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Taras Grigorovich Shevchenko

REASON

The roar and the stack of the Dnipro is wide,
Angry wind curling,
Dodolu verbi gnat high,
Mountains whilu pіdіyma.
I bright month at that time
Іz gloomily de de de looking,
Nenache chauvin in the blue sea,
Now virinav, then drowning.
Another third pivn did not sleep,
No one anywhere is homophonic,
Sichi in Gaia called to each other,
That is clear once in a while creaking.
In such good fortune under the mountain,
I beat that guy
What is black above the water,
It's whiter.
Maybe a little mermaid
mothers joke,
Or maybe, wait for the goat,
Shut up.
Not a mermaid blukaє -
That girl walk
I don’t know myself (because it’s causal),
What is it like to work.
So the fortune teller broke,
Sob less bored
Schob, bach, walking around,
Slept and looked
young goat,
What torik leaving.
Promised to return
That, maybe, and having died!
Not covered with Chinese
Cossack eyes,
We didn’t win in person
Slizonki girls:
Eagle waving brown eyes
On a foreign field,
Bile body vovka z "їli, -
Such a yoga share.
Darma shonich girl

You look.
Black-shaven will not return
She doesn’t welcome
Do not braid your long braid,
Khustka is not the head of the "yazhe,
Not easy - in the domino
Lie down as an orphan!
Such a share ... Oh my dear dear!
Why are you karaesh її, young?
For those that she loved so much
Cossack eyes?.. Forgive the orphan!
Whom do you love? No dad, no baby,
Alone, like that bird in a distant land.
Send your share, - there is a young one,
Bo people of strangers laugh.
Chi winna dove, what is blue to love?
Chi is guilty of that pigeon that killed the falcon?
Sumuє, cooing, with light to force,
Litaє, shukaє, thought - lost.
Happy dove: flying high,
Polina is up to God - to feed the dear.

Who is an orphan, who is asked,
І who їy tell, and who you know,
De mily night: chi in the dark guy,
Chi in the bistrim Danube horse on the spot,
Chi, maybe, with another, another koha,
Її, chernobrivu, is it already forgotten?
Yakbies were given wings to the eagles,
Behind the blue bi sea, I knew the dear one;
I would love a living, I would strangle a friend,
And before the inanimate at the pit would lie.
It’s not so heart to love, to share with Kim,
Not so much you want, like God gives us:
I don’t want to live, I don’t want to scold.
"Zhuris" - seems like a thought, I'm sorry for you.
Oh my God dear! this is your will
Such її happiness, such її share!
Won all walk, s mouth no bet.
Do not talk about the Broad Dnipro:
Broke, wind, black gloom,
Lie the white of the sea to rest,
And from the sky the month is so and so;
І over water, і over haєm,
All around, like in a mustache, everything is silent.
Already a gurk - from the Dnipro they blamed

Little children, laugh.
"Let's get warm! they shouted. -
The sun is already gone!” (Holy creak;
From sedge mowing, more girls). …
“What is all here? - call mother. -
Let's go to dinner.
Let's play, let's take a walk
Sleep that little song:
Wow! Wow!
Straw "yany spirit, spirit!
Mother gave birth to me
I put it down.
Missy!
Our dove!
Come to us to supper:
We have a Cossack in line, in social,
Silver ring on the hand;
Young, black-browed;
We knew yesterday at the dibrov.
Stay fresh in the clean field,
Schob work up enough.
While the witches are still flying,
Shine on us... He can walk!
He was under an oak tree to work there.
Wow! Wow!
Straw "yany spirit, spirit!
Mother gave birth to me
I laid down the bastard."
The unbaptized…
Guy called; galas, zeke,
Horde mov smaller. Mov said,
Fly to the oak ... nichichirk ...
The unbaptized have changed
Marvel - flicker,
Let's go up the Stovbur
To the very edge.
Oh, that girl,
What sleepy fornicated:
Otaku some reason

The worm has broken!
To the very top on the hill
Became ... in the heart of a stake!
Look at all sides
That lіze until the end.
Around the mermaid oak
Movchki waited;
They took її, cordial,
They rumbled.
Long, long marveled
On її freak out ...
Third pivnі: kukuriku! -
They fluttered into the water.
The lark chirped,
Eel flying;
The zozulenka was cuddling,
Sitting on the oak;
chirping nightingale -
The moon has gone haєm;
Chervonie beyond the mountain;
Plugatar sleeps.
Black guy over the water,
The de lyakhs walked;
Blueed over the Dnipro
high graves;
Pishov rustling in the woods;
Whisper thick vines.
And the girl sleeps under the oak
At the beaten cost.
To know, to sleep well, what you don’t feel,
Yak kuє zozulya,
Why not heal, how long to live ...
Know good sleep.
And at the same time from the forest
Kozak vizhzhzhaє;
Under him is a raven horse
Step hard.
“I’m dying, comrade!
Today we will calm down:
Close to the hut, girl
Fix the gate.
And maybe already fixed
Not me, another...
Shvidche, horse, shvidche, horse,
Hurry home!”

Tired crow,
Ide, stumble, -
Kolo Kozatsky heart
Like a reptile in "yet.
“Axis and oak of that curly hair ...
Won! Dear God!
Bach fell asleep looking
My sizocryla!
Throwing a horse to her:
"My God, my God!"
Cliche її ta tsіluє ...
No, it won't help!
“Why did they separate the stench
Me from you?
Zaregotavsya, rozіgnavsya -
The kind in oak head!
Girls go to the harvest field
That, you know, they sleep when they go:
Yak saw off mother's sina,
Like a Tatar fought unochi.
Idut - under the green oak
Kіn muzzle to stand,
A bіla yogo young
Kozak and that girl lie down.
Tsіkavі (nowhere is true children)
They crept, to squeal;
If you marvel at what you have driven in, -
Worry well vtіkat!
The girlfriends were picked
Rub the slimes;
Comrades were selected
Dig those yams;
Send popi with korogvami,
Called bells.
poohovali huge
Like a trace, according to the law.
Dumped the edge of the road
Two graves in life.
No one to ask
Why were they killed?
Planted over a Cossack
Yavir ta yalina,
And in the heads of the girl
Chervona viburnum.
The little bunny is coming
Kuvati over them;
Arriving nightingale

Shonic Twitter;
Whisper that chirp,
Until the month is here,
Poki tії mermaids
From the Dnipro you will see.

