"I feel the rainbow of God ..." S. Yesenin

In 1916, Yesenin published his first book "Radunitsa". Critics responded to the poet's collection, emphasizing that "for Yesenin there is nothing dearer than the Motherland", that he loves her and "finds good, affectionate words for her." They noted the sincerity and naturalness of his lyrics: "On his entire collection there is a seal of captivating young spontaneity ... He sings his sonorous songs easily, just like a lark sings."

Yesenin's contemporary professor P.N. Sakulin noted: “The spring, but sad lyricism emanates from“ Radunitsa ”... the village hut is lovely, infinitely dear to the poet-peasant. He turns everything into gold of poetry - and soot over the flaps, and a cat that sneaks up to fresh milk, and chickens, restlessly cackling over the shafts of the plow. " Critics drew attention to the closeness of the poetics of the collection to folklore, to the rich folk language.

The main place in "Radunitsa" is taken by the image of peasant Russia, brooding and daring, sad and joyful, illuminated by a "rainbow" light. She is a pious, wanderer, monastery. Sometimes a dull rural landscape ("frail huts", "skinny fields") is brightened up with fervent songs to the talyanka. poet to Imagism.

I. Rozanov in his book "Yesenin about himself and others" recalled that the poet told him: "Pay attention ... that I have almost no love motives at all. Poppy sidewalks can be ignored, and I threw out most of them in the second edition of Radunitsa. My lyrics are alive with one great love - love for the homeland. The feeling of homeland is the main thing in my work. "

The name of the native Yesenin village is not found in the works, but when you read: "I remembered my village childhood, / I remembered the village blue ...", you immediately understand what place on earth we are talking about.

Yesenin's poems convey the generosity of colors, sounds, the fullness of human experiences. He praises nature, poeticizes peasant life. In the poem "Goy you, Russia, my dear ..." (1914), the poet confesses his love for his homeland:

If the saint's host cries out:
"Throw you Rus, live in paradise!"
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my homeland. "

* * *

Radunitsa (1916)

Rus

Mikola

1
In the cap of a cloudy cleavage,
In paws, like a shadow,
Mykola the mercy walks
I sat down and villages by.
On his shoulders there is a knapsack
Banner in two braids,
He walks, sings softly
Jordanian Psalms.
Wicked sorrow, wicked sorrow
The distance drank cold;
Light up like dawns,
V blue sky domes.
Bending down your meek face,
A number of weeping willows doze,
And like a silk rosary
Beaded twist branches.
An affectionate saint walks
Unctuous sweat pours from my face:
"Oh you, my forest, round dance,
Lull the stranger. "
2
Moved around
A grove of firs and birches.
Through the bushes in a green meadow
Flakes clinging to blue grew.
A cloud split with a shadow
A green slope ...
Mykola washes her face
White foam from the lakes.
Under the birch bride
For a dry rover,
It is wiped off with birch bark,
Like a soft towel.
And he walks unhurriedly
In villages, wastelands:
“I, a resident of a foreign country,
I go to the monasteries. "
Zlotravye stands high,
Ergot censes fog:
"I will pray I will go for health
Orthodox Christians ".
3
The wanderer walks on the roads,
Where his name is in trouble
And from the ground he speaks with God
In a white cloud-beard.
The Lord speaks from the throne,
Opening the window for paradise:
“Oh my faithful slave, Mikola,
Go around the Russian edge.
Protect there in black troubles
People wounded by grief.
Pray with him for victories
And for their beggar comfort. "
The wanderer walks through the taverns,
Says, seeing the gathering:
“I have come to you, brothers, in peace -
Heal the sorrow of worries.
Your souls to the road
Draws a sum with a staff.
Collect the grace of God
Ripe rye to the bins ”.
4
The bitter smell of black burning
Autumn set fire to the groves.
The wanderer gathers creatures,
Feeds millet from the hem.
"Oh, goodbye, white birds,
Hide, animals, in the mansion.
Dark forest, - matchmakers tickle, -
Match the winter girl. "
“Everyone has a place, everyone has a log,
Open up, earth, their breasts!
I am the servant of the old Gods, -
I am directing the way into God's house. "
Resounding marble of white stairs
Stretched out into the Garden of Eden;
Like a cosmic wizard,
The stars are hanging in the apple trees.
Shines sharper on the throne
In scarlet vestments the meek Savior;
"Mikolae the miracle worker,
Pray to him for us. "
5
The dawns cover the paradise tower,
At the window of the Mother of God
Calling pigeons to the door
Peck granular rye;
"Peck, angel birds:
Ear is a flight of life. "
More fragrant than lungwort
It smells like a reap of merry sweat.
The forest is decorated with lace,
They ate like a bush.
Through the hollows of black arable lands -
Snow flax yarn.
Rolling up the floors with rye,
The plowman is shaking the husk,
In honor of the saint Mikola
Rye is sown in the snow.
And, like on the grass, the ears
In the evening mowing,
Ears are ringing in the snow
Under the trellises of birches.

