Biography of Vinokurov Evgeny Mikhailovich. Vinokurov Evgeny Mikhailovich - biography And Vinokurov children's poet biography
Evgeniy Mikhailovich devotes his young years to serving his homeland, successfully achieving the rank of platoon commander with mental acuity and constant diligence. At a more mature age, Vinokurov delved into rhyme, receiving the title of Soviet poet, and worked in the literary department of the magazine, revealing many young talents to the Soviet world and bringing his vision of true verse to the world. The works of Evgeniy Mikhailovich are highly praised by a large number of critics, some of whom write voluminous reviews of his poems. The workers to whom Vinokurov dedicates his creations also appreciate them. Some of the poet's works are set to melodies, forming the most famous of Soviet folk songs. The name of Evgeniy Mikhailovich gains fame and rises in completely different circles of society.
The poet's poems continue the traditions of the philosophical lyrics of such famous authors as Tyutchev and Baratynsky, raising in their lines a variety of socialist problems, penetrating into the very depths of the chosen issue. Most of Vinokurov’s works are written on military themes, presented without excessive sentimentality or heroism.
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Vinokurov Evgeny Mikhailovich (1925-1993), Russian poet.
Born on October 22, 1925 in Bryansk in the military family of M.N. Peregudov; took his mother's surname. After finishing 9th grade he was drafted into the army. He graduated from artillery school, and at the age of less than 18 became a platoon commander. Published since 1948; in 1951 he graduated from the Literary Institute. A.M. Gorky, at the same time his first book Poems about Debt was published, in 1956 - the collections Sinev, which aroused the approval of B.L. Pasternak, and Military Lyrics, followed by the collections Confessions (1958), A Human Face (1960), The Word (1962), Music (1967), Characters (1965), Rhythm (1966), Spectacles (1968), Gesture (1969), Metaphors (1972), Due to Things (1973), Earring with Malaya Bronnaya (1974), title for which the poem of the same name was created in 1953 about Moscow boys who did not return from the front, and their mothers dying in empty apartments - one of the most popular in Russian military lyrics of the 20th century, set to music by A.Ya. Eshpay in 1958; Contrasts (1975), Home and World (1977), Lot (1978), Awe (1981), Genesis (1982), Cosmogony, Hypostasis (both 1984, USSR State Prize, 1987), Fate (1987), Equinox (1989) .
You are Evgeniy, I am Evgeniy.
You are not a genius, I am not a genius.
You are shit and I am shit.
I - recently, you - long ago.
(Evgeny Yevtushenko)
Vinokurov Evgeniy Mikhailovich
In line with his main theme - the spiritual maturation of a person, a “grain of sand” and a creator at the same time, in the course of an ambiguous and turbulent historical process - the poet, distinguished by his commitment to precise everyday details, gentle humor and lyricism, strives first of all to find in a clear and clear poetic narrative the essence, logic and even beauty of what is happening behind the external, mean, everyday or even traumatic reality of existence.
Moral maximalism, a desire for philosophical generalization and at the same time to comprehend psychological depths lead Vinokurov to the conclusion that human life is “an eternal effort to rise above oneself.”
And so, as if born for conversations, I began, and my comrade, who is excessively gray, listened to me with a half-inclination with benevolent attention... When the back of an old man bends, do not complain about your sad fate - you will make up for what was lost in full only with sedateness conversation... We walk through the park along the river, talking, to the distant ringing of the tram, leaning on sticks, old people, leaves, those that have fallen, picking...
* * *
I'm afraid of hotels. I am overwhelmed with horror at the thought that someday I will again have to draw into myself the subtle poison of the faded carpets of the empty room. I'm afraid of hotels. This is no accident. Here the cold blows from the windows fiercely. There's a lamp here. There are curtains here. There's an ottoman here. The illusion of family comfort. I'm afraid of hotels. Maybe because I feel that someday I will be left alone in the room. Forever. Indeed. No refund.