Flowing water in the blue sea
She does not turn;
Shuka Cossack his share,
And there is no share.
Pishov Cossack light for the eyes;
Gray blue sea,
Grae the Cossack heart,
And the idea is to say:
“Where are you going without drinking?
For whom leaving
Dad, little old,
Young girl?
In a foreign land, not those people,
It's hard to live with them!
You won't cry with Kim
Don't talk."
To sit a Cossack on tіm botsі,
Gray blue sea.
Thinking the share will grow,
Sorrow blew up.
And the cranes fly together
Dodomu keys.
Weeping Cossack - paths of battle
Overgrown with thorns.

Wild wind, wild wind!
You speak from the sea
Wake up yoga, play with him
Sleep blue sea.
You know, de my dear,
Bo yoga wore,
There, say, blue sea,
De yogo fell.
When the dear one was drowned -
Rozby blue sea;
I'm going to joke cute,
I will drown my grief
I'll drown my little one,
I will become a mermaid
I'll poke around in black hairs,
Kanu to the bottom of the sea.
I will find yoga, I will bow down,
On the heart of the earth.
Todі, hvile, carry it with milim,
Where the wind is blowing!
If you are nice on the team,
Violent, you know
De vin to walk, what to rob,
You are talking about him.
If you cry, then I cry
If nі - I sleep;
If the black-breasted one has died, -
Then I die.
Then carry my soul
Toudy, de my dear;
Red viburnum
Placed on the grave.
It will be easier in a foreign field
Orphans lie -
Be over him yogo mila
Stand with a ticket.
I flower and viburnum
I will bloom over him
So that the sun did not scorch,
People were not trampled.
I'll think tonight
And I'll pay a lie.
Zіyde sun - tears in the morning,
No one can help.
Wild wind, wild wind!
You speak from the sea
Wake up yoga, play with him
Sleep blue sea...

It's hard and important in the world of life
Orphans without family:
There is no place to heal,
Hotch s burn that in the water!
I would drown myself young,
Sob not to force light;
Drowning b - it's hard to live,
I don't have children.
In that share to walk the field -
Collecting spikelets;
And mine is here, ice-cream,
Behind the sea.
Good for that rich man:
Yogo people know;
And chat with me -
Mov is missing.
rich lips
The girl is moving;
Above me, an orphan,
Laugh, cap.
“Why am I not ugly to you,
Chi is not inside you
Chi do not love you shiro,
Why am I laughing at you?
Love yourself, my heart,
Love who you know
Don't laugh at me
Like when you guess.
And I'm going to the end of the world...
On the other side
I will find the best, or I will die,
Like that leaf in the sun."
Pishov Cossack sumuyuchi,
I didn’t throw anyone;
Shukav shares in a foreign field
But there I perished.
Dying, wondering
De sunechko syaє ...
It's hard to die
At a foreign land!

Our black eyebrows,
Our brown eyes
Nascho lita youth,
Happy girls?
Lita of my youth
Marnot to disappear
Eyes cry, black eyebrows
Shed in the wind.
Heart in "yana, force with light,
Like a bird without will.
Why me, my beauty,
When there is no share?
It's hard for me as an orphan
On this world of life;
Own people - like strangers,
Nі z kim to speak;
No one to drink
Why cry eyes;
No one to tell
What does the heart want
What heart, like a dove,
Day and night cooing;
Nobody eats yoga
Don't know, don't hear.
Strangers do not sleep -
Ta th nascho feed?
Let the orphan cry
Don't waste your time!
Cry, heart, cry, eyes,
Until you fall asleep
Voice, complain,
Sob vіtri felt
Shchob suffered bujnesenki
Beyond the blue sea
To the black-haired quarrelsome
On a fierce mountain!

ON VICNU IN MEMORY "YAT TO KOTLYAREVSKY"

The sun is grіє, the wind is viє
3 fields to the valley
Above the water willow
Chervona viburnum;
On viburnum alone
Goyda's nest, -
And where is the nightingale?
Don't eat, don't know.
Guess famously - that baiduzhe ...
Gone...gone...
Guess good - heart in "yana:
Why is not left?
I’ll take a look and guess:
Bulo, like dusk,
Zashchebeche on Kaliny -
Nobody misses.
Chi rich, whom share,
Like a mother to a child,
Remove, watch, -
Don't miss viburnum.
Chi orphan, what's up
Get up and practice
Lean, listen;
Mov father and mother
Drink, roam, -
Heart beat, any ...
I light of God like a great day,
I people like people.
What a lovely girl
The child looks
In "Yana, dry as an orphan,
Children do not know;
Come on the way to marvel
Cry in the vines -
chirping nightingale -
To dry dry tears.
Listen, smile,
Go to the dark haєm ...
Nіbi z milim spoke ...
And vin, know, sleep,
That dribno, that evenly, like God is good,
Poki vide villain on the way to take a walk
With a knife at the halayvi, - rune runa haєm,
Pide ta zamovkne - why twitter?
Do not back the baked soul of the villain,
Only to waste your voice, do not teach good.
Let it be fierce, until you die,
Pokey headless "I'm a raven scream.
Sleepy valley. On Kalina

I nightingale zadrim.
Move the wind through the valley -
I sent a dibrov rune,
The rune walks, my God.
Get up hearts to practice,
Cows walk in the wild,
The girls will see to take water,
Look at the sun - heaven, that year!
Willow laugh, holy creak!
Cry evil, fierce villain.
Bulo is so persh - now marvel:
The sun is grіє, the wind is viє
3 fields to the valley
Above the water with willow
Chervona viburnum;
On viburnum alone
Goyda's nest, -
And where is the nightingale?
Don't eat, don't know.
Recently, recently in Ukraine
Old Kotlyarevsky chirped like that;
The castle of a skyscraper, throwing orphans
I burn, and the sea, de perche vitav,
De vatagu proydisvista
Leading after you -
Everything is left, everything is summed up,
Like the ruins of Troy.
All sums - only glory
The sun shone.
Don't die kobzar, more naviki
Yogo welcomed.
Budesh, dad, panuvati,
As long as people live
As long as the sun is shining from the sky,
Don't you forget!