"I will go to the skoufier as a humble monk ..."

I will go to the skoufier as a humble monk
Or a blond barefoot -
Where it pours across the plains
Birch milk.
I want to measure the ends of the earth
Trusting in a ghostly star
And believe in the happiness of your neighbor
In the ringing furrow of rye.
Dawn with the hand of dewy coolness
Knocks down the apples of the dawn.
Raking up hay on the mows,
The mowers sing me songs.
Looking beyond the rings of the lychee,
I speak to myself:
Happy who decorated his life
With a tramp stick and a bag.
Happy is he who is miserable in joy,
Living without friend and foe
Will pass the country road
Praying for heaps and haystacks.

Kaliki

They passed the kaliki villages,
They drank kvass under the windows;
By the churches before the cloisters of the ancients
They worshiped the Most Pure Savior.
Wanderers made their way across the field,
They sang a verse about the sweetest Jesus.
They stomped past the nags with their luggage,
The loud geese sang along.
The wretched hobbled around the flock,
They spoke painful speeches:
“We all serve the Lord alone,
Laying the chains on the shoulders. "
They took out the kaliki hastily
Crumbs saved for cows.
And the shepherdesses shouted mockingly:
“Girls, dance! The buffoons are coming! "

"The winds do not shower the forest ..."

The winds do not shower the forest,
The hills are not golden,
From the blue of the invisible forest
Starry psalms are streaming.
I see - in the minus payment,
On light-winged clouds
Beloved Mati is walking
With the Most Pure Son in his arms.
She carries for the world again
Crucify the risen Christ:
“Walk, my son, live without a roof,
Dawn and noon by the bush. "
And in every wretched wanderer
I will go to find out with longing,
Is it not anointed by God
Knocks with a birch bark stick.
And maybe I'll pass by
And I will not notice in the secret hour,
That in the firs are the wings of a cherub,
And under the stump is the hungry Savior.

"The evening is smoking, the cat is dozing on the bar ..."

The evening is smoking, the cat is dozing on the bar.
Someone prayed, "Lord Jesus."
Dawns blaze, fogs smoke,
A crimson curtain over the carved window.
Cobwebs are twisted from the golden poveta.
Somewhere a mouse is scratching in a locked cage ...
By the forest glade - in the weaving heaps of bread,
They ate like spears against the sky.
They planted it with smoke under the dew of the grove ...
Silence and power rest in the heart.

"Goy you, Russia, my dear ..."

Goy you, Russia, my dear,
Huts - in the vestments of the image ...
There is no end and no end to be seen -
Only the blue sucks the eyes.
Like a visiting pilgrim,
I watch your fields.
And at the low outskirts
The poplars are ringingly withering away.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches, your meek Savior.
And hums behind the korogod
There is a merry dance in the meadows.
I'll run along a crumpled stitch
To the freedom of green lech,
Meet me like earrings
Girlish laughter will ring.
If the saint's host cries out:
"Throw you Rus, live in paradise!"
I will say: “There is no need for paradise,
Give me my homeland. "

"The pilgrims are walking along the road ..."

The pilgrims are walking along the road,
Wormwood and butt underfoot.
Spreading the pinch pegs
Crutches ring in the ditches.
Trample sandals on the field of the puppeteer,
Somewhere the neighing and snoring of the herd,
And calls them from the big bell tower
A resounding ringing like the tongue of cast iron.
The old women shake off the dulia,
The girls knit the hairs up to the toes.
From a courtyard with a high cell
The monks are looking at their scarves.
On the gates there are monastery signs;
"I will give rest to those who are coming to me,"
And the dogs scattered in the garden,
As if smelling the thieves in the threshing floor.
Twilight licks the gold of the sun,
In the distant groves the ringing sounds ...
By the shadow of a willow spindle
Praying mantis go to the canon.