In a snowstorm
I subtly ruled my life like a razor: I wanted it to be without any notches... Life turned out to be simply broader than any rules! She's black. She is white. Here are the long curtains made of tulle. The parquet has been polished. Be smart! Don't run away... Life has been bad luck! Look out the window, neat guy! Pull your boots up to your thighs... The driver grumbles. He's obviously drunk. There is darkness everywhere. Where are we now? God knows! And the rain pours down. It stings your eyes... And you will understand: this is what life is.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
* * *
In love with a marching fate, Not in a photo where the moon is near the rocks, In a thickly whitewashed barracks, I honestly looked for beauty. I was looking for it in discipline, And in the rations given out in short supply, And in the scarlet wedge, the smoky wedge In the heated car of the heavens that looked. Listening to the sad wheeze of an accordion, - And I was seriously sad then! - I tore my palms from my eyes, Palms, wet with tears... Through ravines and lowlands, Through splashed mud, I raced in the back of a car, Lounging on a raincoat. I wandered along the snowy first routes, flew through the night on freight trains, ate chicken at food stations and washed in sanitary checkpoints. I only understood thunderstorms, the expensive batch, the snowfall... The stingy and subtle spirit of the birch tree In those years I did not understand.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Survived
So it's over. I survived. Windings In the depths of the duffel bag there is a Loaf. There is salt in the rag. I went out, holding onto the ceiling lightly. In two weeks I acquired those refined features, which, perhaps, in fact are already stronger than beauty. The suffering, which was enormous, touched the brow with thought. It deepened the under-eyes and created wrinkles around the mouth. Like a shadow, I barely stood... Soul, where were you before? I sensed it clearly in my body, like bread in a sack, like salt in a rag.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Hamlet
We built a hall from pillars and thick beams behind the warehouse. There Hamlet was played by Corporal Dyadin, and in agony he stretched his arms upward. And in life, I remember, the company commander spoke of him as a conscientious fighter! He was sedate, red-cheeked, dense, with many freckles on his face. It happened that he would come out, hang his head, and fold his hands mournfully, as it should, but only “to be or not to be?” exclaims, For some reason everyone was laughing. I saw many Hamlets on stage, from the darkness of the wings entering the bright circle, - sad, loud, thin-legged... They utter a word - everything suddenly becomes silent, hearts freeze, and binoculars tremble... They have passion, and strength, and a game! But together with ours, we were cold and wet and easily sat by the fire.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
Where there are inviting bookstores, where in cramped spaces you can only stand sideways, we, scribes, youths, provincials, will read poems with pomp. Waving our hands, laden with books, we, who have only gone out for five minutes, will go wandering... In the hour before dawn, our wives, having lost patience, will curse us. Walk around all night in the light of a lamp!.. We are few! Whatever you call it, I know, I know, it is higher than everything in the world, and even, perhaps, love...
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Eyes
Explosion. And to the ground. Lay down. Hands apart. And He got up on one knee, gnawing his lips. And he smeared not tears across his face, but leaking eyes. It became scary. Bent over halfway, I threw him on his side. I barely dragged him, covered in clay, to the village. In the medical battalion he shouted to his sister: “It hurts!” Stop twisting the bandages!.. - I, who was dying, out of habit, left him to finish smoking. And when, while taking him away, the wheels began to whine shrilly, loud enough to hear everyone’s voices, I suddenly remembered for the first time: my friend had Blue eyes.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
* * *
I envy the big guy a little, that he follows the instructions of a yogi, that he walks in the Moscow region with a backpack, that he presses the pedals of a bicycle, that he never sleeps after lunch, that he is not familiar with pain in the atrium... But, unfortunately, I live differently: in the capital I am staying - not at the dacha. I wander around in languor for a day or two, not a word. I don’t listen to yogic advice; I take pills in the middle of the night. I'm waiting: poetry is about to appear...
