Alexander Popov was born on March 14 (27), 1913 in the village of Bludnovo (now Nikolsky district Vologda region) in a peasant family. First publication in 1928. In 1931 he graduated from the Pedagogical College in the city...
Alexander Yakovlevich Yashin ( real name- Popov) (1913-1968), Russian Soviet prose writer and poet. Winner of the Stalin Prize, second degree (1950). Member of the CPSU(b) since 1941.
Alexander Popov was born on March 14 (27), 1913 in the village of Bludnovo (now Nikolsky district, Vologda region) into a peasant family. First publication in 1928. In 1931 he graduated from a pedagogical college in the city of Nikolsk, taught in the village, read a lot, wrote poetry, collaborated in Vologda and Arkhangelsk newspapers, and began publishing in 1928. The first collection of poems, “Songs to the North,” was published in 1934 in Arkhangelsk. Shortly before the First Congress Soviet writers became chairman of the organizing committee of its Vologda branch. In 1935 he moved to Moscow. He studied at the A. M. Gorky Literary Institute, which he graduated in 1941. At the same time he worked as deputy editor of a large-circulation newspaper.
During the Great Patriotic War Volunteered for the front and, as a war correspondent and political worker, participated in the defense of Leningrad and Stalingrad and in the liberation of Crimea. In 1942-1943, his collections of poems “It Was in the Baltic” and “City of Wrath” were published.
IN post-war years traveled a lot around the country: trips to the North, to Altai, to the construction of hydroelectric power stations, to virgin lands. Impressions from what he saw were reflected in the collections of poems “Countrymen” (1946), “ Soviet man"(1951), in the poem "Alena Fomina" (1949).
In a speech at the Second Congress of the Union of Writers of the USSR, he admitted his share of guilt for the fact that the literature of Stalin’s time was insincere, explaining this by a lack of civic courage, and called for the return of S. A. Yesenin’s poetry Soviet literature. From that time on, Yashin’s work changed radically; in every work he strived for maximum honesty.
The story “Levers” (1956) about the suppression of personality by the party apparatus was not republished until the time of perestroika. The story “Visiting My Son,” written in 1958, was published only in 1987, like several other stories. The unvarnished picture of collective farm life in the story “Vologda Wedding” (1962) was attacked by dogmatic critics.
A. Ya. Yashin died of cancer on July 11, 1968 in Moscow. He was buried in his native village.
On our book website you can download books by the author Yashin Alexander Yakovlevich in the most different formats(epub, fb2, pdf, txt and many others). And also read books online and for free on any device - iPad, iPhone, tablet. Android control, on any specialized reader. Electronic library BookGuide offers literature by Yashin Alexander Yakovlevich in the genres of classic children's prose, classical prose of the USSR.
...Veronika Tushnova and Alexander Yashin - two roads of love
Long winters and summers will never merge: they have different habits and a completely different appearance... (B. Okudzhava)
| The gloomy earth was frozen, the sky yearned for the sun. It's dark in the morning and dark at noon, but I don't care, I don't care! And I have a beloved, beloved, with the behavior of an eagle, with the soul of a dove, with a cheeky grin, with a childish smile, the only one in the whole wide world. He is my air, he is my sky, everything without him is lifeless and dumb... But he knows nothing about it, he is busy with his own affairs and thoughts, he will pass by and not look, and will not look back, and will not think of smiling at me. Between us lies forever and ever, not distant distances - fleeting years, it is not the great sea that stands between us - bitter grief, a strange heart. We are not destined to meet forever... But I don’t care, I don’t care, but I have a beloved, beloved! |
 It was thought that everything would last forever, Like air, water, light: Her carefree faith, Her heart’s strength would be enough for a hundred years. Here I will order - And it will appear, Night or day does not count, It will appear from underground, It will cope with any grief, It will swim across the sea. It is necessary - It will walk waist-deep in the starry dry snow, through the taiga to the pole, into the ice, through the “I can’t”. He will be on duty, If necessary, A month on his feet without sleep, If only he is nearby, Nearby, Rejoicing that he is needed. I thought Yes, it seemed... How you let me down! Suddenly she left forever - She didn’t take into account the power that she herself gave to me. Unable to cope with grief, I roar loudly and call. No, nothing will get better: It won’t appear from underground, Unless in reality. This is how I live. Am I alive? |
Veronika Mikhailovna Tushnova, famous Soviet poetess, was born on March 27, 1915 in Kazan in the family of Mikhail Tushnov, a professor of medicine at Kazan University, and his wife, Alexandra, née Postnikova, a graduate of the Higher Women’s Bestuzhev Courses in Moscow.
