Author of quotes: Arseny Alexandrovich Tarkovsky

I age up to my own growth picked up.
We headed South, kept the dust above the steppe;
Burian was Cadel; grasshopper pampered,
Horseshoes touched us, and prophesied
And death threatened me, like a monk.
Destiny to my saddle, I strapped;
I'm now in the coming days
As a boy, stood up in his stirrups.

The strings lead the lyre
Our ancient law,
And the most precious in the world
Birds, stars and grass.
Before sunset all the people
Mold swallows Palace
Before sunrise
Tips Sagittarius bow,
In a pitcher from the living
Persifonia glass
Remove the bread your honey
Drops bee.
Hidden chest of nature
Otmechaet beggar king
And steals the key to the freedom
The summer months primer.

All gone. Goodbye left
Aback the yellow leaves outside the window
That left me the least
The rustle of autumn in my house.
Fell summer cold needle
Of numb hands silence
Dropped off the map completely in the dark behind a shelf
Mouse over the plaster walls.
If considered a start, I don't have the right
Even the fire outside the window.
Right, more scattered gravel
Under her careful heel.
There, in the side window disturbing the peace
Out of my being and housing
In yellow and blue and red - to which she
My memory? She my memory?

The human body
One as a loner.
Soul fed up
Solid shell
With eyes and ears
The size of a nickle
And skin scar on the scar
Put on the backbone.
<...>
The soul is sinful without a body,
As the body without a shirt, -
No thought's forthcoming, no good,
No design, no lines.
A riddle without solution:
Whoever can come back
Danced on the platform
Where there is no one to dance?
I dream of another
Soul, ln quite a different garb:
Burning, darting
From timidity to hope,
Fire, like alcohol, without a shadow
Goes on the earth,
To the memory of a bunch of lilac
Leaving on the table.
Child, run, do not setuy
Poor Eurydice
And a stick on light
Drive your copper Hoop,
Until at least a quarter of the hearing
In response to each step
And fun and dry
The earth is noisy in my ears.

And all of death is alive and life is complicated, takes on a new, transparent, obvious, like glass, flash sense.

When the night came, I had mercy
Granted, altar gates
Open, and in the darkness shone
And slowly reclining was your body naked,
And, waking up: "bless you." -
I said and knew that daring
My blessing: you slept,
Your closed eyelids with the universal blue
To you lilac stretched from the table,
And blue touched the eyelids
He was calm, and hand of heat.
And in the crystal throbbing rivers,
Smoldering mountains, the glimmer of the sea,
You held a sphere in your palm,
Crystal, and you slept on the throne,
And Oh, my goodness! - you were mine.

The third day the rain comes
Picking gray ice
And Raven on birch
Wash the beak and feathers crumples
(The rain).
No wonder the prose
(Everything passes)
heart clings,
To poor prose on the birch,
On the river and beyond the river
(Almost crying),
to poor prose
The paper at hand.

So summer is over, like it never happened.

In this world there is no miracle,
There is only the expectation of a miracle.
On that holds a poet,
This thirst of nowhere.

Sometimes the street wander -
Rush suddenly out of nowhere
And on the back off creeps
Senseless thirst of a miracle.

My soul longed night.
And I loved torn to shreds,
Whipped by the wind the darkness
And stars bressie on the fly
On a wet September gardens
Like butterflies with blind eyes,
And Gypsy carnival on the river
Satuci the bridge, and the woman in the headscarf,
Drooping shoulders on the slow water,
And those hands, as before trouble.

Butterfly was laughing like crazy
Curly cute dance dur
Across the jumble
Stereometric figures:
Teaches them all this math
Naked and pink Cupid.
And takes their band school,
Fragile, thoughtless, weak-willed,
The wind in the incoming life ahead.

Winter is hanging on coniferous paws,
Festive good
Gogol watermelon smell
December her soul.

I wrote a long address on the paper flap,
All could not say goodbye to paper held in her hand.
The light spread on the pavement. On the lashes and fur,
And grey gloves started falling wet snow.
Was the lamplighter, turned around near us lit a lantern,
Whistled the lantern, then stopped, like a pastoral horn.
And crumbled awkward, stupid conversation,
Down easier, smaller fractions... Ten years have passed since then.
Even the address was lost I even forgot the name
And then loved: the other, that bitter all loved.
And go and will drop from the roof of a home and niche at the gate
White ball over a circular alcove, and read: who lives?
There is a particular gate and a particular home,
There is a special sign, like youth itself.