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Posts tagged Sergei Yesenin

“Awkward souls” or “Slow fools”?

 
From Sergei Yesenin’s “The Black Man”
 
Happiness — he said –
Is a quickness of hand and mind.
Slow fools are always
Known for being unhappy.
Heartaches, we know,
Derive
From broken, lying gestures.
 
 
Why poems, all of a sudden?
Of all the poets, why Yesenin?
 
“What’s the life of a scandalous poet to me?”
 
What is it to you?  My audience?  I know that I [...]

“Slow fools are always known for being unhappy”

 
The Black Man
by Sergei Yesenin
Translated by Geoffrey Hurley
 
 
My friend, my friend,
How sick I am. Nor do I know
Whence came this sickness.
Either the wind whistles
Over the desolate unpeopled field,
Or as September strips a copse,
Alcohol strips my brain.
 
My head waves my ears
Like a bird its wings.
Unendurably it looms my neck
When I walk.
The black man,
The black, black,
Black man
Sits [...]

On Yesenin’s Death

http://web.grinnell.edu/courses/tut/F01/TUT100-04/esenin/Esenindeath.html

Sergei Esenin may be widely known because of his dramatic demise. After he married Isadora Duncan, they traveled Europe and America, where he became very ill. There are different explanations of what happened.
The Soviet explanation is that
“…he had not been indifferent to the world’s biggest arena of the conflicts engendered by the system of private [...]

Sergei Yesenin

Sergei Yesenin

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Sergei Yesenin

Sergei Yesenin (Esenin)

Born
3 October 1895
Konstantinovo, Ryazan, Russia

Died
27 December 1925 (aged 30)
St. Petersburg, Russia

Occupation
lyrical poet

Nationality
Russian

Writing period
1915–1925

Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin (sometimes spelled as Esenin; Russian: Серге́й Алекса́ндрович Есе́нин; October 3 [O.S. September 21] 1895 – December 27, 1925) was a Russian lyrical poet.

Early Life
Sergei Yesenin was born in Konstantinovo in the [...]

The golden birch-tree grove has fallen silent

 
Sergei Yesenin (4 Oct. 1895 – 27 Dec. 1925)
 
 
* * *
 
The golden birch-tree grove has fallen silent
Its merry chatter having stopped afore,
The cranes up there flying over, sullen,
Have nobody to pity any more.
 
Whom should they pity? Each is just a trotter.
One comes and goes and leaves for good again.
The moon and hempen bush above the [...]

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