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
True
Suddenly I wanted the truth like a sick person wants the truth. So a traveler in a foreign country will suddenly be drawn to home. It would seem: what is she for? And it’s of little use to me! How can I drink in a swamp from the “window”, having parted the sedge. Like chalk scraped in a handful from the wall! After all, it happened that I often lacked it, like lime in a bone. What is she to me? And what am I to her? What kind of profit is there in it? But the truth is dearest to me in one way: it is not false. Like a dog, jerk and eat it! I wait with my mouth open, not yet knowing what it will be: medicine or poison.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
When the parachute doesn't open
When you pull the spare ring And the parachute does not open, And there, under you, the vastness of the forest - And it is already clear that you will not be saved, And there is nothing else to cling to, And there is nothing to meet on the way - Open your arms calmly, like a bird, And, embracing the open spaces, fly. And there is nowhere to back away, there is no time to go crazy, And there is only one way out, the simplest: Become calm in life for the first time and fall in an embrace with the universal emptiness.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
beauty
V. Bokov Look at the sky - There are thousands of spring stars! What is youth in the glittering heights?! But more fierce than the need for food, we had a need for beauty. Beauty was given to us little by little... In the evenings, when the halt was noisy, the company shoemaker, torturing the accordion, persistently obtained it for us. It was minute and not flashy. It will flash - and not: in the morning in the distance, On a hill - a stearic birch tree, In the night - the moon, crushed in the river. And then it happened: autumn, tanks are stuck, and fumes, and smoke - and suddenly she will take And with the pure gaze of a Poznan peasant woman, from under her hand, she will sparkle.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
* * *
The Goths were baptized... They entered the reservoir up to their shoulders with a doomed look. But they held a sword above themselves, so that the fist remained unbaptized. There must be a limit to meekness, no matter what the commandment of humility says... And I would like to keep my fist. I'll be kind. But let there be strength in it.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
Who didn’t give me advice! I have had a lot of success in my life studying. And I just nodded my head: “Yes, yes, of course!” Clear. Well, of course!.. Raising a finger, whoever didn’t hold Me by the lapel! - Yes, yeah, I see! Thank you! Okay! - I didn’t mind: Well, what does it cost me, but it’s nice for them... - Yes, yes, I agree! Oh my! Hey, hey! Perhaps! How right you are, well, I won’t hide it. The more I listened to teachers, the more I wanted to be myself.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
Lie
Without even dreaming of the truth, I lived among my relatives, and all around me there was a simple but corrosive lie. They lied with gusto, they lied sweetly. Some simply lied, and some tripled... But like a vague dream, the guess sadly glimmered within me. I was timid, and weak, and young, I wandered at night through the fog - all in towers, spiers, chimneys, the city was like a monstrous deception. I walked in clumsy shoes, walked, talking to myself... And the false dawn was reflected deceitfully in the puddles.
Favorites
The character of all loved ones is the same! Cheerful, they will suddenly become sad, Having become jealous, having suffered, having cried, They will calm down and forgive, And kiss. They won't give you peace! They will wrap their arms tightly around your neck. Looking into your eyes, they press your cheek to your cheek, and slow down. They will call you your favorite! But just try to meet them sternly, Just carefully remove your hand, Say: “Now I have no time!” - and again they will pout for the whole day. ...There is nothing more touching in the world of disorder than their soft hair at that dawn hour, When they trustingly and sweetly Sleep, scattered, on our hand. Beloved! When we left, We, young, baggy and thin, They walked alone in the middle of the night Through black puddles in thin shoes. We strictly walked forward. What do we, heroes, care about their confusion - the road is long! They ran behind the singing line, wiping away tears with the tip of a handkerchief. They stood along the platform in the night, Sobbing, with their heads uncovered, Until the lantern of the last carriage went out behind the rain gloom. And at the hour when there was ice on the sidewalks, worthy of exalted destinies, They stood to buy gray flour cards for bread. And we dreamed in the fire of a foreign land: Their room is two meters wide, - How, taking off their dress over their heads, they stand, getting ready for bed. As you know, loved ones are not spoiled - Two or three letters for so many years and winters! They will hug and kiss the ten lines that we write to them. They were in freight trains, along the first routes. They got to us that distant year. With a wretched bundle, they crowded around the barracks gates for days. And the sentry looked at them sternly. The loved ones, not knowing about the regulations, begged to be let in and grabbed the sentry in desperation by the sleeve. They could stand like this for centuries, In heavy scarves, in light coats, From frequent washing with red hands, With boundless love in their hearts.
Minute
It’s clear that you don’t need to look out the window from the street: what’s there in the house? Someone will suddenly feel uneasy because of the intrusive gaze... Do spouses quarrel? Are children crying? The husband, having settled down, became mortally ill?.. By chance you will suddenly find yourself witnessing something that God forbid! You accidentally break straight into the womb of the Arbat coziness. ...Or suddenly a happy moment: the whole family is feasting at the table!