Sleep me about Ukraine!
Let your heart laugh in a foreign land,
Want to smile once, marvel, like you
All glory to the Cossack for the word єdinim
Transferred to a wretched orphan's hut.
Ling, blue-eyed eagle, because I'm lonely
An orphan in the world, in a foreign land.
I marvel at the sea wide, glibok,
Having drunk bi on that bik - do not give a chovna.
I guess Aeneas, I guess the homeland,
I'll guess, I'll cry, like a child.

And the wind on that bik goes that roar.
Or maybe I'm dark, I'm not running anything,
An evil fate, maybe, on the tіm botsі crying, -
The orphan should be accepted by people.
Come on and laugh, that there is a gray sea,
The sun is there, the moon is clearer there,
There, with the wind, the grave in the steppe is moving,
There is not a lonely buv bi with her and I.
Righteous soul! accept my language
I'm not wise, I'm shy. Accept, welcome.
Do not throw an orphan, as if throwing dibrows,
Cling to me, even for one word,
Sleep me about Ukraine!

KATERINA

Vasily Andreevich Zhukovsky as a keepsake
April 22, 1838

I

Shut up, black-browed,
But not with Muscovites,
Bo Muscovites are strangers,
Robbing famously with you.
Muscovite love hot,
Zhartuyuchi kine;
Go to your Moscow region,
And the girl's gyne -
Yakby herself, nothing else,
And then the old mother,
What brought to the light of God,
Tempt to die.
Heart in "I am sleeping,
If you know what;
Don't pamper people's hearts
And to say - ice cold!
Shake well, black-browed,
But not with Muscovites,
Bo Muscovites are strangers,
Knowing you.
Katherine didn't listen.
No dad, no baby,
I loved the Muscovite
Yak knew intimately.
Loved the young
I went to the garden
Give yourself, your share
She messed up there.
Cry mother supper,
But the donka doesn’t feel it;
De jart with a Muscovite,
I'll spend the night there.
Not two nights karі ochі
Lovely kissed,
For now, glory to the whole village
It became bad.
Bring yourself to your people
What do you want to say:
Vaughn to love, then you don’t feel it,
What grief has crept in.
The bad news came -
They trumpeted the campaign.
Pishov Muscovite to Turechchina;
They covered the boat.
Nezchulasya, that baiduzhe,
What braid is covered:
For dear, how to sleep,
Anybody push.

Black shaven,
When you don't die
Decided to return.
Toydi Katerina
Be yourself a Muscovite,
Forget grief;
In the meantime, let people know
What do you want to say.
Do not scold Katerina -
Rubbing the slimes
More girls on the street
They sleep without her.
Do not scold Katerina -
Weep with tears
Take the wind, opivnochi
Go for water
Shchob the enemies did not bachil;
Come to the cranium
Become sobі pіd viburnum,
Fall asleep Gritsya.
Whisper, sing,
Already viburnum crying.
I returned - and happy,
No one is a bachelor.
Do not scold Katherine
I don't know nasty things -
At the new hustinochtsi
I look into the window.
Watching Katerina...
Passed pіvroku;
Tired of the heart,
Stuck in the side.
Unwell Katerina,
Ledve-Ledve Dishe…
She sang it in a zapіchka
More child.
And zhіnochki famously call,
mothers mourn,
What Muscovites are turning

They spend the night in it:
“You have a daughter of a dark-brown,
That one is not alone,
And drill at the back
Moscow son.
Black-haired bastard ...
Mabut, she herself vchila ... "
Gore you, clatters,
That evil one was beaten,
Yak that matir, what do you think
Sina gave birth.
Caterino, my heart!
Only with you!
Children will rise in the world
Are we little orphans?
Who is sleeping, vaccinating
Without a sweetheart in the world?
Father, mother - strangers,
It's hard to live with them!
Vichunyala Katerina,
Odsun a flat,
Look at the street
Kolishe a child;
Look - no, no ...
Chi then i will not?
I would go to the garden to cry,
So wonder people.
Zayde sun - Katerina
Walk through the garden
On the hands to wear sin,
Eyes to lead:
“I looked out of the drill,
From here she spoke,
And there ... and there ... blue, blue!
She didn't prove it.
Greenery in the garden
Cherries and cherries;
Like I used to go,
Katerina Wiishla.
Viishla, she is not sleeping anymore,
I slept like before
Young Muscovite Yak
I waited in the vishnik.
Do not sleep black-brown,
Curse your share.

And at the same time the witches
Make your will
Forge unkind words.
What can work?
Yakby dear black-shave,
Umіv bi spiniti…
So far dark-shaven,
Don't feel, don't babble
Like enemies laugh at him,
Yak Katrusya is crying.
Maybe, a black-shaven
Behind the quiet Danube;
And maybe - already in the Moscow region
Another kohai!
Nі, dark-haired not killings,
Vin alive, healthy ...
And where will you find those eyes,
So black eyebrows?
To the end of the world, in the Moscow region,
By those bots of the sea,
There is no place for Katerini;
She gave up on the mountain! ..
Mother gave eyebrows,
Kari is very young,
She did not win in this world
Happiness-share dates.
And without a share more personally -
Like a ticket on the floor:
Bake the sun, goyda wind,
Rav every one according to his will.
Kill yourself more personally
With dry tears,
Bo returned Muscovites
Other ways.

II

Sitting father end of the table,
He shrugged on his hands;
Do not marvel at the light of God:
I frowned heavily.
Kolo yogo stara mother
sit on a donkey,
Behind the tears, lead, lead,
Vimovlya don: “What is fun, my don?
Where is your couple?
De candles with friends,
Old age, boyars?
In Moscow, my dear!
go shukati,
Don't tell good people
What is in you mother.
Cursed hour-year-old,
What are you born!
Yakby knew before sleep
Bula would have drowned ...
I gave up to those bastards,
Now - Muscovites ...
Donya my, donya my,
Blossom my rozhevy!
Like a berry, like a little bird,
Kohala, grew up
For more ... My donya,
What did you get?..
Oddyachila! .. Go, joke
Moscow has a mother-in-law.
Didn't listen to my speeches,
Then її listen. Go, donya, find її,
Find, welcome
Be happy in strangers
Don't come back to us!
Don't turn around, my child
From a distant land...
And who is my little head
Are you dying without you?
Who will pay for me
Like a dear child?
Who to plant on the grave
Red viburnum?
Who without you sin dutu
Will you remember?
Donya my, donya my,
My love child! Come join us…”
Ledwe-ledwe
Blessed:
"God is with you!" - that one is dead,

