Mayakovsky Yesenin biography

Mayakovsky replied: - If Yesenin had finalized the poem, it would be “destined”. During the life of Yesenin, Mayakovsky polemicized with him, but they knew each other the price. They did not express their good attitude - for fundamental considerations. Yesenin transferred his recognition to me and at the meetings called me a "Beatrice", thereby equating Mayakovsky to Dante.

We were in a cafe on Tverskaya when Yesenin came there. It seems that this date was previously agreed on the phone. Yesenin was proud and arrogant; It seemed to him that they wanted to involve him in an unprofitable deal. After all, he was then still close to the eg -food - on the one hand, and with the peasant ones on the other. This combination was quite ridiculous in itself: Shershenevich and Klyuyev, Mariengof and Oreshin.

Yesenin kept himself wary, although he was clearly interested in Mayakovsky more than in all his combined accomplices. The conversation was about Yesenin's participation in Life. He requested the entry with a group from a place to the quarry. Mayakovsky, getting laughing, half -hearted, objected that "it was to act, graduating from school, good with a group." Yesenin does not go.

Yesenin agreed on the planet. And in general, he did not really defend the group entry. This is my word firm! After all, she also has the right to demand to herself. And Azerbaijan? And Georgia? Then it is necessary to call the magazine Lef, but - “Rosurazgraz”. Mayakovsky convinced Yesenin: - Throw you your nuts and fangs! What are you dragging this clay on your feet?

A person was created from clay, but what? The entry of Yesenin did not take place into the Commonwealth with Mayakovsky. From that time, another episode remained in memory. One evening, Vladimir Vladimirovich came to me excited, somehow shocked. I barely recognized him. One must somehow, Kolya, take up Yesenin. I got into the swamp. But he is damn talented.

We went through the noisy, elegant, with lights filled with lights and in the evening issue of the local newspaper we read: “The famous Soviet poet, spouse Isadora Duncan, Sergey Yesenin took his life.” Anatoly Vasilievich took this news with deep sadness. Yesenin’s tragic internal discord was noticeable for everyone who came into contact with him the last months of his life.

His habit of alcohol, his isolation from our Soviet life, his dissatisfaction, creative and personal, progressed with incredible speed. Before leaving abroad in the fall of the year, Lunacharsky met with Yesenin for the last time in the artist Georgy Bogdanovich Yakulov. Yesenin was in a state of gloomy, drunken, hopeless longing and made an oppressive impression on Anatoly Vasilyevich.

It was difficult to lose a talented, original, young poet, but there was some kind of cruel justification in his decision to die. On the contrary, the violent death of Mayakovsky seemed to be some kind of glaring absurdity, terrible insinuation. Consciousness did not put up with this! After all, it was he by his sarcastic, merciless analysis who condemned Yesenin's suicide!

After all, he said: “It is not difficult to measure in this life. Making life is much more difficult ”and we all knew that Vladimir Mayakovsky“ makes ”this life. She reported that “Today, in the Polytechnic Museum, there would be a dispute of futurists with the imaginists. Sergey Yesenin will come from the imagers, Vladimir Mayakovsky from the futurists. Valery Bryusov presides. ” A great thing for man is joy.

One consciousness that tonight we will see the “live and worship” of the creators of Russian poetry, we will hear their living human voice, warmed us with unforgettable enthusiasm. It doesn’t matter that trams do not go, that from the barbel to the Lubyanka - six or more kilometers of distance, that we have poor shoes and our legs are very tired of ...

Can you feel exhausted, tired and poor, if such a joyful evening has a joy! He appeared not on the stage, but in the hall, in the aisle between the last rows, he entered suddenly and completely silently. But such is the property of Mayakovsky that his appearance, anywhere, could not remain invisible. In the ranks of the audience, which overwhelmed the hall, some movement began, a vague excited noise.

It was felt that a person who entered the hall entered the hall, interesting and important for everyone. They moved, began to look around people sitting in the forefront. I looked around and I saw a face that cannot be forgotten. You can choose a lot of adjectives to describe the face of Vladimir Vladimirovich: volitional, courageously beautiful, smart, inspired. All these words are suitable, do not flatter and do not lie when you talk about Mayakovsky.

But they do not express the main thing that made the poet's face unforgettable. It was lived that internal force that is rarely found in external detection. The undeniable power of talent, his soul. Mayakovsky was dressed in an inconspicuous warm gray jacket to his knees, in his hands held an ordinary, familiar to our eyes at that time, a lamb hat, stood motionless. Outwardly, he did not distract our attention from what was happening on the Presidium, on the stage.

We just carefully examined the beloved poets sitting there.But Mayakovsky entered - and for me personally, as for the majority in the hall, people disappeared, their speeches on stage and a vague noise in the ranks caused by Mayakovsky’s appearance became inaudible. It seemed that on a deserted one person stands in an inconspicuous gray jacket to his knees, simply, even indifferently looking forward, but vigilantly sees something that I do not see.

It is absolutely necessary for him to speak, say that he sees- that was my feeling at that moment. About this. The thought born of the excitement of the heart is difficult to verbally. And without cordial excitement, I can’t, the reader, to recall the first meeting with the poet Vladimir Mayakovsky. After all, I loved poetry with unconditional love and believed it.

And there were a majority in a crowded audience like me. The noise in the ranks of those present grew into noise. He was permeated by someone's youthful voice, sincere and sonorous:-Mayakovsky in the hall! We want Mayakovsky! And immediately a whole choir of voices, unstable, but convincingly loud and hot: - Mayakovsky, on the stage! We want to listen to Mayakovsky!

On the stage! The strong voice of Mayakovsky immediately covered and stopped a varied noise.

He quickly went on the stage on the stage and spoke on the go: - Comrades! I am now from the cameras of the people's judge! An extraordinary thing was dealing with: the children killed their mother. But the fact is that the mother was still poetry, and the children were imazhinists. There was a lightweight laughter in the hall. The imagers sitting on the stage literally moved towards Mayakovsky.

The poet slightly dismissed them with his hand and began to parody the poems of the Imazhinists. The audience laughed. Of all the rows, reciprocal exclamations rushed, comments, the imagnists were loudly scolded. Valery Bryusov began to call his chairman bell several times, then threw it on the table and sat down, crossing his hands on his chest. But, stopping laughter and hostile shouts and an approving friendly hum, Mayakovsky menacingly and weightily spoke of the terrible sin of modern Russian poetry, that Soviet poetry does not dare, should not and cannot be apolitical.

You do not write poetry, but agites! Mayakovsky responded to him as a dense bass, as a “copper -ruble siren”: “And you are mares ... to make Mayakovsky silence, Yesenin began to read his poems.”