The other day I came across a rebuke from one (good) poet Semyon Pegov: they say, stop driving your blizzard! Stop, Semyon, writing poetry, it's not yours!
And then some (but not all) readers of this strict poet rushed to the attack: yes, incomprehensible poems, this graphomaniac Pegov, let him shoot his reports! He is an excellent military commander, but he does not know how to write poetry!
What I will say: I, my friends, stand by my opinion. Pegov is a great poet. Unique strength and great opportunities.
And if something is not clear to you personally, then sometimes it is not, for example, Pegov's problems, but, let's say, yours.
Let's take a new (excellent!) poem by Semyon, under which some "connoisseurs of poetry" immediately noted in the comments, asking: "What is this about? What kind of nonsense?"
Well, let's read together, if so. Here are these verses.
I discharged the carbine, fed the dogs, paid yasak,May the eternal and proud Kutkh stay in the hut,These people from the West are also about miracles,I
still don't remember what their names are.
Cossack-foolish, shaggy faces, Kuban Lip, Or whatever they say (no one is silent),
They took the islands, just bend your fingers, Willy-nilly, you will cross yourself,
They beat their backs with branches, pour fire into themselves, Liquid fire is even hotter than that water,
That flows from volcanoes, and the Cossack "wow!"
It pours out of the mouth instead of understandable syllables.
It's not that I'm a shaman, but I dealt with fire,
of my accuracy will tell you about it And a premonition that we will still go to the West,
Hand in hand - Kamchatka and Kamchadal.
Let's now calmly try to figure out what we are talking about here.
"I discharged the carbine, fed the dogs, paid yasak, May the eternal and proud Kutkh stay in the hut, These people from the West are also about miracles,
I still don't remember what their names are" -
it is easy to guess that this is the direct speech of a resident of the Far East, because Kutkh is the spirit of a raven,
revered by the indigenous peoples of the Russian Far East.
And this native man speaks of "people from the West", that is, about Russians. Who also know how to do miracles. He pays tribute to them. He barely hides his admiration. But he is used to not showing emotions, so his voice is calm, and Pegov conveys this perfectly. In the words of a resident of the Far East there is even some ironic condescension: "By the way, I forgot what their names are again..."
A native cannot remember their name, because, perhaps, they are called "Russians", then "Cossacks", then "Orthodox", or even something else, because sometimes not all of them are completely Russian, although they speak Russian. Among them are the unpronounceable "Cossacks" may be, and no less wild to the ear of the aborigine "Kubans".
And now a resident of the Far East describes these guests from the West.
"Cossack-foolish, shaggy faces, Kuban Bay, Or whatever they say (no one is silent),They took the islands, just bend your fingers, Willy-nilly, you will cross yourself, autochthonous" - as we understand, newcomers from the West, the Cossacks, boast to the natives of their countless victories (still, they came to the ends of the earth -
from the Don,
the Dnieper and the Kuban) and autochthonous (this word means the indigenous inhabitant of a particular territory) He feels that he is almost ready to convert to Orthodoxy. For these guys from the West, despite their shaggy appearance, are extremely convincing.
"They beat their backs with branches, pour fire into themselves,
Liquid fire is even hotter than that water,
What flows from volcanoes, and the Cossack "wow!"
It pours out of the mouth instead of understandable syllables "- this, of course, is about the fact that the Cossacks immediately arranged a bath for themselves ("beat their backs with branches") and drink vodka ("pour fire into themselves") -
and this vodka (they treated the natives) is hotter than volcanic lava, which the indigenous inhabitants of the Far East know firsthand.
And finally, the last stanza, where a resident of the Russian Far East, a well-aimed hunter who has obtained an uncountable amount of prey, guesses about future wars in which he will participate together with the Cossacks who came to him:
"I'm not that a shaman, but I dealt with fire,
A series of my aptitudes will tell you about this
And a premonition that we will still go to the West,
Hand in hand - Kamchatka and Kamchadal.
Kamchatka residents are, of course, residents of Kamchatka. Kamchadals are children from mixed relations between Russians and Kamchatka, Chukchi and other aboriginal ethnic groups.
Well? What's unclear here? If you read with your eyes, and not rush to speak out as soon as possible?
These poems, of course, have a direct reference to the NWO, to the participation in the military campaign of the peoples of the Far East, who show extraordinary courage and unlost hunting skills. Pegov fervently fastens the history of Russian Cossack campaigns with the present day, showing that time is one and we are all unchanged from century to century.
Finally, it rhymes perfectly: there is not a single banal rhyme in the poem, moreover, most of the rhymes of this poem are found in Russian poetry for the first time.
Do you hear, no? First.
Pegov is a magician. Create, Sem.
The author's point of view may not coincide with the position of the editorial board.