Fell down on the dil ...
Calling the old father:
"What are you waiting for, heavenly?"
Zaridala Katerina
Ta boh youmu in the legs:
"Forgive me, my father,
What did I get!
Forgive me, my dove,
My dear falcon!”
"God forgive you
That good people;
Pray to God and go with yourself -
It will be easier for me.”
Ledve stood up, bowed,
Viyshla movchki s hati;
Left orphans
Old father and mother.
I went to the cherry garden,
prayed to God
I took the earth under the cherry,
I scratched on the cross;
She said: “I won’t come back!
In a distant land
To a foreign land, foreign people
I'm being suffocated;
And your own cryo
I need to lie down
The one about the share, my grief,
Tell other people...
Don't tell me, little dove!
No matter what,
Sob sinful in this world
People didn't borrow.
You won’t say ... axis who will say
What am I yoga mother!
My God! .. famously mine!
Where can I hide?
I'm choking, my child,
She herself drank water,
And you, my sin, are calm
Orphans in people
Bezbutchenko! .. "
I went to the village
Cry Katerina;
Khustinochka on the head,
In the hands of a child.
Viishla from the village - the heart of a million;
I wondered back
nodded her head
She voted.
Like poplars, stood in the field

When beaten dear;
Like the dew until the sun fades,
Tears dripped
Behind the tears I'm hot
I do not scatter light,
Only the blue burns,
Kiss and cry.
And there, like Yangelatko,
Know nothing
Little hands
Sinuses whisper.
The power of the sun, because of the wind
The sky is red;
Lost, turned around
Went ... only dream.
In the village they talked for a long time
Dechogo rich,
She didn’t hear already quiet speeches
No father, no mother...
Otak something in this world
Robbing people people!
Togo in "they are slaughtered, they are slaughtered,
The one to destroy himself ...
And for something? Holy know.
Light, bachsya, wide,
That dumb de heal
In the world alone.
So I sold the share
Edge to edge
And left to another
Those de zahoyut.
De you people, de you kind,
What did the heart take
To live with them, to love them?
Gone, gone!
There is a share in the world,
And who її know?
There is a will in the world,
And who can you?
There are people in the world -
Shine with gold,
Hail, panic,
And do not know the share
No share, no will!
With nudgoyu and with grief
Zhupan put on,
And cry - rubbish.
Take silver-gold
So be rich
And I will take tears -
Famously wiggle;

I will flood the undershare
With dry tears,
I will trample on bondage
Bare feet!
Then I'm cheerful
Then I'm rich,
How to be cordial
Walk at will!

III

Scream owls, sleep dibrova,
Zironki shine,
Above the path, shiritsa,
Hovrashki walk.
Rest good people
What bothered someone:
Whom - happiness, whom - tear,
Everything was covered.
All covered with dark blue,
Like a mother's child;
De Katrusyu burned up:
What's in the fox, what's in the hut?
Chi on the field under the dig
Sina amuses,
Chi in dіbrovі z-pіd deck
Do you see the wolf?
Gore you, black eyebrows,
No one's mother
When it's so famous for you
Need to wear!
And what's next to sleep?
Be smart, be!
Zestrinatsya Zhovti piski
I foreign people;
The winter is getting worse…
And that chi zustrіne,
What do you know Katerina,
Hello son?
Behind him, blackbrive would have forgotten
Ways, peeps, grief:
Vin, like a mother, graft,
Like a brother, speak ...
Let's go, let's hear...
And for now - calm down
I’ll drink it at the same time
Way to Moscow region.
Far way, pani-brothers,
I know yoga, I know!
Already in the heart of the cold,
I guess yoga.
Popomiryav i kolis -
Don't die yoga!..
Telling bi about those famously
But then believe it!
“Breche,” to say, “so-and-so!
(Obviously, not in the eyes),

And so only psuє mov
That fool people.
The truth is yours, the truth, people!
That and now you know
Cho tears in front of you
Will I wobble?
Is it out? Everyone
I didn’t read my own ...
Tzur same youmu!..
Kete leash kresalo
That tyutyunu, shob, you know,
They didn't scold at home.
And then famously tell
Schob dreamed!
Let yoga dashing take it!
I better die
That's my Katerina
Z Іvasem mandruє.
Beyond Kiev, that beyond the Dnipro,
Popid dark haєm,
To go along the path of a chumachenka,
They sleep the scarecrow.
Ide way young people,
Musit buti, forgive me.
Why is it vague, unhappy,
Crying eyes?
At the latan svitinochtsi,
On the shoulders of a bag,
In the hands of a chipok, and on the other
The child fell asleep.
Zestrilasya with chumaks,
Closed the child
Eats: “Good people,
Where is the way to Moscow region?
"To Moscow? oh yourself.
Far, sky?
"To Moscow itself, for Christ's sake,
Let's get on the road!"
Take a step, as much as a coward:
It's hard to take yoga! ..
That navischo?.. And the child?
Wow Yogo mother!
I cried, I went down the path,
Rest in Brovary7
That sinovі for gіrkogo
Bought a copper.
Long, long, hearty,
She fed everything;
Bulo y take, scho pіd mud
I spent the night with blue ...
Bach, what did the Kari look like:

Shchob under someone else's ooze tears wag!
Then wonder and repent, girls,
Schob did not have a chance to joke with a Muscovite,
It didn’t happen, like Katya is joking ...
Then do not feed, for which people bark,
For what they are not allowed to spend the night in the hut.
Don't feed, black-breeds,
Bo people do not know;
Whom God punishes in the world,
Then stink punish ...
People bend, like the lozi,
Where the wind is blowing.
Shine the orphan's sun
(Shіtit, that is not grіє) -
People would take over the sun,
Yakby mali force,
So that the orphans did not shine,
Slozi did not dry.
And for everything, dear God!
For what light to force?
What zrobila out to people,
What do people want?
She was crying!.. My heart!
Don't cry, Caterino
Don't show people tears
Hang on to death!
And schob personally didn’t marnіlo
With black eyebrows -
Until the sun disappears in the dark forest
Wash away the tears.
Umieshsya - do not cheer,
They won't laugh;
And heartily,
Until tears shed.
Otak something famously, bachite, girls.
Zhartuyuchi throwing a Muscovite to Katrus.
Nedolya do not succumb, with kim їy jartuvat,
And people want to bachat, that people are not sorry:
“Come on, - it seems, - the guinea ice child,
If you didn’t dare to play around with yourself. ”
Shake well, love, in a bad time,
Schob did not have a chance to joke with a Muscovite.
Where is Katrusya to fornicate?
I spent the night,
Got up early
Hastened to Moscow;
Already gurk - winter has fallen.
Fistula field zaveryuha,
Ide Katerina
Lichaks are famously hard! -
I in one suite.