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
* * *
"World of Adventures" was such a magazine. I remember I got hold of a binder somewhere... Whoever didn’t sit over it until dawn - He shamelessly cut himself off! And like a giant moaning pump, I sucked in the night's reading... Detective's cap pulled down. A ship crushed to death by ice. "SOS" Life is an adventure. Go. Live! There is the coast of the sea, the river, the hills... ...But don't call for help, When suddenly life takes you by the throat! In the remote taiga you will drink from the root... If you die, they will put you in a plane tree in Georgia... And your life is like a story without end In that wonderful and disheveled magazine.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Muscovites
In the fields beyond the sleepy Vistula, Seryozhka with Malaya Bronnaya and Vitka with Mokhovaya lie in the damp ground. And somewhere in a crowded world For many years in a row, Alone in an empty apartment Their mothers do not sleep. The light of an inflamed lamp burns over Moscow in the window on Malaya Bronnaya, in the window on Mokhovaya. Friends won't get up. There is a movie going on in the area without them. The girls, their friends, have all been married for a long time. The bottomless vault is burning, And the night is rustling with leaves Above the quiet Malaya Bronnaya, Above the quiet Mokhovaya.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Poems. Series "Russia - My Motherland". Moscow, "Fiction" 1967.
My favorite was washing
My favorite was washing. Her shoulders were moving. She stretched out her thin arms, hanging her damp clothes. She was looking for a tiny piece of soap, and it was in her hands. How pitiful was the back of her head, in its funny and delicate curls! My favorite was washing. So as not to stain my forehead with foam, I awkwardly, with my elbow, removed a strand that had fallen onto my forehead. Then, with her shoulders drooping, my dear, She looked out the window in oblivion, Then she sang thinly, not knowing that I had been watching her for a long time. Ancient beauties of sunset Stood in the depths of the window. From soap, lye and soda, she squinted in annoyance. There is nothing more beautiful in the whole world, - Walk through all the cities in a row! - Than these thin hands, Than this sad, sad look.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
“It is not fit for man to be alone,” the gloomy saying says. I’ll put on my raincoat and my cap and go out. A light rain is drizzling. Yes, the ancient book told the truth!.. I walk through black puddles into the darkness - towards the noise of the tram and the light of the station, just so as not to be left alone.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Do not Cry
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. No need. It's only music! Do not Cry. It's just a sonata. They cry because of troubles, because of failures. Let's sit on the bench. The sky is blue under the boots under the ice. This is just a sonata - Black Horn in the city park. Kaplet from the roof of the wood warehouse. It's fun. A black rook is walking... It's just a sonata! I ask: don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
No, not only the ominous wind all the time, No, not only the fires are brown - There were such good things in the world, Like, for example, eighteen years, Like, for example, dark blue nights, Very sad songs, bushes in dew, On which spring bud knots I tied it so that everyone would remember... But what should we remember? We have everything with us. Everything we need for youth is here, at our feet: A kilometer of road to the first battle, At the shoulder in a duffel bag for a week's rations. But one special evening in May, a bearded soldier under the resinous smoke by the fire at his leisure, sewing up his overcoat, told us about love as awkwardly as he could.. About accordion, about raw celestial stars, and about the smell of girls’ heavy hair... We smoked, They were silent, that evening for the first time they seriously believed in the sadness of all the soldiers’ songs.
Evening of lyrics. Moscow: Art, 1965.
She
He sits down to eat, half a piece, and shouts: “Eat!” I gave up. Arbitrariness! She rattles pots, goddess. Reading a book. Sweeps the floor. Walking barefoot, wearing my jacket. She sings in the kitchen in the morning. Love? Not really! Where?! This is unlikely! And it’s just like this: if he leaves, I’ll die.
