🗊Презентация на тему Биография Есенина на английском

I don't pity, don't call, don't cry I don't pity, don't call, don't cry I don't pity, don't call, don't cry,  All will be gone, like haze from the white apple trees.  Seized by the gold of withering,  I will never be young again. My heart, touched by the chill within,  You will not beat as before,  And the cotton birches of the countryside  No more will lure me to gad about barefoot. From 'I don't pity, don't call,...' 1921  Translated by Lyuba Coffey

Sergey Yesenin, c. 1919 Sergey Yesenin is without doubt the most profoundly Russian of all the poets of the Revolution. Sometimes dismissed by elitist poetic circles as a 'peasant poet', Yesenin was in fact an extremely gifted lyricist, an intellectual and a celebrity. He was the poet of the people, not only during the early days of the Revolution but long after his death in 1925 at age 30. His poetry survived through the Stalinist period, despite official disapproval of his works. His little books of poetry, often in tatters, could be found in the hands of migrant workers and Red Army soldiers. Many of his poems are learnt by heart at school. They have been set to music and are popular songs in modern Russia. His poetry, deceptively simple in structure, is fresh, sincere, melancholy and full of fire.

His wife's

A Letter to Mother Are you still alive, my dear granny?  I am alive as well. Hello! Hello!  May there always be above you, honey,  The amazing stream of evening glow.  I've been told that hiding your disquiet,  Worrying about me a lot,  You go out to the roadside every night,  Wearing your shabby overcoat.  In the evening darkness, very often,  You conceive the same old scene of blood:  Kind of in a tavern fight some ruffian  Plunged a Finnish knife into my heart.  Now calm down, mom! And don't be dreary!  It's a painful fiction through and through.  I'm not so bad a drunkard, really,  As to die without seeing you.  I'm your tender son as ever, dear,  And the only thing I dream of now  Is to leave this dismal boredom here  And return to our little house. And how! I'll return in spring without warning  When the garden blossoms, white as snow.  Please don't wake me early in the morning,  As you did before, eight years ago.  Don't disturb my dreams that now have flown,  Don't perturb my vain and futile strife  For it's much too early that I've known  Heavy loss and weariness in life.  Please don't teach me how to say my prayers!  There is no way back to what is gone.  You're my only joy, support and praise  And my only flare shining on.  Please forget about your pain and fear,  Please don't worry over me a lot  Don't go out to the roadside, dear,  Wearing your shabby overcoat

The Birch Tree/Береза Under my window Tucked in the snow White birch retired Clad in silver glow. On the fluffy branches Snowy-trim with silver-tinge Melted around catkins Forming white fringe. Like golden fires Snow-flakes blazed While birch stood still Asleep, or amazed. Meanwhile, lazily Strolling around, Dawn threw more “silver” On the twigs (and ground). Translated from original by K.M.W.Klara

The Stars/Звезды Tiny stars, bright stars, high stars! What are you keeping-in, and what are you hiding? How do the tender, deep-thoughts of stars, Keep my soul captive, without binding? Private stars, compact stars! Is it your beauty, knowledge, or might? What great power, o heavenly stars, Keeps my fascination burning at night? Why when you shine, do you lure me hard, To the embrace of the wide sky? You look tenderly, you caress my heart Heavenly stars, stars from afar, why? Translated from original by K.M.W.Klara

The Storm/Буря Leaves atremble, the maples rocked. They scattered pollen like powdered brass. Winds blew and green forest sighted. The echo whispered with dried feather – grass, Gloomy storm at the window cries bending twigs toward the murky glass. Shaking morosely, as if dismayed, They gaze into semi-darkness, alas... Black clouds keep creeping from afar. Ferociously swell the river, the waves roar; Like strong arms brandishing a scimitar, they keep crashing again and they soar. © Translation by K.M.W. Klara All rights reserved

Winter/Зима At the moment the autumn disappeared, The brusque winter came tearing all along. Winged like, it has appeared, No one knows how, why, or for how long. Deep frosts turned the dams into sheer ice, (A heavenly sight for every ice sprinter) Some boys exclaimed, “Hey, it’s nice!” Others added, “Thank you winter.” With new designs on the glazed windows Mysterious beauty the world acquired Even though everyone paused and admired Who did it, when, and how? No one knows. The falling snowflakes swirled and dashed, Then settled down like a huge white throw. Just then in the clouds the sunlight flashed And a sparkle appeared on the frosted snow. © Translation by K.M.W. Klara All rights reserved