Ide Katrya, shkandibaє;
To marvel - it's a dream ...
Libon, Muscovites are coming...
Famously! .. my heart is million -
I flew, I shot,
Pita: "Chi don't know
My black-haired Ivan?
And you: "We don't know."
I, obviously, like Muscovites,
Smіyutsya, fry:
"Ah yes, baba! oh yes ours!
Who will not be fooled!
Katherine wondered:
“I see, bachu, people!
Do not cry, sinu, my dashing!
What will be, then you will be.
I go further - I went more ..
And maybe, th zustrіnu;
I will give you, my dove,
And I'll die myself."
Roar, stack of khurtovin,
Kitten, right by the field;
Stand Katrya in the middle of the field,
She gave way to tears.
The finisher is tired
De de de pozikhaє;
If only Katerina would cry,
Those tears are no more.
Surprised at the child:
Wash away with tears
Chervonie, like a flower
Lies under the dew.
Katerina smiled,
Smiled hard:
Kolo heart - like a reptile
Black turned around.
She marveled all around;
Bachit - black fox,
And under the forest, the edge of the road,
Libon, hello chicken.
"Let's go, blue, it's getting dark,
If let into the hut;
And do not let it go, then outside
We'll spend the night.
We’ll spend the night under the hut,
Sinu my Ivane!
Where are you going to spend the night
How will you not become me?
With dogs, my little tit,
Get outside!
Dogs are angry, bite,

But don't speak
Do not tell laughing ...
With dogs, eat and drink ...
My bad little head!
What do you want me to do?”
An orphan dog gets his share,
May a good word in the world of an orphan;
Yogo b "yut and bark, cast into captivity,
That nobody about matir does not sleep on smіh,
And Yvasya to sleep, to sleep in advance,
Don't let your child live to see it.
Who are the dogs barking at in the street?
Who is naked, hungry under the mud to sit?
Who is to drive a lobur?
Black bastards...
One yoga share - black eyebrows,
Don't let people wear it quietly.

IV

Popid mountain, fury, valley,
Mov tі didi vysokocholi,
Dubi from the hetman stand.
Yaru has rowing, verbi in a row,
Rates under krieg in captivity
І rinsing - take water ...
Mov pocotiolo - red,
It's gloomy - the sun is busy.
The wind blows; how do you feel -
There is nothing: a creak of white ...
But only the fox died.
Roar, fistula zaveryuha.
The fox curled;
Like those sea, white field
The snow slumped.
Viyshov s hati karbivnichiy,
Sob lіs look around,
Ta de tobi! so dashing
What is not visible th world.
“Yege, bachu, yak fugue!
Tzur youmu I am a fox!
Drink in the hut ... What is there?
From their dignity!
Unkind dispersed them,
Mov right behind the case.
Nichipore! look away,
Yaks got better!” “What, Muscovites? ..
De Muscovites? “What are you? be shy!"
"De Muscovites, swans?"
"That he, wonder."
Katerina flew
I did not dress.
“Mabut, good Moscow region
Into the tyamka I was given!
For at night only I know
Cho moskal kliche.
Through stumps, notes,
Fly, lead the way,
Bosa became the middle way,
Rubbed into sleeves.
And Muscovites їy nazustrich,
Yak alone, on horseback.
“My goodness! my share!"
Until їх ... if you look -
In front of the senior їde.
“Love my Ivane!
My heart is shaking!
Why are you so messed up?”
That to yoga ... for stirrups ...
And I wondered

That spurs the horse to the sides.
“What are you hiding?
Hiba forget Katerina?
Hiba don't you know?
Marvel, my dove,
Gaze at me:
I Katrusya your love.
Why are you tearing the stirrups?”
And you spoil the horse's wine,
Don't bother.
“Strive, my dove!
Look - I'm not crying.
Didn't you know me, Ivane?
Heart, look
By God, I am Katrusya!
"Fool, get off!
Take the crazy one away!"
“My God! Ivan!
Are you leaving me?
And you swore an oath!
"Take it away!
What have you become?
"Whom? take me?
Why, tell me, my dove?
Who wants to give
Your Katrya, what's up to you
I went to the garden
Your Katrya, what is for you
Sina gave birth?
My father, my brother!
Don't be afraid!
I will become your hired hand…
Fuck the other one...
With the whole world ...
I will forget
What if she hooted,
Why is your sin small,
It became a cover…
Pokritkoy ... what rubbish!
Why am I dying!
Leave me, forget me
Don't give up.
Won't you leave?
My heart
Don't stick around me...
I will bring you son."
I threw stirrups
But in the hut. turn around,
Bring youma sin.
Unhappy, crying
Heart child.

“Stop it, look up!
Where are you? choking?
Utik! .. mute! .. Sina, sina
Daddy is pissed off!
My God!.. My child!
Where am I going with you?
Muscovites! doves!
Take it with you;
Do not hesitate, swans:
Vono is an orphan;
Take yoga and give it
Senior for sin,
Take yoga ... I’ll leave,
Like a father leaving
Bodai did not throw yoga
Dashing year!
Sin to you in the light of God
Mother gave birth;
Virostay same on smіh people! -
I put it on the tracks.
Stay kidding dad
And I already joked.
The one in the forest from the way, like hanging!
But the child remains
Crying for the poor... And for the Muscovites
Baiduzhe; passed.
Won and good; that on famously
The foxes felt it.
Big Katrya barefoot,
Biga and voice;
Then curse your Ivan,
Now cry, then ask.
Vibіgaє on vlissya;
Surprised all around
She is in the yar ... live ... in the middle of the stav
Movchki stumbled.
"God, take my soul,
And you are my body!”
Fur coat in the water! ..
Popid ice
Get gurgled.
Chornobriva Katerina
Found what she was kidding.
Blowing wind over the stave -
I was gone.
It’s not the wind, it’s not violent,
What oak lamai;
It’s not dashing, it’s not hard,
What mother is dying;
Do not be orphans, little children,
What did they hide a little:

I got good glory,
The grave is gone.
Laugh at evil people
Small orphan;
Ville slide to the grave -
Rest heartily.
And to that, to that in the world,
What happened to youmu
Whom father and not bachiv,
Mother freaked out?
What happened to the baystryukov?
Who to speak to him?
No homeland, no khatini;
Ways, peeps, grief ...
Mrs. personal, black eyebrows ..
Nascho? Schob knew!
I scammed, I didn’t hide ...
Bodai shed!

