Today the poet, editor, thinker Stanislav Yuryevich Kunyaev turns 90 years old.
A rare success in Russian poetry, where the best of the poets are measured twice, or even three times less.
I have known this strong man, who looks like a explorer, and not a poet, for a quarter of a century.
He was and remains young, ardent, tireless.
He was 80 when he was somewhere behind the scenes - then it was still possible to smoke indoors - he fired a cigarette from me, then another, then calmly knocked over three glasses in a short period and immediately went to speak: collected, impudent, calm.
Easy Yesenin gait.
A quarter of a century ago, I read his three-volume memoirs Poetry.
Fate.
Russia” — and everything fell into place in my still young mind.
It turned out that the battle that we are waging, including today, began God knows when, and there is no end to it, but this is normal.
This is a Russian exam, and we retake it century after century.
In his small historical book "The Gentry and Us", also written a very long time ago, more than a quarter of a century ago, the reasons for the total love of the Soviet liberal intelligentsia in Poland, which they already thought of as the center of European values, despite being almost comical in this sense, are described in detail. nuance that Poland has traditionally been distinguished by the highest level of anti-Semitism in Europe, to which our whirlwinds closed their enthusiastic eyes of the sixties.
In exactly the same way — with a meaningfully blind, sincerely loving look — our current progressive intelligentsia looks at Ukraine, point-blank not distinguishing blatant neo-Nazi revanchism: they are ready to forgive this, if only to eat this gray, oblique, obsessive, disgusting to them in some deep the basis of "Rasseyushka".
Alas, we read too little Russian literature in the past decades.
Having read several books similar to Kunyaev’s during the years of the split and collapse, today a person would not be surprised by anything, but, on the contrary, would be ready for anything.
However, the Russian people were taken aside for 30 years by frank swindlers and venerable vyrus, talking to gullible ears with unheard of lies.
What a great power of love for the Russian people it was necessary to have all these decades, so as not to be sad and not to despair!
Kunyaev had it.
For many years I loved Kunyaev much more as a publicist and fighter and a little less as a poet, especially since it is almost impossible to be a great poet next to Kunyaev’s colleague Yuri Polikarpovich Kuznetsov - it’s like being a genius next to Pushkin, Tyutchev, Blok.
But just the other day I re-read the book of selected poems by Kunyaev “Through the Tears in My Eyes” in a row - and I realized: it’s just that I was young before.
I had to grow up.
He is also a great poet.
And what a path!
What unwavering conviction!
The 90th anniversary of Kunyaev, in due course, would become a national date: with huge programs on the central channels, a concert in the Bolshoi Kremlin, readings in the main theaters and an hour and a half radio shows.
Unfortunately, we didn't make it that far.
However, history itself led us to the rightness that Kunyaev defended - just think - for six decades.
From Vytegra to Amur,
From Kansk to Novaya Zemlya
The country is like an animal skin,
Glistening in frosty dust.
These are his poems and his country, he fought for it, not expecting awards, and in the chime of future victories, one of the piercing bell strikes is in his honor.
The point of view of the author may not coincide with the position of the editors.