60 years of Soviet poetry. Collection of poems in four volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
Again the wet hat drips, the sound of empty keys in the pocket. Here he comes, midnight Hamlet. Unnecessary. Abandoned. No one's. Autumn throws a leaf at his feet... And so, bending slightly, he enters the pub and asks for a semi-cold beer. At first he spilled the beer by mistake, then, secretly, he cried to his heart’s content about how everything in the world was so complicated, about how life had failed.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Father's house
And no matter how much you turn the road clay in your life, in spite of everything you will return to your father’s house And boots will stand in the corner... And even if - even when he’s about ninety years old - the Old Man mumbles: “Son!” But you brought your sonship and laid it at your feet. And a new joy, like an ovary... Even though you are unaccustomed to the hut, - You, who escaped from the beauties And from the circular glasses. ...Let it be an empty night somewhere in a field. Let the scream and song be in the distance. You will forget everything, falling to the hand covered with veins.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
Poem about movement
The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. He wanders in a stripe. They touch you like that - cunning! - Stream with your bare foot. He continues to blaze the trail. His step is wrong. But now the space is open - He went out onto the highway! The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. Come on, be bolder. Fire away! And he became enthusiastic, like a mower at a mowing. He lurched forward. No shirt - pants. And His legs are naked to the knees. The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. He has baldness. He's a bony guy. He extended his arms into the distance, twirling like a skater. He took the fun game seriously. The tap dancer is beating in the corner, like a sailor "Bullseye". The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. As if on a bet, the energetic motor is working inside. Sweat streams from the cheeks, And the dancing is still fierce. He's a pendulum. Spinning top. A complete bonfire of passions. The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. Let the parquet be clean! He rushes, - his gaze is deserted! - Like a whip in vain. He has no time for beauty. He is absorbed in work. Oh-oh, he will destroy, Look at the whole house! The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. His hand flies. He's like a bullfighter, piercing the bull! He's rushing. He is there. He is here. Tired. How he lifted the cart! He drew a sketch of gestures and poses. The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. It contains gunpowder. There was a fuse in him. So he found a stop. Steam rises from the flesh. The ardor melted him. And the rhythm blinded him. Grasps of triumph. Body movements feast. The floors are rubbed by a floor polisher. And the poses are like a chorale! Mimic actor played Tragedy. He rushes, inexorably, From windows to doors... Movement rules him. It is wiser than him.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
The poets spoke with pain about death in lofty, sad words. And they died, and the grass grew on their cemetery grave. Death will inevitably come for everyone. O my life, how dear you are to me! But someday I will die in an attack, crushing the enemy with my cold chest. Or, with a stick in my hand, wearing a funny Panama hat, I’ll fall off the path and fall into the abyss. And I will die under the mountain stones, In sight of the glassy stars. Or maybe it’s simple - where the road winds, Where, except for the sky, there is nothing - The heart will suddenly fall silent and burst from the songs that overwhelmed it... Wherever it is: along the steep path, Under the wind’s frantic melody, I too will die, before fatal moment Without having time to think about death.
Stanzas of the century. Anthology of Russian poetry. Comp. E. Yevtushenko. Minsk, Moscow: Polifact, 1995.
Prophet
And so I appear at the threshold... They don’t consider me a prophet here! I'm here like everyone else. Even though the three of them look at me with all their eyes, they cannot discern the high prophetic sign on my forehead. They are so merciless towards crime! Did anyone here remember suffering from migraines? - Got the pills?! Purchased your order? - Is that request still valid?.. - Yes, we asked you to buy a loaf of bread! - Sent letters? Did you pay for gas?.. And I remain silent. I don’t know what to answer. I reap what I sow. And the borscht is worth it. It still smokes, beckoning!.. But I’m forgiven. I'm having fun! After all, somewhere there I left a knapsack, a staff and a scarlet cloak outside the door.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
* * *
The war has passed. Stories of disabled people Still full of war, war, war... It seemed to me then: we were brought into a world that was not Euclidean - We were brought into a strange world. I thought life was simple and too long. My life. But life is short and not simple. And I went into myself. As an archaeologist, I got to the bottom of that layer... I was stuffed to the gills with what I had experienced. The suffering that was driving me crazy, I was torn open, it was breaking my life in a year of terrible harvests. And the words came. This is how logs rush during timber rafting... People, I can’t remain silent for more than a day, I pray for the right for me to tell, for you to listen to me. I demand. Oh, be so kind! In front of a crowd or alone. I'm exhausted. I will open to you the abysses that were revealed to me at the age of seventeen. I don't want anything else. I cried myself at. There is no greater reward!.. A word suddenly appeared inside me And demands to be born.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Job
I carried pounds of sleepers up the steep slope. I was young and thin - I got it hard! But only sweat in three streams and an annoying grin on the steep climb betrayed fatigue. Leaning with my whole body, I dug clay, I threw this clay with a shovel. In the evening my face darkened and fell off. I could be a smart digger. I was assigned to a bathhouse to carry water in a group of old fighters, hard-working and stalwart. We dragged it for three days. The marks on the palms remained for a whole year from the bucket handles. I chopped logs with a cleaver. I chopped for the kitchen and chopped for the boiler room. Only my muscles were shaking under my wet and stiff undershirt. I was young then. There was enthusiasm, there was passion. Only towards night, having worn myself out like someone dead, I fell asleep on the bunk without washing my face, leaning my unshaven cheek on my fist.