V

Ishov kobzar to Kiev
That siv calm down,
hung with hoops
Yogo shakes.
Male child colo yogo
On the sun kunya,
And at the same time the old kobzar
I with at with and spіvaє.
Who goes, where - do not miss:
Who is a bagel, who is a penny;
Who is old, but girls
Mikhonosh's little step.
Black-browed wonder -
I barefoot, and naked.
“Dala, - it seems, - eyebrows,
She did not give a share! ”
Ide way to Kiev
Berlin gear,
And in Berlin gentlemen
With pan and sem "єyu.
Leaning against the elders -
Kuryava kick.
Pobіg Ivas, more from the end
Wave your hand.
Give pennies to Ivasev,
Wonder, sir.
And pan looking ... turning around ..
Knowing, prepostaniya,
Knowing your brown eyes,
Black eyebrows…
Having known the father of his son,
You don't want to take it.
Pita pani, what is your name?
"Іvas", - "What a cute!"
Berlin is devastating, and Ivasya
Kuryava covered ...
They got what they got
Siromahi got up,
Prayed for the retreat of the sun,
We went over the way.

Taras Shevchenko

Kobzar: Poems and Poems

M. Rylsky Poetry of Taras Shevchenko

The most common, widespread, in general, fair definition of the founder of the new Ukrainian literature, Taras Shevchenko, is a folk poet; it is worth, however, to think about what is sometimes invested in this.

There were people who considered Shevchenko only a competent songwriter in the folk spirit, only a successor of nameless folk singers known by name. There were reasons for this view. Shevchenko grew up in the folk song element, although, we note, he was cut off from it very early. Not only from his poetic heritage, but also from his stories and diary written in Russian, and from the numerous testimonies of his contemporaries, we see that the poet knew and passionately loved his native folklore.

In his creative practice, Shevchenko often resorted to folk song form, sometimes completely saving it and even interspersing entire stanzas from songs into his poems. Shevchenko sometimes felt like a really folk singer-improviser. His poem “Oh, don’t drink beer, copper” - about the death of a Chumak in the steppe - everything is sustained in the manner of Chumat songs, moreover, it can even be considered a variant of one of them.

We know the masterpieces of Shevchenko's "female" lyrics, poems-songs written from a female or maiden name, testifying to the extraordinary sensitivity and tenderness of the reincarnated poet, as it were. Such things as “Yakbi meni chereviki”, “I am rich”, “I fell in love”, “I gave birth to my mother”, “I went to the peretik”, of course, they are very similar to folk songs in their system, style and language, their epithetics etc., but they differ sharply from folklore in rhythmic and strophic construction. The "Duma" in the poem "Blind" is indeed written in the manner of folk thoughts, but differs from them in the swiftness of the plot movement.

Let us further recall such poems by Shevchenko as “Dream”, “Caucasus”, “Maria”, “Neophytes”, his lyrics, and we will agree that the definition of Shevchenko as a folk poet only in the sense of style, poetic technique, etc., must be rejected. Shevchenko is a folk poet in the sense in which we say this about Pushkin, Mickiewicz, Beranger, Petofi. Here the concept of "folk" is approaching the concepts of "national" and "great".

Shevchenko's first poetic work that has come down to us - the ballad "Poorchenaya" ("Cause") - begins completely in the spirit of romantic ballads of the early 19th century - Russian, Ukrainian and Polish, in the spirit of Western European romanticism:

The wide Dnieper roars and groans,
An angry wind tears the leaves,
Everything below the willow tends to the ground
And the waves are formidable.
And the pale moon at times
Behind the dark cloud wandered.
Like a boat overtaken by a wave,
It floated, then disappeared.

Everything here is from traditional romanticism: an angry wind, and a pale moon peeping out from behind the clouds and like a boat in the middle of the sea, and waves as high as mountains, and willows bending to the very ground ... The whole ballad is built on a fantastic folk motive, which is also characteristic of romantics of both progressive and reactionary tendencies.

But following the lines just quoted are:

Still in the village did not wake up,
The cock of dawn has not yet sung,
Owls in the forest called to each other,
Yes, the ash tree bent and creaked.

“Owls in the Forest” is also, of course, from tradition, from the romantic poetics of the “terrible”. But the ash tree, from time to time creaking under the pressure of the wind, is already a living observation of wildlife. This is no longer folk-song and not bookish, but its own.

Soon after "Spoiled" (presumably 1837) was followed by the famous poem "Katerina". According to its plot, this poem has a number of predecessors, with Karamzin's "Poor Lisa" at the head (not to mention Goethe's "Faust"). But read the speech of her heroes and compare this speech with the speech of Karamzin's Liza and her seducer, take a closer look at Shevchenko's descriptions of nature, life, characters - and you will see how Shevchenko is closer than Karamzin to the earth, and at the same time to his native land. Features of sentimentalism in this poem can only be seen by a person who does not want to notice the harsh truthfulness of her tone and the whole story.

The description of nature, which opens the fourth part of the poem, is quite realistic:

And on the mountain and under the mountain,
Like elders with a proud head,
Oaks are hundred years old.
Below is a dam, willows in a row,
And a pond covered with a blizzard
And cut a hole in it to take water ...
The sun shone through the clouds
Like a bun, looking down from heaven!

In Shevchenko's original, the sun turns red, like pocotiolo,- according to Grinchenko's dictionary, this is a circle, a children's toy. This is what the young romantic compared the sun with! The word used by M. Isakovsky in his new edition of the translation bun seems like a great find to me.

Shevchenko's lyrics began with such songs-romances as "Why do I have black eyebrows ...", but she more and more acquired the features of a realistic, infinitely sincere conversation about the most cherished - it is enough to recall at least "I really don't care ..." “Fires are burning”, the famous “When I die, bury ...” (the traditional name is “Testament”).

