Typically, the Almighty rulers, except for maybe Nero, not able to write poetry. But loved when you wrote about them. Here the poet Feliks Chuyev wrote about Stalin. A poem long forgotten, but interesting, in my opinion.
“Already after living deep in the rear,Already in Moscow Commissars was not seen,And pantserny army background Bokan Khimki continued to advance.Decide at the headquarters of the Western front Put headquarters East of Moscow,And the sun wound Russian natagora among autumn blue …in Moscow responsible lizane understand one thing:When Sam will leave from the capital —But to ask about it Himself?Yes, I ask? The issue is extremely important,Such that aside: — When to send the regiment of Vasana Kuibyshev? The composition is ready.Shook the glass in the roar of the air,Sparkled in the Alexander garden …he Said quietly: — If need be,I this regiment will lead the attack”.
Poets (not poets, and Poets) all the time trying to teach the autocrats. And wanted, according to the founder of the genre of Alexander:
“…A celebration of Freedom world,On the throne to hit the flaw”.
The power in their understanding was always to blame due to the fact that it is autocratic.
“Alas! wherever you cast the eyes Everywhere scourges, everywhere gland,Laws disastrous disgrace,Bondage feeble tears”
And the only prescription was:”Cumulatively villain!You, your throne I hate,Your death, the death of kids with cruel joy I see.”
Sometimes the poets were deceived in relations with autocrats:
“Comrade Stalin, you are a great scholar In the Sciences you have learned a higher sense.But I am a simple Soviet prisoner,And my companion grey Bryansk wolf.
During that sitting, in good conscience, I don’t know,But prosecutors, as always, are right,And here I was sitting in the Turukhansk region,Where the king was sitting in the link you.
“We do believe you, comrade Stalin,As may be, did not believe in myself”.
However, life quickly put everything in its place:
“We chop wood, and the Stalin’s chips,As before, in our heads fly.”
SW Oleshkovskaya “Comrade Stalin”.
In our time Power is simply not know of the poet:
“Vladimir Putin: And what’s your name, sorry ?
Yuri Shevchuk: Yuri Shevchuk, musician”
From the transcript of the Prime Minister’s meeting with the St. Petersburg intelligentsia.
But certainly listened to before, and somewhere in his soul approved:
“Black lights from neighboring gates,Hatchways, handcuffs, torn mouth.How many times rolled over, my galovac a crowded slaughterhouse flew here, kdeedu I’m at home,Let the shouting — ugly,And we like,Though not a beauty,For gullible bastards,Well, to us — tra-La-La-La…how much truth in the eyes of the public whores !how much faith in the hands of retired executioners !You do not let them again roll up our sleeves,You do not let them again roll up our sleeves”…
Yuri Shevchuk “Homeland”