Funeral

Shielded the willows lonely
Kosniki dead dwellings.
Like snow, coliva whitens -
For the sake of heavenly birds food.
Jackdaws drag rice from the graves lean,
Beggars knit twine over their bags.
Mothers and godparents lament,
Brides and sister-in-law are shouting.
Over the stones, over a thick layer of dust,
The hops are curling tangled and sticky
Long pop in skinny epitrachili
Picks up black pennies.
In turn for modest alms
The wanderers are looking for the inveterate grave.
And the sexton sings at the commemoration:
"Servant of the dead, Lord, have mercy."

"The Lord went to torture people in love ..."

The Lord walked to torture people in love,
He went out to be a beggar on a kulizh.
Old grandfather on a dry stump, in Dubrov,
He rubbed the stale crumpet with his gums.
The grandfather saw the beggar dear,
On the path, with an iron club,
And I thought: "See, how wretched, -
Know that hunger swings, sickly. "
The Lord came up, hiding sorrow and anguish:
Apparently, they say, you can't wake up their hearts ...
And the old man said, stretching out his hand:
"On, chew ... you will be a little stronger."

“Beloved land! The heart is dreaming ... "

Beloved land! The heart is dreaming
Skirts of the sun in the waters of the pubic.
I would like to get lost
In the greens of your hundred-bells.
Along the boundary, on the line,
Mignonette and riza porridge
And they call the rosary
Willows are gentle nuns.
A swamp smokes like a cloud
Burn in the heavenly yoke.
With a quiet secret for someone
I harbored thoughts in my heart.
I meet everything, I accept everything,
Glad and happy to take out the soul.
I came to this land
To leave her as soon as possible.

"I am a wretched wanderer ..."

I am a wretched wanderer.
With an evening star
I sing about God
Killer whale steppe.
On a silk platter
Aspen fall
Hear people
Swells of the quagmires.
Wide in the meadows,
Kissing a pine tree
Sing bystroviny
About paradise and spring.
I am a wretched wanderer
I pray in the blue.
On a fallen road
I lie down in the grass.
Rest sweetly
Between the dew beads.
There is a lamp on my heart,
And in the heart is Jesus.

In the hut

Smells like loose fighters;
There is kvass at the doorstep,
Above the chiseled stoves
Cockroaches climb into the groove.
Soot curls over the flap,
In the stove there are strings of populists,
And on the bench for a salt shaker -
Husk of raw eggs.
Mother won't get along with the grips,
Bends down low
The old cat sneaks up to the mahot
For fresh milk.
Restless chickens cackle
Over the shafts of the plow,
There is a slender mass in the yard
The roosters are singing.
And in the window, sloping into the canopy,
From shy noise,
From the corners the puppies are curly
They crawl into the clamps.

"Black, then smelling of howl ..."

Black, then smelling of howl,
How can I not caress you, love you?
I will go out to the lake in the blue gut,
Evening grace clings to my heart.
The huts are like a gray wind,
The reeds deeply cradle the squish.
The red fire covered the tagans,
In the brushwood are the white eyelids of the moon.
Quiet, squatting, in the spots of dawn
They listen to the story of the old man mowers.
Somewhere in the distance, on the kukan of the river,
The fishermen are singing a dreamy song.
Tin glows puddle pitch ...
Sad song, you are Russian pain.

Grandfather

Dry felt stitches
The droppings have loosened up in the grass.
At the gomen's for burdock brooches
A fly round dance will stick.
Old grandfather, with his back bent,
Cleans trampled current
And bottomless chaff
Rakes into the corner.
Squinting at a cloudy eye
He hooks a burdock
Digs with a scrubber in the groove
Roundabout from the rains.
Pieces of gold on fire.
Grandfather - as in zhamkovy mica,
And the bunny of the sun plays
In a reddish beard.

"Swamp and swamps ..."

Swamp and swamps
Blue circuit boards of heaven.
Coniferous gilding
The forest is ringing.
Titmouse
Between the forest curls,
Dark fir trees dream
The homont of the haymakers.
Through the meadow with a creak
The convoy is dragging on -
Dry linden
Smells from wheels.
Hearing rakitas
Wind whistle ...
You are my forgotten land
You are my dear land! ..