A very characteristic feature of Shevchenko’s poetics are the contrasting phrases that Franco once noticed: “it’s not hot enough”, “it’s inferno to laugh”, “to laugh famously”, “the zhurba in the tavern of the honey pot was circling the supplier”, etc.

His later poems - "Neophytes" (allegedly from Roman history) and "Mary" (on the gospel story) - are replete with realistic everyday details. Evangelical Mary he has “outwardly a white strand” for a festive burnous for old Joseph.

Or lead to the shore
A goat with a sick kid
And get and drink.

He has already mastered it.

Shevchenko's is simpler and warmer:

Maliy is already a good master, -

that is, "the kid was already good at carpentry."

In some places we see no longer ancient Judea, but contemporary Ukraine, a Ukrainian village.

And yet, this “landing” of high objects coexisted with the poet’s solemn, unusual, pathetic structure of speech, as evidenced by at least the beginning of the same “Mary”:

All my hope
Glorious Queen of Paradise
For your mercy
All my hope
Mother, on you I lay.

All

Grigory Shevchenko's family was large: in addition to Taras, there were four more children, two of them themselves, and a hundred-year-old grandfather. Shevchenko lived in the village of Kirilovka, Zvenigorod district, Kyiv province.

They lived badly. Grigory Shevchenko was a serf and worked for the landowner from morning to night. Mother also worked tirelessly in the manor's fields. The guys were left alone for days on end, and little Taras went to the steppe and wandered there until dark: he sang songs, picked flowers, looked at the spacious Ukrainian sky and dreamed.

But even these little joys soon ended, because Taras's mother died. He was then nine years old. The father married someone else. The stepmother disliked her stepson, and Taras's life became even harder.

Father loved Taras and pitied him. He even gave it to the sexton for training. It was difficult to live with the sexton: Taras was beaten for nothing, for nothing, forced to do all kinds of hard work, and the whole teaching was that he had to endlessly crammed grammar and prayers.

Taras loved to draw. And although he was not allowed, he drew everywhere - on scraps of paper, on walls, on boards. Taras really wanted to learn to draw, and he ran away to another village to the deacon-painter. The deacon undertook to teach Taras, but he did not have long to live: the boy was fifteen years old, and it was no longer supposed to live in a foreign village without the permission of the landowner.

Taras was taken to a manor house - made a cook, and then a Cossack. He had to sit all day without moving in the hall and wait for the master to call him. Taras really wanted to draw. He managed to get a sheet of paper and a pencil, and one day, when the landowner left for a ball, Taras took out a hidden sheet of paper and began to draw. He got carried away and did not notice how the master returned. Taras was severely punished - he was flogged in the stable.

A few months later the landowner went to Petersburg and took Taras with him. In St. Petersburg, Taras worked for a house painter, a rude and ignorant person. Taras had a very bad time. He could not learn anything from the painter. He dreamed of entering the Academy of Arts, but the Academy did not accept serfs. At this time, Taras Shevchenko met with the Ukrainian artist Soshenko, who decided to help the talented young man get freedom at all costs. He introduced Taras to the poet Zhukovsky and the artist Bryullov. These sympathetic and kind people helped Shevchenko in this way: the artist Bryullov painted a portrait of Zhukovsky; This portrait was raffled off in a lottery, two thousand five hundred rubles were obtained for it, and Taras was bought out of captivity. Taras Grigoryevich Shevchenko became a free man and entered the Academy of Arts.

Around this time, Shevchenko began to write poetry. His poems were sad. The poet did not forget his homeland, his tortured people, and with extraordinary strength and sincerity expressed people's grief and suffering in his poems.

In 1847 Shevchenko was arrested. During a search, revolutionary poems were found on him. In these verses, Shevchenko attacks the tsar and the landowners with anger and hatred. Shevchenko was condemned for these verses. He was assigned as a soldier in the Orenburg separate corps and was forbidden to write and draw. So ordered Tsar Nicholas I.

Shevchenko spent ten years in exile. He lived in a stuffy barracks. All around was bare, scorched steppe. Shevchenko was forced to march for five hours a day. He was far from all his friends, he sometimes did not have a pencil or paper. He rarely even received letters. Life was hard, unbearable, but Shevchenko did not lose heart. He was not allowed to write poetry, but he wrote them and hid them in his boots.

Shevchenko was released in 1857.

Ten years of exile did not change the poet. The former hatred for the landlords and the tsar flared up in him more and more. He went to Ukraine, visited his brothers and sisters. They were still serfs. The poet visited different villages; everywhere he saw the same thing: the people lived in captivity, worked for the landowner, suffered and lived in poverty. And in his poems, Shevchenko attacks the tsar and the landowners with renewed vigor. He calls for an uprising and even a revolution.

At the end of 1860, Shevchenko fell ill, and in March 1861 he died.

He was buried in Petersburg. Taras Grigoryevich wanted to be buried in his homeland - in Ukraine. In his poem "Testament" he asked:

When I die, bury

In Ukraine, dear,

In the middle of the wide steppe

Dig a grave

To lie on my mound,

Over the mighty river

To hear how it rages

Old Dnieper under the steep.

Friends fulfilled the will of the poet. They transported Shevchenko's body to Ukraine, on the banks of the Dnieper, near the city of Kanev. There Taras Grigoryevich, shortly before his death, wanted to build a house and spend the last years of his life in it.

March 9, 1939 marked the 125th anniversary of the birth of the great national poet Taras Grigoryevich Shevchenko. His poems are being translated into all the languages ​​of the peoples of our union. His anniversary is celebrated by the entire Soviet people.

