Lenkin Ivan

I myself have a white crow. So little love for one white raven. But I understand that and they also hold the state. Then one day walking along the left bank Shelon. And suddenly I heard a voice. Parting the bushes, he saw a man with a notebook in hand, reading a poem: calves.
I myself have a white crow. So little love for one white raven. But I understand that and they also hold the state. Then one day walking along the left bank Shelon. And suddenly I heard a voice. Parting the bushes, he saw a man with a notebook in hand, reading a poem: calves.

His name is Ivan Lenkin. Old Shimskaya, where he was born, it became for some time to hate. Once upon a time there lived a man well, as all. Keep it safe. But for some time became kink: every second Hata wine drives, he also does it, and suddenly - tied. Why would etoN Well wife died, then the daughter, a son was sipping. All the same village relatives die from it - call us at least one trezvennikaN And that, kind of, on open land garden for some reason developed a huge, ten tons of potato harvester delivers. Or autumn: laid to rest after the summer cares, holidays Orthodox and not Orthodox celebrate, but he fixed horseradish at the abandoned villages to dig for cranberries go. Sin is.

. Well, apples sold, pouring thousands of rubles, basket weave, okay - not like at all - rough under the potatoes, and little white vperekidku red goodly vine - so even in his old age became a swim before the ice, and then at charge run
. Yes, even the circle of baskets in the house of defective arranged.

But most importantly - began to rave: go through the village, mutters something under his breath, to zdorovki pays any attention. It's a shame because. Soon everything became alarmed and do: writer of poetry! Well, let all the stops and something about a rainbow of reading - from such escapes. But he had his scribble and shame can. We know, we were in classes Nekrasov in half with Mayakovsky. And different Zoschenok there is no good bringing up. Wake up, tell him! Not Listening. They chose a different tactic: start stop - it obmatyugaesh. Nor does. Then he threw a dead cat into the well, garden cows ease off on the home front in chalk, then tar wrote: "Here lives a" sing-a genius! " Not heeded. And yet 70 years old man. Ceased altogether to talk to him.

As Ivan stopped listening, he began the youth, that is, calves and lambs, poetry reading. And all went to weave baskets. And he worked with baskets on the river Naum, which crosses the highway Novgorod - Staraya Russa. There just shades of the vine for weaving grew. Rustling beside: "Ikarus". He raised his head and sees: get off the bus foreigners.
. Our guides finally figured: Overseas visitors are not stopping in major cities and villages, . where the mountains around toilets, . and before Chudov, . Porkhov, . Hills: Even the mystery was formed: "Valdai Hills, . a middle-box without hook.,

. Well, when there is one lady his work accomplished, though Lenkin and glanced at her, but her eyes lowered
. It is suitable to the old man and begins to trade nursery basket for gathering berries. Of course, the basket-does not understand. But then came a translator for the production of pennies, shillings offers. Rural Zhikharev, simple soul, a gift to them extends the work does not take "mani-mani". Then, in a sign of friendship theirs alcoholics get started flasks, temples Ivan Aleksandrovich potchivat. Did not know that he can not pour liquor, and he seems to not drink, but when the drink starts with a cow youth verses speak.

And then it seemed to him he told me that around the calves with piglets are. Well Lenkin and began: "Lakes believer mirrored, / sloping willow branches to the dew / And the cranes dance ballroom dance, / bathing his feet in the blue dew:" And so on.

Visitors interested in the voice of Ivan melodic rhyme smooth and cleverly worked. No rubbish - a lot of time. And translator prose conveys the beauty of thought. In addition, it was not easy, and gold: the translations like Mandelstam and Pasternak, Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, and more.

. So the interpreter and said: "Well, then thank you, goodbye", gives a flask with the remnants of Ivan, click buttons, and "RDF" - have earned Motors
. And Vanya went to his room - then listen to ridicule.

It takes the summer in the works, cares and in verse. Suddenly pochtarka Pebbles runs through the village: "Uncle Vanya, Uncle Vanya, take the cart, you-pound parcel from the capitalists come!" Lenkin did not believe, they say, again trick some uniquely villagers build. But still not "grandfather-poet" of his Pebbles miscall, and Uncle Vanya.
Said at the regions is about Shimskaya. And then out of the door itself Home surfacing helps to load the bales into the wheelbarrow, but on tyukam a top-down and across and along the "London, London, London, and modestly our own towns" Checked ".

It happened before restructuring. Ivan wanted to immediately ripped open a bag. "But do not, - says Main Post Office - we already checked. You would have us better, Ivan, signed the book, and generally not good to hide his abilities "She picked up and pulled out of the holes, sealed somehow, the book - the name in English and Russian language" Rustic dawn. "

. And when he went Lenkin already in the village - fall, all resting after cleaning - people because of geraniums protrude, pop up on the street: "And to us, and us Subscribe!" How uznaliN How to Vysotsky - toothless old woman managed to spread the news to go home!
. And since then started to respect me Ivna Alexandrovich Lenkina, poet of the village Old Shimskaya
. Especially after the Novgorod TV galloped. But the Writers' Union for some reason not accepted, although Lenkin the fourth book already released those Fiver, that in almost no time to steal.
. To some extent, this concerns me - it was once I Lenkina patron, but now like he is my protector
. And still angry at him, it wore me beet-hrenovinu, but lately has become stingy: after the first book ordered from my publisher "Mosquito" (Kostrov March) edition of a pamphlet about a hundred copies of. And just bought a dozen. Barely managed to sell the balance. At a loss.
And the name of the interpreter (in the machine there are no such letters), draw by hand: Richard McKane. And yet - how come to Ivan plums to eat, painfully good his yellow plums, so people are fit and asks himself be photographed with the poet. Well said about this pochtarka Galina: "For the history. With him I'll go down in history ".
And where a translator for the publication of poems vzyalN Remember, he "button clicked". Richard with a tape recorder in his sleeve and went now publishes the "obscenities Russia", that is our matyugi. n