with my aunt and uncle, without parents, I remembered how my mother was taken away. I was 5 years old, my brother was 2 years old. Dad, apparently, was arrested at work. Late in the evening, two men in military uniform came to us. They said that dad sent them to take us to his cinema. I was delighted, but I didn’t understand why grandfather was standing in the corner and was silent. We were put in a car, at that time it was an event. At first they spoke to me kindly, then they fell silent. I ask something, but they are silent. I began to cry. They brought us to a house full of children. Above the children's heads are the heads of women in headscarves. I held my brother tightly by the hand - I realized that something had happened, and I was afraid to lose him. The people sitting at the table wrote something, and we stood in line for a long time. Finally, they came to the table. I gave my last name and our names, we were asked about something, then the woman took my hand: “ You will be in our orphanage for big kids. We don't have many toys, so your little brother will be in another house where there are a lot of toys.". They gave me a turret, pulled out my brother's hand and took me somewhere. I burst into tears, and what happened next, I remember vaguely.

Then I learned that about a hundred figures of Belarusian culture, including 22 writers, were arrested together with my father. They were accused of links with German and Polish intelligence, undermining Soviet industry, participating in the preparations for the assassination of Kirov, and God knows what else. Mom was sent to ALZHIR - Akmola camp for the wives of traitors to the Motherland. From the window of a freight car, she was able to throw a note with the address of her sisters in Moscow and a request to inform that she was being taken to the East. The family started looking for us. Orphanages were full of people like us, and the authorities allowed to give information about children to relatives. Mom's brother, a striker and a Stakhanovite, made his way to an appointment with Kalinin, and he ordered to find us. A year later, my father's sister, Aunt Rakhil, took me to her place in Kharkov. And the brother ended up in Mogilev, in the family of his mother's relatives. We saw him only during the war, when both families were evacuated: we are in Kemerovo, they are in Novosibirsk. First, we were ordered to talk on the phone - it was the happiest day of my life! I remember walking home and hugging all the telegraph poles on the way. Communication with my brother is a great happiness for me even now. We rarely see each other, it’s hard for both of us to walk, but we talk on the phone every day. I have a lot of poems about the phone, I'm happy that I have it!

In the family, aunts and uncles did not discuss where my parents were. Long business trip, period. I knew that I couldn't ask. And I came up with a version. There was a civil war in Spain, I knew that the names of the Soviet people fighting there were not disclosed, they were fighting under Spanish names. I decided that my parents were in Spain, and I was very proud of it. I found out the truth only after the war, when my mother was allowed to write from the camp. We sent poems to each other ... Mom returned in 1947, found a job as an accountant in a village in the Kalinin region - she was forbidden to live in big cities. There was no school in the village, and I was placed with Aunt Nadia in Moscow, closer to my mother. Aunt was a tanker in the war, but she turned out to be completely unsuited to civilian life. Having received food on the cards, she asked: will we stretch it for a month or will we eat it right away? As a dependent, I was entitled to only 250 g of bread. We ate everything during the day, and then we ate a little bit of bread with sunflower oil ... we were starving. In 1948, close relatives were allowed to learn about the fate of the repressed. I wrote a request for admission to the NKVD. I was 15 years old. I remember this day all my life. I walk along the corridor, knock on the door, go in: a long office, at the end of the table, behind it is a worker. I introduced myself and said: I want to know the fate of my father. He takes the folder, leafs through it and says in the voice of a machine gun: Bronstein Yakov Anatolyevich is being held in such-and-such camps. "So he's alive?!" And in the same voice, without looking at me, without changing a word, he repeats the phrase. How happy I was! Dad is alive! And he and everyone who was then taken were shot back in 1937. Then they were shot immediately. Not a single literature suffered as much as Belarusian literature - only its formation began, and they immediately beheaded. Yakub Kolas and Yanka Kupala survived by a miracle. We learned about everything only in the 50s, when the rehabilitation began.

Then my mother settled in Kaluga and took me to her place. At the age of 17, I fell ill with severe tuberculosis, the doctors were afraid that I would not survive. I was sent to Moscow to the Tuberculosis Institute. It turned out that they need a drug that is not produced in the country, but speculators have it. And my Kharkov uncle and aunt, having sold something, bought it for a lot of money and brought it to Moscow. They saved me - a year later there were no traces of the disease. And I decided to study in Kharkov, because such native people lived there. After the institute, they left me in graduate school, but I wanted to work only in a rural school. Inspired by the famous film "Village Teacher" with Vera Maretskaya, she left for the Ukrainian village. After the personality cult was exposed, my mother was able to return to Minsk, and I moved in with her.

About the profession

What a blessing to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you, thanks to sclerosis.

My story is for life. I had a wonderful history teacher at my school, everyone adored her, and from the 7th grade I knew that I would be a history teacher. I graduated from school with a medal, I could study anywhere, they dissuaded me - my mother understood what history was, using her own fate as an example. But I kept saying: only a history teacher. And despite everything that is done with history, I do not regret it.