Poppy seed

"A white scroll and a scarlet sash ..."

White scroll and scarlet sash

A round dance rings loudly outside the village,
There she is, there she sings songs.
I remember how I shouted, sewn into the frame:
“Well, you are beautiful, but you don’t love your heart.
It burns the rings of your curls with the winds,
My other keen comb protects ”.
I know what is alien to her and why I am not sweet:
I danced less and drank the least.
Meekly, with sadness, I stood against the wall,
They all sang and were drunk.
His happiness is that there is less shame in him,
His beard clung to her neck.
Closing with him in a burning dance ring,
She burst out laughing in my face.
White scroll and scarlet sash
I tear a red poppy in the beds.
A loving heart blooms with poppy seeds,
Only she sings songs not to me.

"Mother went to Kupalnitsa through the woods ..."

Mother went to the Bather in the forest,
Barefoot, with tucks, wandered through the dew.
Herbs were pricking her legs,
The darling cried in pain.
I didn’t seize the liver with seizure,
The nurse gasped, then she gave birth.
I was born with songs in a grass blanket.
The spring dawns twisted me into a rainbow.
I grew up to maturity, the grandson of the Kupala night,
Darkness, magical happiness prophesies to me.
Just not according to conscience, happiness is at the ready,
I choose both eyes and eyebrows with vigor.
Like a white snowflake, I melt into blue
Yes, to the fate of the homeless woman I cover up my trail.

"The reeds rustled over the backwater ..."

Reeds rustled over the backwater.
The girl-princess is crying by the river.
The red maiden guessed at seven o'clock.
The wave untied a wreath of dodders.
Ah, do not marry a girl in the spring,
He frightened her with signs of the forest:
The bark is eaten on the birch, -
The mouse is the girl from the yard.
Horses are beating, waving their heads menacingly, -
Oh, she doesn't like black brown hair.
The smell of incense from the grove is poured,
The calls of the winds are singing dirge.
A girl walks along the coast is sad
A gentle foam wave weaves her shroud.

"Trinity morning, morning canon ..."

The village stretches from a festive dream,
Intoxicating spring is in the message of the wind.
On the carved windows there are ribbons and bushes.
I will go to mass to cry for flowers.
Sing in the more often, birds, I'll sing you along.
Let us bury my youth together.
Trinity morning, morning canon,
In the grove, along the birch trees, a white chime.

"Play it, play it, talyanochka, crimson furs ..."

Come out to meet at the outskirts, beauty, groom.
The heart glows with cornflowers, turquoise burns in it.
I play the tagliano about blue eyes.
Then do not the dawns in the streams of the lake weaved a pattern,
Your scarf, decorated with sewing, flashed
over the slope.
Play, play, talyano, raspberry furs.
Let the beauty of the groom's gags listen.

Mimicking the song

You watered the horse from handfuls on the bit,
Reflecting, birches broke in the pond.
I looked out of the window at the blue handkerchief
Black curls fluttered like a snake in the breeze.
I wanted in the flickering foamy jets
To tear a kiss from your scarlet lips with pain.
But with a sly smile, splashing on me,
You galloped away, jingling with the bits.
In the yarn of sunny days, time has woven thread ...
They carried you past the windows to bury you.
And under the cry of the requiem, under the censer canon,
All I fancied is a quiet, uninhibited ringing.

"The scarlet light of dawn was weaved on the lake ..."

The scarlet light of dawn was woven on the lake.
In the forest, the wood grouses are crying with bells.
An oriole is crying somewhere, hiding in a hollow.
Only I'm not crying - my soul is light.
I know that you will leave the ring of roads in the evening,
Let's sit in fresh heaps under a nearby haystack.
I will kiss you drunk, I will crush, like a color,
There is no gossip for the drunk with joy.
You yourself, under the caresses, will throw off the silk of the veil,
I'll take you drunk until morning into the bushes.
And let the wood grouses cry with the bells,
There is merry longing in the dawn's scarves.

"A cloud has knitted lace in the grove ..."

A cloud has tied lace in the grove,
A fragrant mist lit up.
Driving on a dirty road from the train station
Far from the native glades.
The forest froze without sadness and noise,
Darkness hangs like a scarf behind a pine tree.
A weeping thought gnaws at my heart ...
Oh, you are not cheerful, my native land.
The girls who ate were disgusted;
And my coachman sings in a umyak:
"I will die in a prison bed,
They will bury me somehow. "

"Smoke flood ..."

