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The day after the murder of Boris, on Saturday evening, I went to the bridge, and from there to the RSUSU, the university in which I studied many years ago. Here was an evening of memory of Grigory Dashevsky, a brilliant man and a poet who died a year ago.

I was a little late, and when I entered the amphitheater of the very central audience where fifteen years ago I and my future close friends were accepted into students, the evening had already begun, and about a hundred people were already sitting here. I entered when they announced: now on the big screen we will be able to watch a certain video. The face of Grigory Mikhailovich Dashevsky appeared on the screen in the entire wall, and the entire wooden forest of the hall filled his voice. I accidentally sat exactly on the bench where I was sitting fifteen years ago, I recognized it, Kuda My was also picked up on it, as well as when I was seventeen years old. In that September, I just started smoking, only returned from the Crimea, where he went with his parents every summer, although he was still Ukraine, with which no one could have thought of fighting, that September, when my mother’s parents were still alive, when those who became my teachers in that fall, when the president was Yeltsin, and I did not hear about Putin.

Dashevsky was recorded shortly before his death. Several poems. Black and white shootings, large and lateral plans. He always did not seem to be a local person, and on these frames he is not at all from here, an alien prince who speaks with my today's alien texts.

Dashevsky read:

Martian in the dungeons of the General Staff
and contribute to the investigation weakly
and distort Russian
“You do not believe in a centuries -old dream
There is nothing on Mars except death
We are not really tormented by us "

I don’t know, I am sure: all those who were sitting in this old university audience, all poets and students, philologists and journalists, all those who have entered here from the February cold street, who have known for almost a day about the night murder, and for tomorrow they went to the procession of farewell, everyone heard this text as for the first time. It was so unexpected and so natural that it was with Martian "Dashevsky" began "this meeting, which became terribly to tears. The quiet voice of the deceased a year ago a man in a dark silent audience February 28, 2015.
Then poets came out in turn, each read one poem by Dashevsky, some read their texts dedicated to his memory or somehow related to him.

I went through the park:
The bark is gray, the crowns are noisy.
Chu-Ivan-tea
He rings his Duma:

“There is a slumber in the ground
Where is a quiet darkness.
There, my fears mutter
I was happy.

Then I went out of the world
Similar to Zarya like a brother,
Relying on a new happiness.
But I feel uneasy. "

Through these voices, full of love for the deceased friend, full of tenderness and depths, through the verses that touch your most secret continents, which you yourself did not know, through the noise in the head from overwhelming news, to stop the war from powerlessness, save the life of Nadezhda Savchenko, from flowers on the bridge, from the two words “Nemtsov shot”, in the obvious cause of the cause of the incident. Friday night, the reasons that, with all its obviously, will be repeated again and in the morning of Sunday, will become a poster, thereby gaining an additional reasoning force and will not be true, but true: it is the air created by the authorities, the air of anger and hatred gave birth to a killer, the air, the air of hatred and anger leads people to kill in their native neighboring country, it is forced to destroy the air and malice every day All living things around - through these mixing sounds and noises, through this doom, through this goodbye to human, I heard how many years ago I myself, together with everyone, was another person, like my stairwell neighbor, who, wheezing, demands to shoot the enemies of Russia, like my close friend, who calls for the Soviet people on poles, I saw how we have become people who have long been missing for a long time love. How sorry all of us who became too unhappy to remember what we once wanted to be, who became people who forgot the children. Moreover, you hear this in the light of the phrases “Nemtsov shot” - in those few cases when I talked with him, it seemed to me that this person was different from the “average Russian”, that he had everything in order with this: he has an antidote from animal malice, he loves and he knows that he loves.

Closer to the end of the evening, the poet Ilya Esh came to the microphone, he began to read Dashevsky’s old text “I will never touch the seen in a dream ...”. This text is quite long, and it has the following words:

Mouth and eyes
Drowned with a black border.
Cuts my hands cut around golden
Little -page books, where they are taken from
An example of his execution. I know:
in one hour,
Having become this boy, closing
Dying eye,
You will disappear ...

When he read these lines, the audience’s door opened and a man in shape appeared. In a sharp voice, over the words “dying eye, you will disappear” he said: “Get up, went.” And through a pause - "gathered, I said, to the exit."

It was a university guard, he needed to close the building, he was not embarrassed to see a large audience filled with people, and that one of them reads something standing by the microphone. It was an insignificant episode, a common thing: after a surprised pause, everyone exhaled, laughed, the teacher of the ancient Greek language Boris Nikolsky somehow harshly explained with him, and the reading ended only when it was necessary. But in the appearance of this figure in the form and in the said words there was so perfectly suitable scenography for this day and this time that everything seemed invented. And Ilya Esh re -read the text again:

I will never touch
seen in a dream.
And again I fall asleep.
Hair is heavy cargo
hands and air. Snow falls.
I look out of the barn.

I can see through the opening
White and without windows wall,
And there is
Niche whose depth
It is unclear to the viewer of sleep
Because for a sighted light
Items were flat ...

Before the evening, on Saturday morning, its organizer Tatyana Neshumova wrote on her Facebook: “A poetic evening in honor of Grigory Dashevsky today will certainly take place at the RSU, as announced earlier, at 20 hours in the central audience. Poetry and memory are an effort to preserve the human in the world rapidly losing human appearance. People are waiting for human words, and they must sound. ”

I am one of those who were waiting and waiting for human words. I am one of those who are grateful to them and know that they will always be able to sound. I am one of those who know that only lovers will survive, only loving are strong. I am sorry for my country, which for the past fifteen years with a powerful lamppost, they beat in the face, extracting all the love, pulling out of each of us all the dark. I'm sorry for all of us. I myself am in the light of this lantern - I hate people who do it with us, they are cursed, I cannot forgive them. But I am one of those who know that the future is only for those who love.

Then I went out of the world
Similar to Zarya like a brother,
Relying on a new happiness.
But I feel uneasy.