Having moved to Leningrad, she completed her studies at medical institute, which began in Kazan, married the famous doctor Yuri Rozinsky and gave birth to a daughter, Natalya, in 1939. Tushnova’s second husband is physicist Yuri Timofeev.
Details family life Veronica Tushnova is unknown - much has not been preserved, has been lost, relatives also remain silent.
She began writing poetry early and after the end of the war, during which she had to work in hospitals, she forever connected her life with poetry.
It is not known under what circumstances and when exactly Veronika Tushnova met the poet and writer Alexander Yashin (1913–1968), whom she fell in love with so bitterly and hopelessly and to whom she dedicated her most beautiful poems, included in her last collection “One Hundred Hours of Happiness.” Hopeless - because Yashin, the father of seven children, was already married for the third time. Close friends jokingly called Alexander Yakovlevich’s family the “Yashinsky collective farm.”
“The insoluble cannot be resolved, the incurable cannot be healed...” And judging by her poems, Veronica Tushnova could only be healed of her love by her own death.
Lev Anninsky, in his article “Veronica Tushnova: “They do not renounce, loving...” connects the main events in the lives of my heroes with 1961:
In 1961 - a passionate, indomitable, almost insane, sometimes deliberately tongue-tied priestess of love, who does not recognize laws and knows no barriers...
They met secretly, in other cities, in hotels, went to the forest, wandered all day, spent the night in hunting lodges. And when they returned to Moscow by train, Yashin asked Veronica to get off two or three stops so that they would not be seen together.
The life of Alexander Yashin - both literary and personal - is not easy. And he had reason to despair (more on that below). I don’t know what events caused the poem “Despair,” dated 1958. Literary persecution for the truth about the Russian village (the story “Levers”)? Fear for the fate of the family associated with this? Love?
Mother of God, don’t blame me, I don’t glorify you in churches, And now, having prayed, I’m not being a fool at all, I’m not lying. It’s just that my strength is no longer there, All the losses and troubles cannot be measured, If the light in the heart fades, At least you have to believe in something. No peace for a long time, no sleep, I live as if in smoke, as if in fog... My wife is dying, And I myself am on the same brink. Do I sin more than others? Why is there grief behind grief? I’m not asking you for a loan, I’m not asking for a ticket to a sanatorium. Let me get out of this mess. From the crossroads, from the impassability, Since no one has helped yet, At least help you, Mother of God.
When I think about Alexander Yashin, all the vicissitudes of his life, his bright Russian character, about his heart, trying to contain all the troubles and sorrows, equally rooting for the fate of the Fatherland and specific person, one statement by F. M. Dostoevsky comes to mind. In my free interpretation, it sounds like this: the Russian man is broad, but it could be narrowed down. This phrase is not a reproach, it is a statement. It’s just that, it seems to me, Fyodor Mikhailovich casually, in a few words, explained where he gets the plots for his novels, inexplicable and often incomprehensible to people, far from Russia.
This is the background to the appearance of Veronica Tushnova’s last poems - poignant and confessional - the brightest example of female love poetry.
And this is how my heroes appear in the descriptions of people who knew them:
“Veronica has a scorching southern, Asian (more Persian than Tatar type) beauty” (Lev Anninsky)
“Stunningly beautiful” (Mark Sobol)
“A beautiful, black-haired woman with sad eyes (for her characteristic and unusual beauty to the Central Russian eye, she was laughingly called an “oriental beauty”)”
“Veronica was stunningly beautiful! Everyone instantly fell in love with her... I don’t know if she was happy in her life for at least an hour... You need to write about Veronica from the perspective of her shining light of love for everything. She made happiness out of everything..." (Nadezhda Ivanovna Kataeva-Lytkina)
“Veronica Tushnova sat down at my table. She smelled temptingly of good perfume, and like a revived Galatea, she lowered her sculpted eyelids...” (Ivinskaya O. V. “The Years with Boris Pasternak: Captive of Time”)
“...Since childhood, she developed a pagan enthusiastic attitude towards nature. She loved to run barefoot in the dew, lie in the grass on a slope strewn with daisies, watch the clouds hurrying somewhere and catch the rays of the sun in her palms.