Smoke flood
Sludge flooded.
Yellow reins
The month dropped.
I ride the launch
I prowl to the coast.
The churches at the chapels
Red haystacks.
Mournful carcass
Into the silence of the swamps
Black capercaillie
Calls for all-night vigil.
Grove in blue gloom
Covers the bare bones ...
I will pray furtively
For your destiny.

hen-party

I'll wear a red monisto
I will fasten the sundress with a blue ruffle.
Call, girls, accordion player,
Say goodbye to your affectionate girlfriend.
My fiance, sullen and jealous,
Doesn't order to look at the guys.
I will sing as a lonely bird,
You dance more and more frantically.
How sad is the loss of a girl
It is sad for the mourned bride to live.
The groom will take me out the door,
Will ask about girlish honor.
Ah, girlfriends, it's embarrassing and embarrassing:
A shy heart is seized by a cold.
It's hard to talk to your sister-in-law
Better to live unhappy, but without a husband.

"Pours bird cherry snow ..."

Pours bird cherry with snow,
Greenery in bloom and dew,
In the field, leaning towards the shoots,
Rooks walk in the strip.
The silk grasses will drop
Smells like resinous pine.
Oh you, meadows and oak forests, -
I'm dizzy in the spring.
Rainbow secret news
They shine into my soul.
I think about the bride
I only sing about her.
You rash, bird cherry, with snow,
Sing you birds in the forest.
Run across the field
I will blow the color with foam.

"Through the village along a crooked path ..."

Through the village with a crooked path
On a summer evening blue
The recruits went with a live girl
A swaggering crowd.
Sang about loved ones
Yes last days:
"You are goodbye, dear village,
The grove and hemp are dark. "
The dawns foamed and melted.
Everyone shouted, pachyat chest:
"Before the recruitment, grief mayali,
And now it's time to go for a walk. "
Swinging light-haired curls,
They started dancing merrily.
The girls danced them with beads,
They called for the village.
Brave guys came out
For humane wattle,
And the girls are crafty
They ran away - catch up!
Over green hills
Handkerchiefs fluttered.
Through the fields, wandering with wallets,
The old people smiled.
Through the bushes, in the grass above the barks,
Under the fearful cry of owls,
The grove laughed at them with tongues
With overflowing voices.
Through the village with a crooked path,
Peeling off the hemp,
The recruits played livenka
About the rest of the days.

"You are my abandoned land ..."

You are my abandoned land,
You are my land, wasteland.
Unmown hay,
Forest and monastery.
The huts have taken care of
And there are five of them.
Their roofs foamed
Into the glowing bungalow.
Under the straw-riza
Rafters
The wind mold is glaucous
Sprinkled with the sun.
They hit the windows without missing
Ravens with a wing
Like a blizzard, bird cherry
Waving his sleeve.
Didn't it tell in the barnacle
Your life and reality
What's in the evening for a traveler
Whispered feather grass?

“I am a shepherd; my chambers ... "

I am a shepherd; my chambers -
Between the rippling fields
On the green mountains - stingrays
With the bark of echoing great snipe.
Knit lace over wood
In the yellow foam clouds.
In a quiet slumber under a canopy
I hear the whisper of a pine forest.
Shine green in the dark
Under the dew of the poplar.
I am a shepherd; my mansions -
In the soft green of the field.
Cows talk to me
In a nodding tongue,
Spiritual Dubrovy
They call the branches to the river.
Forgetting human grief,
I sleep on branches cut down.
I pray for the ala dawns,
I take communion by the stream.

"There are bagels hanging on the wattle fence ..."

Bagels hang on the wattle fence
Warmth pours like bread mash.
Sun planed shingles
Block the blue.
Booths, stumps and stakes,
Carousel whistling.
From the wobbly freedom
Grasses bend, leaf crumples,
Crackling of hooves and wheezing of merchants,
The drunken groin of honeycomb.
Beware, if you are not smart:
The whirlwind will sweep away with dust.
For bream antimony -
A woman's cry, like in the morning.
Is it your shawl with a border
Green in the wind?
Oh, daring and multifaceted
Cheerful fret for pyzhna.
Sing like Stenka Razin
He drowned his princess.
Are you, Russia, a path-road
Scattered red outfit?
Do not judge with a strict prayer
Heart-filled look.

