Accustomed to pick out raisins
Melodiousness of life sweet buns,
I just had to leave the path of
Obevşegosya cadence vseznayki.
I lived in poverty. We have a son.
Childishness had the time to throw.
Your age look eyed squinting,
I first noticed it streaked with gray.
But I did not stayed too long in the shallows.
Found another sympathetic and zealous.
I drew without delay
By recruiting foreign leninyany.

The task was catching phrases
On Lenin. Attention was not asleep.
catching them, how diver,
I dive a lot of magazines.

The mandate provides more space.
Floating matter razrezalny knife,
Every day I crossed the Bosporus
Inaccessible to the public covers.

It was the twenty-fourth year. December
Hardened to the window showcases ground-in.
And grew cold, as a printed coppers,
Tumor warm and unsteady.

Bookhouse departamensky peace
Not visited distant street noise.
only near, with a bandaged cheek
He flashed into the working doors ridikyulets.

Usually it does not happen to Las
With librarian Commissariat.
run against, it is at every hour
He raced in the snow flakes around the corner of the case.

they waved, and through the veil of adversity,
Glancing at the clumps of light gray sadness,
I got acquainted with the fashion news
And learn about Conrad and Proust.

Here are some of these journals, party
And I began to meet as if in a fog
With glory Maria Ilyina,
We have earned worldwide attention.

It was in honor and in full view,
But were an indication of the terrible given
And sends to the old work,
Which is not discussed.

Most likely it was a big piece
The more dense, meaner than
Show the reader in focus
Some mysterious saga,

Where, right, everything, it was tears and dreams,
And the blood of our age kroil cutter,
Mayest beauty without accidents
And it was true deadlines without delay.
As one, every one of the ten
Praised the style and originality of metaphors,
And the mainland with the islands disputed,
English whether she il Russian author.

But I did not know, that proistechet
Of these off-duty interests.
At Christmas I received calculation,
Ways to further tracing cutting.
Then freed leisure
I began to write Spektorsky, with otvychki
Taking up a man without merit,
Said to be friends with Muscovite.
At the edge of light bыley nepochatыy,
Nothing remarkable – the Bole.
I would not climb with this, will not play
Articles about it its special role.
They fell last sheaf
And it lit up the part to a miracle.
I began to write in a blind Spektorsky
Obedience to the lens power.
I used for the hero gave nothing
And talk about it is not used soon began,
But I wrote about the box beam,
In which he loomed in front of me.
About mist in the blink of bowls Pogrebnoy,
Which is mistaken prose jungle,
When we were putting the hair a mop
The news of the unknown masterpiece.
About it, at night, from burrow to burrow,
shivering, protyahyvayutsya in remoteness
Umbrellas oblique Moscow lights
With melancholy rain, got in their focus.
How are news of a drop ride,
And all-night, all the clatter yes go,
Knocking one horseshoe nail
So here, there, in the entrance, in this.
Day breaks. Autumn, greyness, old age, slime.
Pots and razors, brush, curlers.
And life was, I had time to zip,
As the night by the sound of the dilapidated cab.
lead vault. Dawn. Yards in water.
Iron roofs authoritative thesis.
But where is the house, that door, the childhood, Where
One world erupt, dreamland?
Where the heart of a friend? – Sly squint eye.
L used to know you so and so? – hearsay.
Yes, it is seen, easy life… but too.
Even convincing… but too.

Alien distance. foreign, opponent of the tubes
By ditches and hat flopping rain,
And exclusion facing in oak,
foreign, Pushkin as a miller, painter.

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Boris Pasternak
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