I'm afraid that my views will seem old-fashioned, but I do not refuse them. I believe that a monstrous distortion of the communist idea took place, as a result the best communists were shot. This will all pass, I knew, and it has nothing to do with the October Revolution. For years, I took on faith all the ideological principles of life that were instilled in us from childhood, I believed that there might have been enemies, but there was a mistake regarding my father. He was a devoted communist. My father once said to my mother: Marunka, I will never leave you in my life, unless the party needs it.". I learned the whole nightmarish scale of the repressions only when they began to return en masse from the camps, and Stalin became my worst enemy. By the way, my mother was sitting in the same barracks with the mother of Bulat Okudzhava. I heard her conversations with friends who returned from the camps, but she never spoke to me about these topics. Apparently it was too hard.

When the thaw came, I was already working. And she thought she had to figure things out on her own. Now they say that Stalin is great, there is a danger of the revival of Stalinism. This is killing me. At the first lesson of each school year, I wrote the words on the blackboard: Where they lie to themselves and to each other, and memory does not serve the mind, history goes in circles, from blood through mud into darkness (Igor Guberman)". And she explained why it is necessary to study history.

In times of stagnation, the cult of personality seemed to be mentioned. However, they tried not to focus attention, and in the textbooks this topic was reduced to a paragraph in the section "The Development of Soviet Democracy." But I didn't smooth things out in class. Thank God I didn't have to be hypocritical. One of my open lessons turned out to be about Stalinism. I submitted the topic as I saw fit. The teachers praised me later - everything except the head teacher. I asked her opinion. " Of course, methodically everything was correct. But I love Stalin". And that is all. And now I would say what I think. When they talk about tsarist Russia as a prosperous country and consider the revolution the greatest misfortune, I would not be silent either. The fighters of the revolution were the heroes of my childhood and still are.

I tried to tell the students more, to show different opinions, to captivate with the depth of historical material. Now they like to delve into private life in order to entertain, but the secret of a good teacher is one - to be able to interest the subject. I was a strict teacher, but the students loved me, and their scientific papers on history took first place in competitions. Of course, there will always be someone who does not want to learn. I remember Misha, a good-natured boy who knew nothing at all. At that time the word CMEA—the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance, the governing body of the world socialist system—was heard everywhere. At the exam in social studies, Misha got a ticket about the CMEA. The commission understood that he did not know anything, but he must be released! And here is a member of the commission, kind Bella Solomonovna, trying to help: “ Misha, you just name the body of the socialist community and you will receive an assessment. Well, an organ, a three-letter word, does everyone know it?» Misha tenses up. An organ of three letters, he certainly knows. He does not dare to name him, vaguely realizing that he does not need to pronounce the word he knows at the exam. But they ask... I see that the members of the commission are sliding off their chairs, I myself can hardly hold on. Only the humanist Bella Solomonovna encourages Misha with a look of radiant eyes and repeats: “ Organ, three letters, everyone knows it". I could not stand it and said: SEV! Misha has a triple, everyone is happy.

A person from history can probably learn one lesson for himself: do not go thoughtlessly in the herd, do not take everything that is said on TV or written in the newspapers on faith, always think with your own head. In recent years, I have been afraid that what was under Stalin will not return. And I often think: do my students remember what I told them in class?

About love

What a blessing! I know in my old age
That I will not lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
Beauty is worse. But that is their business.
For them, this fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hold on, poor things!

I never wrote love poems. Not offended. I'm probably the only one who hasn't written about love. My husband and I loved each other, but we did not talk about love. And I didn't want a big wedding. It is now that they make some kind of fetish out of a wedding, and at that time dreams of marriage, of a wedding, were, as it were, indecent, considered vulgarity, philistinism. Such ideals were in that era. Then I thought that in the life of every woman there should be a day when she is in the spotlight and feels like a princess. And then ... Do you know how I got married? Nathan came to our house, sat down, and we all watched TV in silence. So it must have been a year. Once he met me after school and said: “ You know, Inna, that's enough, as much as possible, let's go to the registry office". And takes my hand. " I don't have a passport! "Well, let's go for a passport". Come in. I was very afraid that my mother would notice that I was taking my passport. And I didn't hear "I love you" either. Let's go to the registry office - that's all. For me, the act is more important.

In the registry office, I was nervous, shifted from foot to foot - I was late for the lesson. The official shortened the ceremony, we caught a taxi - and to school. I was 10 minutes late, the Belarusian teacher was already in the class. The children, seeing me, shouted joyfully: “ And we have history. We have Inna Yakovlevna! And I was most pleased that the children were happy with me, and not that I got married. My business has always come first. In the evening we sat at the table: two mothers, a brother and we. I had one suit that was considered ceremonial. That's where I was. If you want to call it a wedding, call it.

