How did you kill?!

By the birthday of Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin “Such things” and the portal postpost.media gathered stories about the poet, whom everyone knows

We talked about the big poets who have gone untimely. Vysotsky, Mayakovsky, Yesenin, Pushkin was also killed, we say. Then a three -year -old Vanya, which was clinging to an adult company, exclaims: “How was Pushkin killed?! And who will write poetry now? " ( Vera Pavlova )

My grandmother had a friend - Arnold Hessen. The journalist, writer, big clever, he retained his bright head on the tenth ten and continued to write books. In his youth, in the nineteenth, he met the general from the cavalry, secret adviser Alexander Alexandrovich Pushkin, the eldest son of Alexander Sergeyevich and Natalia Nikolaevna. Night, endless rain outside the window. I am holding a book about Pushkin Moscow, Hesse's gift to my grandmother. The distance to Pushkin is almost two hundred years. And only three people. ( Osipov modest )

When I was very small, my father regularly repeated: “O Mozart! Mozart! " Mozart enters. "Hello, Mozart!" I once decided to ask who it is? He said: "Pushkin." I was completely confused, but I did not know what else to ask. ( Nana pusenkoff )

In our family there is an expression "yesterday was the birthday of Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin." It appeared in those years when a red date stood on the pictures. Mom took a picture on June 7, a stray dog, which was lying right in the middle of the road in complete exhaustion, apparently from the heat. We came up with the names of this funny photo, and for some reason it turned out to be the most funny about Pushkin’s birthday. Since then, if someone has fallen to exhaustion or for other reasons cannot stand up (it is clear what), then "yesterday there was a birthday yourself know who." ( Svetlana Bodrunova )

Illustration: Lena Four for TD

I really loved in childhood, about five years old, to draw Pushkin - it is easy to draw, everyone knows that. I drew it constantly, on all surfaces, and one day the number passed into quality - the portrait on the cardboard turned out remarkable: the incomplete A4 format, restrained, almost ascetic - black gouache. My cultural aunts admired and erected a portrait of the rack. I was proud of scary, but I felt disgusting. A wonderful portrait of a wonderful person was supposed to be framed in a wonderful frame. The day on the third from the creation of the portrait, I moved a chair to the rack, took out a cardboard with Pushkin and the uggs with red plasticine sausages around the perimeter. In the corners, these sausages were twisted into the coal, symbolizing the carved frame of the red tree; The gilding was missing. I also found and used gilding - yellow clothes of metal rivets out of the box with buttons. It finally turned out richly, but a little excess: the upper part of my frame devoured half of the Pushkin’s head, only my eyes looked from under it. Pushkin’s view made a cunning and slightly embarrassed, but the luxury of the frame compensated for individual drawbacks. I put Pushkin back on the rack, and then solemnly brought my cultural aunts to him. Aunts approached and screeched unexpectedly. He was actually a few years old-one senior schoolgirl, and the other younger student, alas, philological faculty. Then they coped with them and said that in general, it’s not bad and my impulse was clear to them, but without a frame it was better. I do not remember if they inflicted a psychological trauma to me. It seems not. I remember but perfectly a portrait and a frame. I already very much after I realized that this frame is archetypal, completely deep-folk. This is most often happening for us: something beautiful is taken and decorated with an intricate P **** cos. And without P **** CU, well, as if disabilities. I then tried to eject plasticine, but in some places he drove into Pushkin to death. Where then the portrait went, I don’t remember. ( Laura Beloivan )

In 2010, my translation of the “reserve” Dovlatov to Hebrew was published. In one of the Israeli magazines, such an annotation appeared: "The novel" Reserve "tells about the adventures of the author, exiled to the king for hard labor in the Pushkin Reserve." ( Sivan Beskin )

Illustration: Nina herd for TD

In the carriage of the Tambure of the Moscow -Leningrad train, where I stood and smoked, a young man who was unsteady on my feet turned to me with the words: “I see you are a cultural person. And I am a cultural person. I am a poet. Listen. "You smiled at me all evening, but still surrendered at night." This is me about the girl alone. I turned out to be a bitch. I still have a lot of poems. My last name Pushchkin, remember. Everyone is confused with Pushkin, but you do not confuse. ” I promised not to confuse. ( Lev Rubinstein )

According to my mother’s stories, Pushkin was the main character of my early childhood. I was taught to speak, reading Pushkin's tales, and the development of a letter led to the fact that the first poem, scratched with four -year -old brown pencil on the blot, was called modestly “Pushkin and I”:

"Pushkin and I

We are friends

We are walking together in the park,

We conduct and play conversations. ”

As I understand, this text has determined the future: to this day, conversations with poets seem to me the most excellent occupation of all possible. ( Natalia Sannikova )

In the kindergarten on the matinee before the New Year, I read Grandfather Frost the beginning of the poem Eugene Onegin in a fox suit. “My uncle of the most honest rules, when it is not jokingly raining ...” Now it seems to me madness so that someone would initially allow me to introduce this poem to the program of the children's holiday. I would even be glad to say that these are all fictions, but I clearly remember how it was inconvenient to pronounce the word “insidiousness” in a fox suit and how worried about saying “hell” with Grandfather Frost: “When the hell would take you!” ( Vika Reznik )

Illustration: Sveta Mullari for TD

Once, in a literature lesson, a teacher with wild food, who seemed the only possible to me, spoke about Pushkin. And among other things, she mentioned in some context of her son Pushkin. It was a mental disaster for me. Pushkin not only idolized and sang his wife, but also ... "This is the most." So, he had a pussy, like a crazy guy who shows her to everyone in a ravine near the Granat store? So, he is also ... n and Sal? The image of the poet at that moment was completely destroyed for me. This was the first experience when I saw a man in the idol. I didn't like it. ( Svetlana Orlova )

When my dad and I were in the lyceum, an aunt-teacher with a characteristic chala on my head, seeing the Nevazhnetsky Pushkin certificate, closed her tongue and, not addressing anyone specifically, set: “Yes, Pushkin failed me! I always told my students that he studied for one five! ” This "brought me to Pushkin" turned into our family meme. ( Oleg Lexmanov )

When I was small and wrote poetry, I fantasized how Pushkin kills me on a duel, and then cries, because my poems are better. (Matarin)

Illustration: Kristina Kolesnikova for TD

In the early 2000s, we arrived with a friend of an American (African American, which is important) in St. Petersburg for a week. Naturally, we also visited the museum-apartment on the sink. After some time, she heard him shared his impressions on the phone: “And they also have their own Shakespeare. Black". ( Julia di Bella )

At six, I knew many poems by Pushkin by heart. And now they brought me - I was about seven years old - in a special school, where they took the competition. They asked to read the rhyme. I began to read the “Tale of King Saltan”, the most beloved at that time. The commission listened, listened, then said: "Enough." “No,” I objected, “I have not read it yet, I need to listen to the work entirely.” ( Tatyana Shcherbina )

I had to write a final essay on Eugene Onegin, which I, due to hellish life circumstances, did not read. It was in the States in the early 1990s-this is important. All that I knew was that at first he did not give Tatyana, and then she did not give him. I brazenly wrote that this is the first truly feminist novel in the history of Russian literature. I was put with a fright 98 out of 100. Thank you, our everything. (MK)

All stories can be read on the postpost.media portal

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Personal stories Poet Pushkin