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
* * *
I sit, slouched, with a textbook in front of me - my prayer rises fervently! And a kind wizard appears, looks over my shoulder... An artillery attack hits, breaking the piers of the bridge into rubble - the caisson collapsed. But the three-minute break is magical, and the angel waves to me - I’m saved!.. We are looking for a mushroom - and for some reason we are waiting for a tall gnome to suddenly come out in a cap!.. ...But is it really possible to comprehend the task and survive without a miracle? under fire?!
Evgeny Vinokurov. Collected works in 3 volumes. Moscow: Fiction, 1983.
Sineva
I was transported to Polesie. Beyond the rivers and behind the forests there is a Belarusian village - All with clear blue eyes. With a bucket, barefoot, by the river you will meet the girl on the slope. Like blue coals, Your eyes will burn from under your palm. In an overcoat, apparently, there was a soldier, - The man is fiddling around in the barn. Call out and he will look up, filled with deep blue. An old woman wanders through the flaxes with a mushroom basket and a stick. And the ancient eyes are full of bluish peace. Five young women at the fence. They gossip, gasp, sigh... The eyes are breathtaking! - They glow blue. Girls. Their attire is modest. Shy enchantresses, blushing, give the blue, Like a jewel, through their eyelashes.
Soviet poetry. In 2 volumes. Library of World Literature. Episode three. Editors A. Krakovskaya, Y. Rosenblum. Moscow: Fiction, 1977.
Today we will tell you who Evgeniy Mikhailovich Vinokurov is. His biography will be described in detail below. We are talking about a Soviet poet. He is the USSR.
early years
So, our hero today is Evgeny Vinokurov. His biography began in Bryansk. It was there that our hero was born in 1925, on October 22. A year earlier, his father was transferred to this city. We are talking about a career military man, Mikhail Nikolaevich Peregudov, a native of Borisoglebsk, who later became a state security major and head of the Kyiv district department of the NKVD in Moscow. Our hero's mother, Evgenia Matveevna, came from a hatter's family. She worked in the factory's women's department. Then she became the first secretary of the district committee of the CPSU (b).
early years
Evgeny Vinokurov, after graduating from the ninth grade in 1943, was drafted into the army. He graduated from artillery school and, not yet 18 years old, took on the responsibilities of a platoon commander. Our hero's first poems were published in 1948 on the pages of the Smena magazine. They were supplemented by a preface by I. G. Ehrenburg. In 1951, Vinokurov studied at the Gorky Literary Institute.
Creation
Evgeny Vinokurov called his first book “Poems about Debt.” It was published in 1951. In 1956, his collection “Sineva” appeared. This work was approved by Boris Pasternak.
“Seryozhka with Malaya Bronnaya” is a poem created in 1953. It tells about Moscow boys who did not return from the front, and the work also describes their mothers dying in empty apartments. This work is one of the most famous in Russian military lyrics of the twentieth century. in 1958 he set it to music.
Our hero deliberately became a successor to the traditions of the philosophical lyrics of Baratynsky and Tyutchev. The starting point in his poetry was the experience of war, which was presented without false heroism. This poet's poems are dedicated to death and loneliness. They were born as memories. There is no narrative in these works. The author conveys the essence of seemingly inconspicuous events and things. To penetrate the depths of human existence, he chooses feelings in a borderline situation, images of the city and technical civilization. It is extremely rare that nature appears in his creations. Everyday life, as well as a civilization in which a threat to the world of the soul is visible, gave our hero inspiration for his creative work. The poetry of this author was born by a special force, which he trusted and therefore practically did not correct what he had written earlier.
