Biography of the poet Kharitonov

I can’t give you expensive gifts on my birthday, but on the other hand, on these nights spring I can talk about love. Morning begins with dawn. Hello, an immense country. Students have their own planet - this ... This is a virgin land! The sun flies on an airplane, and knock on the rails of the train. Our hands are drawn to work, and flash in the windows of the city. The earth itself moaned under me, and life already seemed behind me.

And only firmly came out of the fire, the harsh, gulling Rus'. Well, how did you do without me? But I can’t do without you. In the distance, a dawn strip is on an autumn flame. My acquaintance birch is quietly, quietly says: Russia, Russia - relatives, free regions! Russia, Russia, Russia - my homeland! Leaves, like a seagull, are circulating the wind in puddles, a cold will come down to the forest path.

The closer to frosts, the tastier the mountain ash, in the leaves of dark red birds of birthday ... Golden autumn decorates the earth, - the harvest celebration began on the collective farm. You would visit our family today, well, at least, say, take a walk at the wedding. Maybe not to the place, let's say in a simple way, we have a bride to the guy idle! Why is he to her, your whisper is belated, and the vanity of the brand new fences?

All global stations are closed, they will not even return to us. And we come to the past with a prayer, asking for something irrevocable, and we will reproach the sky above us for sows the rust of dew. For what sins for what, for what sins are such turns in fate? Poems become text when they are put on notes. The word is invented - the text, it sounds like an application - as if in the market a doctrine is dried without respected.

The poetry is ready to praise - it is crowned by musicality. And I know, a melody of words - he is responsible for himself. And I know that the muse is right - do not bravle with a good verse. And if bad words, do not put them on the clavra. Who are you? Shreds of smoke in the branches, like nests of rooks. Either the aspen, then the spruce - everything runs away. He plunged into the tunnel with his head.

And then the shower of the birches poured behind the bridge. A diesel locomotive buzzed in a steep rise. Where are you from? The road is long - behind the city, ahead of the virgin lands. Vetkov Perevist suddenly reminded the motive, and the driver sang, twisting his sleeves. He sings lingeringly, sings about the open spaces, he leads the score with wheels. In the edge of the forgotten earth, I am my love.

What was in the distance brought the locomotive closer. The feeling is that you are alive and that not ... I felt the integrity of two cigarettes with my hand. I hear - the sounds fell silent, I see - from under the eyebrows in the sky, like fragments, ducks from branches soared. He did not hear their scream, only saw a flight, mechanically pushed everything into his mouth ...

with a light explosion, shell -shocked and covered with foliage ... Apparently, I was unnecessary for that land at Rakit. The ferryman to the boys did not read the notation of a gray ferryman by the river, he simply made almost edible whistles from acacia. To the ferry, to the shore of the windbreak, the road went in a sawn -off shotgun, the guys stretched here with flocks throat here through the forest.

The ferryman brought them out of their fairy tales, he laid out his life, as, having tied the grenades with ligaments, saved his comrades in battle. The boys listened, the steppe, the reproach after the bumblebee, and touched, like a sacred, childish fingers to the crutch. The biography collaborated with composers: David Tukhmanov “My address is the Soviet Union”,; “How beautiful this world is,”; "Victory Day",; “Stop music” and “Photos of your loved ones”,; “You and I dance with you,” and others.

Many songs were written on Kharitonov’s poems after his death-“Return, Sun”, “But Still Summer”, “Do not forget”, “something was” by David Tukhmanov, “Let it be so”, “Our Secret”, “But you don’t know” Stas Namin, “We need us,“ Stubborn girl ”,“ Well, what happened? Kharitonov - laureate of ten international awards. He released 20 collections of poems and songs. Works: “Sip of the sun: poems”; “Remember everything good: poems, songs, parodies”,; "Birthday", ; “Hard trusting Rus': Poems”,; "Poems and songs",; "Note in the cartridge",; “Favorites”, literature: Strazinov N.

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