6 1893 October, the
Born Dmitry Klenovsky — "the last Tsarskoye Selo", "the last poet of the Silver Age".
There were: he was a deaf gardener,
I am a poet who listened to all calls
And each worked on his own:
He is over the seedling, and I am over the word
We left. But only for a while.
On earth indestructibly spring
Let's save ourselves: I am in ten lines,
He is the cherry tree he planted.
Real surname - Krachkovsky. Was born in Petersburg, in the family of an academician of painting and a landscape artist.
They traveled a lot and lived in Europe for long periods. He spoke French fluently and loved to read.
I love reading on the first snow
Scanty hare tracks
Look: here he was spending the night,
Here he escaped from trouble
There he sat, his ears pressed back,
With his mustache fluttering in the wind,
And here I ate leisurely
Sweet bark from the birch tree <>
And I think: maybe Someone
My indelible years
With the same sweet care
A trace is written in my soul
At 11, after pneumonia, he moved with his parents from St. Petersburg to Tsarskoe Selo. There he entered the gymnasium - he was the director Innokenty Annensky.
He spoke slowly and solemnly, with a briefcase and Greek volumes under his arm, not noticing anyone, his head thrown back with inspiration.
He became an idol Gumilev He studied there, too, during his final year. I read his poems avidly later during my studies. I considered him a teacher. I couldn't forgive the Soviet regime for his death.
Everything that life has warmed me with,
I lost it - so be it!
I'm even bigger than Blok.
I don't remember it by heart
And it became crowded with graves
On the distant shore
I buried everyone, I buried everything,
But I can’t do this!
When I remember that the poet,
What is most precious to me,
Killed, forgotten - no trace left!
In my home country <>
Then I'm at my last strength
I shout to his enemy:
I have forgiven everyone, I have forgiven everything,
But I can’t do this!
He graduated from high school with a gold medal. In 1913, he entered the law faculty, but during his studies, he often skipped lectures at the philology department. He became fascinated with anthroposophy.
Christmas tree with five candles
No toys or sweets
The stingy flame timidly pours out
In my poor room
Ah, isn't it also at the threshold
To my cherished Bethlehem
I myself stand before God
Unadorned with anything!
Dry needles only
All my earthly worries,
Only with stingy candles,
What He Himself lit in me
And letting my soul go
The path has barely been set,
He himself will soon put it out -
Until next Christmas!
In 1916, he published a collection of poems, "Palette." A second collection, close in poetics to Acmeism, was never published due to the revolution.
In 1917, he was called up for military service in the Main Artillery Directorate. In 1921, he was transferred to Kharkov, He stayed there after demobilization. He worked as a journalist. In 1928, he married To Margarita Gutman.
When World War II began, the couple wasn't deported to Germany as Ostrabeiters, but—thanks to his wife's German heritage—they were sent to Austria, to a camp for German refugees. This period became Krachkovsky's "Boldino Autumn."
My foot had hardly left Soviet soil when, unexpectedly for myself, I resumed my literary work after a 20-year silence.
He began publishing under the pseudonym "Klenovsky": he did not want to fall under the Yalta agreements, according to which Soviet citizens were repatriated to their homeland, and his full namesake, a writer, also lived in France. Dmitry Krachkovsky.
With each name change
Something sweet is going to be broken
The city of Pushkin is in my mind
The village does not become royal
Petrograd with its heavy funeral feast
Petersburg is not our brother
And already a completely sinister ghost
The current Leningrad looms
And after him, a lot of things came to mind
Desecrated villages and towns -
Pathetic verbal wretchedness,
Repeating dead words
During his 30 years of exile, he published 11 books of poetry. The poetry was built around eternal themes—attitudes toward life, death, and God. He corresponded with Nina Berberova, Irina Odoevtseva, archbishop John Shekhovskoy. They called him “one of the best poets of the Russian Diaspora.”
Before his death, he was seriously ill and went blind. He wrote down several poems blindly, which were included in the collection "The Last." He died in 1976.
My train is heading towards the inevitable,
Departs without delay
Something gentle, please.
Tell me goodbye! <>
Don't ask for addresses
Don't find out where I am!
After all, I won’t say: “write”!
And only: "don't forget!"