He used paradoxes, ambiguity, and contrasts to reveal truth. The poet portrayed man as doubting, as well as searching. The author did not say anything for sure, he only outlined the contours. The poet returned the original meaning to the words and placed them in a very unusual context. With the help of rhyme, he sought to enhance the meaning of thought.
Let's return to the activities of our hero. Together with him, he headed the poetry department of the Oktyabr publication. Published Bella Akhmadulina, Leonid Martynov, Nikolai Zabolotsky. In 1971-1987 he served as head of the poetry department at the New World magazine. Under the editorship of our hero, the work “Russian Poetry of the 19th Century” was published. For a long time he was the leader of a creative seminar at the Literary Institute. It was attended by Vasilevsky, poetesses Nikolaeva and Kovaleva, historian Koshel, journalist and poet Didurov. Since 1952 he was a member of the CPSU. He passed away in 1993, January 23. He was buried on the territory of the Novodevichy cemetery.
Family life
Evgeny Vinokurov was married. His wife is Tatyana Markovna. She was the daughter of Mark Natanovich Belenky, a psychiatrist and deputy people's commissar of the food industry and supply. She is the author of a book of memoirs called “Happy You, Tanya,” which was published in 2005. After the divorce, which occurred in 1978, she became the wife of Anatoly Rybakov. Our hero has a daughter, Irina Vinokurova, who lives in the USA and is a literary critic. It should also be noted that the poet received a number of awards. In particular, two Orders of the Red Banner of Labor and the Order of the Patriotic War, 1st degree, the USSR State Prize, as well as medals.
Books
In 1951, Evgeny Vinokurov published his first literary work entitled “Poems about Debt.” In 1956, the books “Sineva” and “Military Lyrics” were published. In 1958, the work “Confessions” appeared. In 1960, the work “The Human Face” was published. In 1962, our hero published two books: “The Word” and “Lyrics”. In 1964, the work “Music” appeared. In 1965, the work “Earthly Limits” was published. In 1966, the work “Poetry and Thought” was published. In 1967, the author published two books at once: “Voice” and “Rhythm”. In 1968, the book “Muscovites, or In the fields beyond the sleepy Vistula” was published. Soon a work called “Spectacles” will be released.
Now you know who Evgeny Vinokurov is. A short biography of this poet was given above.
Vladimir Natanovich Vinokur is a Soviet and Russian humorous artist, singer, founder and artistic director of the Parody Theater, People's Artist of the RSFSR (1989). His name is associated with the image of a sparkling joker, the life of the party, a multi-talented person. Thanks to the talent of a phenomenal storyteller, the pop star's parodies and monologues have rightfully entered the golden fund of domestic humor.
Childhood and youth
On March 31, 1948, Kurskaya Pravda informed readers that a hero boy was born in the city maternity hospital. The weight of the newborn is 4 kg. This hero was Vladimir Vinokur. The boy was born and grew up in a friendly family. Father Nathan Lvovich Vinokur managed a construction trust, mother Anna Yulievna taught Russian language and literature at school. Vladimir's ancestors were Jewish by nationality.
Semyon Dunaevsky drew attention to the talented guy. The conductor advised me to take a break from singing until I was 17 years old so that my voice would stop breaking. The guy listened to Dunaevsky’s advice. The parents did not understand why their son stopped singing; Vladimir was persuaded and punished, forbidding him to play on the street.
A television
By the end of the 70s, the artist began to be regularly invited to television broadcasts. The comedian performed in the then popular programs “Around Laughter” and “New Year’s Attraction”. Parodies and monologues of Vladimir Vinokur were his calling card.
Vladimir Vinokur - “Psychiatrist”Among Vinokur’s characters, the most popular were the singer Grigory Dolgolob, the performer of “A Passing Song,” the stuttering neurologist, and Sashok, who became famous for the phrase “There will be a surprise!” With the participation of the artist, concert films “On the Stage Vladimir Vinokur”, “In the Circle of Friends”, “Invitation to the Evening” were released.
National love and recognition came to the comedian after the release of the program “,” in which he participated for many years. On the air of the show, Vladimir Vinokur repeatedly performed in the sketches “Sclerosis for Two”, “Throws of Fate”, “Dugout”, “New Russians”.