"My side, my side ..."

My side, side,
A bitter streak.
Only the forest, yes, salting,
Yes, the spit across the river ...
The old church is withering away,
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And the sick cuckoo
Does not fly from sad places.
On your side, on my side,
At high water every year
With a bag and a knapsack
Praying sweat pours out.
The faces are dusty, tanned,
The eyelids gazed into the distance,
And dug into a thin body
Savior of the meek sorrow.

"On azure fabrics ..."

On azure fabrics
Spilled crimson fingers.
In a dark grove, in a clearing,
The bell is crying with laughter.
The hollows are fogged up,
The moss was covered with silver.
Through the spins and barns
Seems like a white horn.
On the road, smartly, smartly,
Scattering frothy sweat
Rides a mad three
To the village in a round dance.
The girls look slyly
At the handsome man through the wattle fence.
The guy is brave, curly
Breaks the hat to one side.
Brighter than a pink shirt
The spring dawns are burning.
Gilded plaques
They talk with bells.

"I feel the rainbow of God ..."

I feel God's rainbow -
I do not live in vain
I worship the roadside
I fall on the grass.
Between the pines, between the trees,
Between the birches of curly beads,
Under a wreath, in a ring of needles,
I see Jesus.
He calls me to Dubrovy,
As in the kingdom of heaven
And burns in purple brocade
Clouds covered forest.
Dove spirit from God
Like a fiery tongue
He took possession of my dear
Drowned out my weak cry.
Flame pours into the abyss of sight,
In my heart is the joy of children's dreams,
I believed from birth
In the Mother of God the Protection.

Dove (1918)

Dove

Oktoih

With my voice

I'll devour Thee, Lord.

1
Oh homeland, happy
And not the starting hour!
No better, no prettier
Your cow's eyes.
To you, to your mists
And the sheep in the fields
I carry it like a sheaf of oatmeal
I am the sun in my arms.
Hallow
And merry Christmas,
So that thirsty vigils
We got drunk with a lash.
We shake the sky with our shoulders
We shake the darkness with our hands
And into a skinny ear of bread
We inhale the starry cereal.
About Russia, about the steppe and the winds,
And you, my father's house!
On the golden poveta
Spring thunder is nesting.
We feed the storm with oats
We will drink the dolphins by prayer,
And blue arable land
The mind-ox plows us,
And not a single stone
Through a sling and bow,
Will not bend over us
Raising God's hands.
2
"Oh Devo
Maria! -
The heavens are singing. -
To the golden fields
Shed your hair.
Wash our faces
By the hand of the earth.
From behind the mountains a string
Ships are sailing.
They contain the souls of the departed
And the memory of centuries.
Oh woe who murmurs
Without removing the shackles!
Screaming in the dark
And beating his forehead
Under secret signs
We will not close the gates.
But bend who came out
And I saw only a moment!
We are a cloud roof
We'll crush the blind. "
3
Oh God, God
You eh
Do you rock the earth in your dreams?
Constellations shining dust
On our hair.
The celestial cedar rustles
Through the fog and the moat
And to the valley of troubles
Cones of words fall off.
They sing about the days
Other lands and waters,
Where on tight branches
Bit their moonlit mouth.
And they whisper about the bushes
Impenetrable groves
Where it dances, having removed the ports,
Gold-knee rain.
4
Hosanna in the highest!
The hills are singing about paradise.
And in that paradise I see
You, my homeland.
Under the Mauritian oak
My red-haired grandfather is sitting,
And his fur coat shines
A pea of frequent stars.
And that cat hat
What he wore on holiday
Looks like a month, chilly
On the snow of native graves.
From the hills I shout to my grandfather:
"Oh father, answer me ..."
But the cedars are quietly dozing,
Weighing the branches down.
Voice does not reach
On his distant shore ...
But chu! It rings like an ear
Snow growing from the ground:
“Arise, receive your sight and see!
Inexpressible rock.
Who lives and builds everything -
He knows the hour and the time.
Trumpet God's clicks
By fire and storm of pipes,
And the cloud is yellow-fanged
Will bite through the milky navel.
And the belly will fall out
Incinerate the reins ...
But the one who thought of the Virgo,
Will ascend into the ship of the star. "

"Behind a dark strand of woods ..."

