September 8, 1974
В Chelyabinsk The cult poet of the 90s was born Boris Ryzhiy. Sverdlovsk's Yesenin. The last voice of Soviet poetry.
This autumn I even have poems
were partially successful
(but there was always a missing line
or rhymes - for happiness)
My father is a professor of geology. My mother is an epidemiologist.
When Boris was 6, the family moved to Sverdlovsk, to an area with a special courtyard romance - Vtorchermet.
On the street, I played guards and prisoners with my friends. To learn to stand up for myself, I went to boxing classes.
How well we lived, how badly we lived
He graduated from the Ural Mining University and completed his postgraduate studies. He worked nights as a parking lot guard.
He began creating at 14. He wrote more than 1300 poems: usually at night, but always sober.
The tragedy of a poet is that he is a poet. You cannot write prose. You were born and you rhyme.
His poetry was understandable to his fellow prisoners, factory workers, and prominent literary figures.
The poet's job is to serve the language
Serve with dignity and retire with dignity. When you feel that your gift has left you, that you have done all you could, you must simply lay down your pen.
In 2001, his wife found 26-year-old Boris dead on the balcony. He had committed suicide, leaving a suicide note.
I loved everyone. No kidding.
According to one theory, it was a creative crisis. Another, depression due to the loss of close friends who died of overdoses. A third, the "youthful" poet's reluctance to grow old.
They also delivered the drugs at five,
and then they danced until the morning,
and Kent with the portak "Swans"
They called an ambulance at night
In memory of Boris Ryzhy in Yekaterinburg In May of this year, the park was opened, and in the fall, for the 50th anniversary of its birth, the tram was decorated.
Semyon Serzin's film about Ryzhiy is scheduled for release on September 12.
Several days before the premiere, special screenings were cancelled in several cities, citing a "problem with the film."
To remain a boy in a gray cap,
by yourself, in short
To wander between truth and fiction
through the fallen leaves of September