Igor Mamenko and Vladimir Vinokur - “Marriage Agency”At national concerts, the artist performed monologues “Stutterer”, “In the clinic”, “Viagra”, as well as parodies of Lev Leshchenko. In 2014, the artist’s next monologue, “Mikhalych and Mat,” about the plumber’s love of strong expressions, was aired on the “Full House” program.
In 1985-1986, the man appeared on screens as a co-host of the programs “Once Upon a Time in the Autumn” and “Once Upon a Time in the Winter.” Vladimir Vinokur's parodies are often heard on radio stations. The artist participated in the program “Good Morning!”, hosted the radio programs “Baby Monitor”, “You, Me and the Song”. The Humor TV channel regularly publishes collections of Vinokur’s best performances.
Vladimir Vinokur - “Vervagka”Recently, Vinokur can be seen in the programs “Distorting Mirror” and “Humorina”. Together with the artists of the Parody Theater, as well as colleagues from the troupe, Vladimir Natanovich delights fans every week on the air of the Russia-1 TV channel.
Here he appears with the numbers “Japanese”, “Mother-in-Law” and others. In 2017, the artist took part in the filming of a documentary about his colleague and friend Muslim Magomayev. At the end of August, Vinokur visited sunny Baku, where he performed at Alla Pugacheva’s creative evening as part of the Heat 2017 festival.
Movies
The artist's cinematic career began in 1975. Vladimir played the episodic role of a court actor in the comedy almanac “Aw-oo!” At the work site, Vinokur was lucky enough to work with,.
After 6 years, the artist was invited to the adventure musical film “Don’t be afraid, I’m with you!” to record the vocal parts of the two main characters. The film was broadcast on Azerbaijani television, and the songs were released as a double disc at the Melodiya recording studio.
In the early 90s, director Valentin Khovenko invited the pop artist to play the lead role in the comedy “Pistol with a Silencer” about the escape of mentally ill patients from an American clinic. Vinokur’s work site partners were, and.
In 1992, while in Germany, Vladimir Vinokur was involved in a serious car accident that claimed the lives of his two friends who were in the car at the time of the incident. Vladimir received multiple leg fractures. After a consultation, German doctors offered the comedian surgery to amputate one leg.
Joseph Kobzon came to Vinokur's aid. The singer agreed with a Russian military hospital about an operation for Vladimir Natanovich. 2 years after the treatment, Vinokur could already walk, and later the functions of his legs were completely restored. The artist, who lost weight during hospitalization, eventually returned to his previous parameters - with a height of 176 cm, his weight reached 88-91 kg.
In the late 90s, the artist appeared in the film “Military Field Romance”, and in 2003 he played the main robber in the musical New Year’s film based on the fairy tale “The Snow Queen”, where the stars of Russian show business shone. He wrote the music for the film.
At the end of the 2000s, Vladimir Vinokur’s filmography was replenished with participation in two films - “Goldfish” and “The Kingdom of Crooked Mirrors”. In 2010, on behalf of the Foundation for the Support of Culture and Art, Vladimir Vinokur came up with the idea of creating a high-budget historical drama "". He was invited as director and co-producer of the film. Work on the film lasted 7 years and ended with the premiere.
Personal life
The comedian met his wife, ballerina Tamara Pervakova, at the children's play “Don't hit the girls.” Vinokur played a loser, and Pervakov played a wind-up doll. The artist liked the girl: Tamara was serious and strict, and immediately stopped the young man’s advances. But Vinokur did not give up - he set a table in the hostel, invited a girl and began to pester her. Pervakova cried and left. Vladimir ran after him to apologize and calm him down. At that moment, as Vinokur admits, something happened in his soul.
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Vladimir Vinokur and his wife Tamara
Tamara Pervakova was special. Before the wedding, the girl addressed the groom as “you”. On June 8, 1974, Vladimir and Tamara became husband and wife. The wedding took place in the Rossiya concert hall. Since then, Vladimir Vinokur’s personal life has been inextricably linked with Tamara. The spouses rarely quarreled, except perhaps because the wife was a poor cook, and the comedian always loved to eat delicious food. Over time, Pervakova learned to cook, but as soon as culinary delights appeared in the home kitchen, Vinokur decided to lose weight.
For a long time the couple did not have children. Daughter Nastya was born when Tamara was 32 years old, and Vladimir was already 37. To take care of the child and the house, Pervakova left ballet.