Behind a dark lock of woods
In the unwavering blue
Curly lamb - month
Walking in the blue grass.
In a still lake with sedge
His horns are butting, -
And it seems from a distant path -
The water shakes the shores.
And the steppe under the green canopy
Bird cherry smoke
And beyond the valleys along the slopes
Twists a fire over him.
O side of the feather-grass forest,
You are close to your heart with evenness,
But yours is lurking thicker
Saline longing.
And you, like me, are in a sad need,
Forgetting who is your friend and enemy,
You yearn for the pink sky
And dove clouds.
But you too from the blue width
The darkness seems fearful
And the shackles of your Siberia,
And the hump of the Ural ridge.

"In the land where the yellow nettles ..."

In the land where the yellow nettles
And a dry wicker
Lonely sheltered in the willows
Huts of villages.
There in the fields, behind the blue thick of the log,
In the green of the lakes
There is a sandy road
To the Siberian mountains.
Russia got lost in Mordva and Chudi,
She doesn't care about fear.
And people are walking along that road
People in shackles.
They are all murderers or thieves
As fate has judged them.
I loved their sad eyes
With depressions in the cheeks.
Much evil from joy in killers,
Their hearts are simple
But curl up in blackened faces
Blue mouths.
I am one dream, hiding,
That I am pure in heart.
But I will cut someone too
Under the autumn whistle.
And me in the wind,
On that sand,
Lead with a rope around your neck
Fall in love with melancholy.
And when with a smile in passing
I will straighten my chest
The weather will lick your tongue
Lived my way.

"I feel God's rainbow ..." Sergei Yesenin

I feel the Radunitsa of God -
I do not live in vain
I worship the roadside
I fall on the grass.

Between the pines, between the trees,
Between the birches of curly beads,
Under a wreath, in a ring of needles,
I see Jesus.

He calls me to Dubrovy,
As in the kingdom of heaven
And burns in purple brocade
Clouds covered forest.

Dove spirit from god
Like a fiery tongue
He took possession of my dear
Drowned out my weak cry.

Flame pours into the abyss of sight,
In my heart is the joy of children's dreams,
I believed from birth
In the Virgin's Cover.

Analysis of Yesenin's poem "I feel the rainbow of God ..."

The peasant world, open to the surrounding nature, lives according to the laws dictated by Orthodox canons. To convey the patriarchal harmony of the village lifestyle, Yesenin includes images of the Savior, the Mother of God and the saints in the artistic space of his early works. Their presence, which is often inaccessible to sight, transforms the modest landscape into a magnificent temple. In it, a sparrow reads a book of psalms, the wind is like a schema monk, and the pines and spruce greeted Jesus with glee, riding on a red donkey.

The lyrical hero thinks of himself as a full participant in the inspired divine services of nature, where “scarlet dawns” replace icons, and the role of the priest performing the sacrament of the sacrament is played by a stream. A similar position of the subject of speech is demonstrated by the content of the 1914 work. This time, a modest roadside grass becomes a detail endowed with a glimpse of God's providence.

The beginning indicates the elated mood of the lyrical "I". The inspiration is caused not only by the anticipation of the Christian holiday, but also by the special atmosphere of jubilation, conveyed in nature sketches. Depicting the reaction of the hero, the poet chooses the verb "smell". The meaning of the lexeme summarizes the complex of sensations based on the irrational perception of the environment.

The second and third quatrains are devoted to explaining the joyous state of mind subject of speech. The central moment of the episode is the appearance of the Savior to the shocked hero. The figure of the Son of God is gradually separated from the general landscape background. A characteristic detail of the image is a wreath of pine needles worn on the head of the biblical character. The author, replacing the crown of thorns with a more innocuous "analogue", seems to be trying to soften, remove the acuteness of the tragic future prepared for Jesus.

The presence of the God-Man completes the wonderful changes in the Central Russian landscape: the panorama of the forest and clouds floating above the trees is characterized by a magnificent metaphor. Using the trail game sunlight likened to luxuriously embroidered fabric, "lilac brocade".

The extraordinary character also changed the soul of the lyrical self. The details of this transformation are the subject of the last two quatrains. The gentle "dove spirit", a gift of divine powers, has a powerful transforming energy comparable to the fiery element. The motive of the flame evokes allusions to the lines in the reader's memory, however, in Yesenin's version of the process of rebirth, childishly joyful feelings and an awareness of deep faith play a leading role.