By the way, about my mother's marriage. At that time it was not customary to sign. Marriage was considered a bourgeois prejudice, father and mother were not married. After rehabilitation, my mother was given money and an apartment. They asked for a marriage certificate. "We weren't scheduled." "Then you are not a wife." “Why did they put me in jail? When they came to take me as the wife of an enemy of the people, they didn’t ask for a marriage certificate.” I had to prove that they lived together, that they were common children.

My marriage was not perfect. Our characters are very different. I wanted something affectionate, although in general I am not sentimental, I read mostly historical literature and classics, not romance novels. I wanted to talk, for example, about politics - I was all in politics. And the husband was very silent, understood everything, listened, but did not like to talk. But we rarely fought. Do you know what is important in a life together? Nothing to demand from each other. Nothing at all. If you need help, a loved one himself must understand this. And if he does not understand, then how close is he? My husband was sick for a long time, I was with him as a nurse, how could it be otherwise. And you have to accept the person as they are. Do not bother with conversations, pestering. No - no, we must proceed from the fact that we are different. You cannot demand what a person cannot give you. Another very important thing for me is ideology. Our beliefs were the same. Then - money. Neither for him nor for me money was the main thing. I've always had enough. And most importantly - one level of intelligence. Neither height, nor appearance - only if I can talk to him on an equal footing. My husband was an interesting, intelligent person, we liked to discuss books.

In general, romance is needed, without it there is no life. And a woman should dream of a knight on a white horse. When I was 11 years old, the film "The Pig and the Shepherd" with Vladimir Zeldin in the title role was released. He was incredibly handsome, I have never seen anyone more beautiful in my life. I was in love with him. It was my male ideal, in a hat, with gazyrs, such a romantic image.

About people

And I thank you, house,
For the fact that we live together,
Because good people are here
They live with me under my roof.

Books have always been my best friends. When the girls became interested in boys, it was impossible to gossip with me, I was not interested. I didn't interact much with people. Not consciously - just always had no time. What conversations at school! During the breaks, she mostly remained in the classroom, she never participated in women's quarrels, gossip, and squabbles. In my presence, they did not discuss either the director or the teachers - they understood that I would not respond. Relations with everyone were even, but I was always somewhat on my own.

I will not communicate with a person if he is a thief and a bribe taker. What is unacceptable in ideology is also in life. I do not tolerate insincerity, duplicity. If money is the main thing for a person, then he does not exist for me. I'm not arguing, I'm just keeping my distance.

Unfortunately, I don't have a practical mind. A smart woman is one who sets a goal and successfully acts to achieve this goal. Big words are nonsense, deeds are important. And things are for practical people. I think a woman should be practical, even pragmatic, but not at the expense of someone else. Not over corpses. Without hurting anyone. And that the goals were not small, not ugly. I welcome pragmatism, but I myself am not a pragmatist. But I'm not angry and not envious. I do no harm to anyone, not even to the enemy. I don't remember the offense for a long time. And I can’t let a person down - I promised, so I’ll do it.

In old age, you understand: there is no need to look for the meaning of life, it is in life itself. So said Victoria Tokareva, quoting my poems, and I agree with her. And if someone does not see the meaning in life, one should not suffer, but find a business that you will love and will do with joy. Chekhov also has this: to work!

About idols and ideals

What bliss to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair
But just a fright and a little shake.
Now you will agree with me, friends,
Still, I'm very lucky.

For me, the most unpopular figure in the world today is Lenin. Sofya Perovskaya is a revolutionary capable of complete self-denial. Such people went to their deaths for the sake of freedom and happiness of people. This is the highest ideal. My favorite literary heroine is Sonya from Chekhov's play. She is different, but her personality type is also close to me: rejection of personal happiness, altruism, readiness to serve people. I have always tried to be like her. And the heroine in life is my beloved aunt Rachel. Very organized, selfless, smart. Songs of the revolution were sung in her house, during the civil war she was under fire, she taught illiterate fighters in the army. How much has she done for me? Always wanted to be the same. True, I have little willpower. But I cited myself as a negative example: the girls are sitting at the lesson, bent over in three deaths, and I walk stooped. I say: straighten up, otherwise you will be like me. And now I force myself to get up, cook. The doctor demands that I go, and I go - with Eugene Onegin. I love Mayakovsky very much, I even wrote an imitation of the Left March, but Pushkin has been in me since childhood. I’ll also go out to myself: “My uncle, the most honest rules” ... And I went, I went ... Pushkin is the light of my life.

One must try to improve oneself, to change, but not for the sake of a career or for the sake of the authorities. But change does not mean breaking. I know that I won't be different. Perhaps my life lesson is this: you can not put work above family. Work has always been more important to me, and I don't think it's a virtue. If I had a different life, I would take more care of my family. But at the same time, I would still be a historian.