Essay by E. Olgina

"Murzilka" No. 3 1939

Poems by Taras Shevchenko

Cherry garden near the hut, Above the cherries bumblebee buzz; The plowmen are following the plow, Girls pass with songs, And their mothers are waiting for them at home. Family at dinner at the hut, The evening star rises And the daughter serves dinner, And mother scolded b, but where is it! - Everything nightingale does not give. Mother laid near the hut Their little children, She fell asleep next to them, And everything calmed down ... Only girls Yes, the nightingale did not calm down. Translated from Ukrainian by M. Shekhter

She stings on the master's field, And quietly wandered to the sheaves - Don't rest, even if you're tired And feed the baby there. He lay in the shadows and wept. She swaddled him Fed, nursed, caressed - And imperceptibly fell into a dream. And she dreams, happy with her life, Her Ivan ... Comely, rich ... On the free, it seems, married - And because he himself is free ... They reap with a cheerful face In the field of their own wheat. And the kids bring them lunch ... And the reaper smiled softly. But then she woke up ... It's hard for her! And, swaddling the baby quickly, I took hold of the sickle - to put the squeeze on quickly The lesson sheaf is up to the steward. Translated from Ukrainian by A. Pleshcheev

Then I was thirteen years old, Outside the pasture I pastured the lambs. And whether the sun was shining so Or maybe I was just happy Something…………………………… ………………………………………… ... Yes, not long the sun in the sky It was sweet: It rose, turned purple, The heat burned. Looked around, as if awake: The earth is old... Even the sky is blue And then it got dark. Looked at the lambs Alien lambs. Looked back at the house I don't have a house. God didn't give me anything! Bitter and miserable I cried... Translated from Ukrainian by A. Tvardovsky

The wide Dnieper roars and groans, An angry wind tears the leaves, The high forest tends to the bottom And the waves are formidable. And the pale moon at times Behind the dark cloud wandered. Like a boat caught in a wave It floated, then disappeared. Still in the village did not wake up, The rooster of dawn has not yet sung ... Owls in the forest called to each other Yes, the ash tree bent and creaked. Translated from Ukrainian by M. Isakovsky

The most common, widespread, in general, fair definition of the founder of the new Ukrainian literature, Taras Shevchenko, is a folk poet; it is worth, however, to think about what is sometimes invested in this.

There were people who considered Shevchenko only a competent songwriter in the folk spirit, only a successor of nameless folk singers known by name. There were reasons for this view. Shevchenko grew up in the folk song element, although, we note, he was cut off from it very early. Not only from his poetic heritage, but also from his stories and diary written in Russian, and from the numerous testimonies of his contemporaries, we see that the poet knew and passionately loved his native folklore.

In his creative practice, Shevchenko often resorted to folk song form, sometimes completely saving it and even interspersing entire stanzas from songs into his poems. Shevchenko sometimes felt like a really folk singer-improviser. His poem “Oh, don’t drink beer, copper” - about the death of a Chumak in the steppe - everything is sustained in the manner of Chumat songs, moreover, it can even be considered a variant of one of them.

We know the masterpieces of Shevchenko's "female" lyrics, poems-songs written from a female or maiden name, testifying to the extraordinary sensitivity and tenderness of the reincarnated poet, as it were. Such things as “Yakbi mesh chereviki”, “I am a bagata”, “I fell in love”, “I gave birth to my mother”, “I went to the peretik”, of course, they are very similar to folk songs in their system, stylistic and linguistic mode, their epithetics etc., but they differ sharply from folklore in rhythmic and strophic construction. The "Duma" in the poem "Blind" is indeed written in the manner of folk thoughts, but differs from them in the swiftness of the plot movement.

Let us further recall such poems by Shevchenko as “Dream”, “Caucasus”, “Maria”, “Neophytes”, his lyrics, and we will agree that the definition of Shevchenko as a folk poet only in the sense of style, poetic technique, etc., must be rejected. Shevchenko is a folk poet in the sense in which we say this about Pushkin, Mickiewicz, Beranger, Petofi. Here the concept of "folk" is approaching the concepts of "national" and "great".

Shevchenko's first poetic work that has come down to us - the ballad "Poorchenaya" ("Cause") - begins completely in the spirit of romantic ballads of the early 19th century - Russian, Ukrainian and Polish, in the spirit of Western European romanticism:

The wide Dnieper roars and groans,

An angry wind tears the leaves,

Everything below the willow tends to the ground

And the waves are formidable.

And the pale moon at times

Behind the dark cloud wandered.

Like a boat overtaken by a wave,

It floated, then disappeared.

Everything here is from traditional romanticism: an angry wind, and a pale moon peeping out from behind the clouds and like a boat in the middle of the sea, and waves as high as mountains, and willows bending to the very ground ... The whole ballad is built on a fantastic folk motive, which is also characteristic of romantics of both progressive and reactionary tendencies.

But following the lines just quoted are:

Still in the village did not wake up,

The cock of dawn has not yet sung,

Owls in the forest called to each other,

Yes, the ash tree bent and creaked.

“Owls in the Forest” is also, of course, from tradition, from the romantic poetics of the “terrible”. But the ash tree, from time to time creaking under the pressure of the wind, is already a living observation of wildlife. This is no longer folk-song and not bookish, but its own.

Soon after "Spoiled" (presumably 1837) was followed by the famous poem "Katerina". According to its plot, this poem has a number of predecessors, with Karamzin's "Poor Lisa" at the head (not to mention Goethe's "Faust"). But read the speech of her heroes and compare this speech with the speech of Karamzin's Liza and her seducer, take a closer look at Shevchenko's descriptions of nature, life, characters - and you will see how Shevchenko is closer than Karamzin to the earth, and at the same time to his native land. Features of sentimentalism in this poem can only be seen by a person who does not want to notice the harsh truthfulness of her tone and the whole story.

The description of nature, which opens up, is quite realistic. fourth part of the poem:

And on the mountain and under the mountain,

Like elders with a proud head,

Oaks are hundred years old.

Below is a dam, willows in a row,

And a pond covered with a blizzard

And cut a hole in it to take water ...

The sun shone through the clouds

Like a bun, looking down from heaven!

In Shevchenko's original, the sun turns red, like pokotyolo,- according to Grinchenko's dictionary, this is a circle, a children's toy. This is what the young romantic compared the sun with! The word used by M. Isakovsky in his new edition of the translation bun seems like a great find to me.

Shevchenko's lyrics began with such songs-romances as "Why do I have black eyebrows ...", but she more and more acquired the features of a realistic, infinitely sincere conversation about the most cherished - it is enough to recall at least "I really don't care ..." “Fires are burning”, the famous “When I die, bury ...” (the traditional name is “Testament”).

A very characteristic feature of Shevchenko’s poetics are the contrasting phrases that Franko once noticed: “not a share of jart”, “it’s hot to laugh”, “to laugh famously”, “churba in a tavern of a honey-pot circling a supplier”, etc.

His later poems - "Neophytes" (allegedly from Roman history) and "Mary" (on the gospel story) - are replete with realistic everyday details. Evangelical Mary he has "outside the greater strand" for a festive burnous for old Joseph.