She doesn’t like winter, she associates winter with death” (“Russian Life”)
When Veronica was in the hospital in the oncology department, Alexander Yashin visited her. Mark Sobol, for many years who was friends with Veronica, became an involuntary witness to one of these visits:
When I came to her room, I tried to cheer her up. She was indignant: no need! She was given evil antibiotics that tightened her lips and made it painful for her to smile. She looked extremely thin. Unrecognizable. And then he came! Veronica ordered us to turn to the wall while she got dressed. Soon she quietly called out: “Boys...”. I turned around and was stunned. A beauty stood before us! I will not be afraid of this word, because it is said exactly. Smiling, with glowing cheeks, a young beauty who has never known any illness. And then I felt with particular strength that everything she wrote was true. Absolute and irrefutable truth. Perhaps this is what is called poetry...
IN last days Before her death, she forbade Alexander Yashin from entering her room - she wanted him to remember her as beautiful, cheerful, and lively.
“What a huge impression Alexander Yakovlevich made everywhere he appeared. It was beautiful strong man, very charming, very bright"
“I was quite surprised by Yashin’s appearance, which seemed to me not very rustic, and perhaps not very Russian. A large, proudly set aquiline nose (you won’t find anything like that in all of Pinega), thin sarcastic lips under a red, well-groomed mustache and a very tenacious, piercing, slightly wild eye of a forest man, but with a tired, cheerless squint...” (Fyodor Abramov)
“... A Vologda peasant, he looked like a peasant, tall, broad-boned, shovel-shaped face, kind and strong... Eyes with a cunning peasant squint, piercingly intelligent” (Grigory Svirsky)
“Why is it possible without millions? Why can’t you do without one?”
Even if you crash, even if you die, you won’t find a truer answer, and wherever our passions lead you and me, there are always two roads ahead - this one and this one, without which it is impossible, like without heaven and earth. (B. Okudzhava)
They say that it was Alexander Yashin who recommended Bulatu Okudzhava to the Writers’ Union.
So who is he, the “one and only” who became air and sky for Veronica Tushnova?
Yashin (real name Popov) Alexander Yakovlevich (1913–1968), poet, prose writer. Born on March 14 (27 n.s.) in the village of Bludnovo, Vologda region, into a peasant family. During the Patriotic War, he volunteered for the front and, as a war correspondent and political worker, participated in the defense of Leningrad and Stalingrad and in the liberation of Crimea.
It is to Yashin that the poet Nikolai Rubtsov and the prose writer Vasily Belov owe much of their rise in Russian literature.
After the release of the stories “Levers” and “Vologda Wedding,” the doors of publishing houses and editorial offices were closed for the Stalin Prize laureate. Many of his works remained unfinished.
loves him amazing woman, talented, beautiful, sensitive... “But he doesn’t know anything about it, he’s busy with his own affairs and thoughts... he’ll pass by and not look, and won’t look back, and won’t think of smiling at me.”
“It is not accidental that there are two roads on earth - this one and this one, that one strains the legs, this one stirs the soul,” Bulat Okudzhava wrote in his poem.
“A lot of things strained Alexander Yashin’s legs - and civic position, when he, as best he could, asserted in his stories and poems his right to the truth, and a huge family in which not everything was easy either, and that image of a guardian folk traditions, which the father of seven children, a loving and caring husband, had to follow, moral guideline for aspiring writers
From diary entries from 1966:
“For a long time now I have had a desire for creative solitude - this explains the construction of a house on Bobrishny Ugor... My life has become very difficult, joyless in social terms. I began to understand and see too much and I can’t come to terms with anything...
Relocation to Bobrishny Ugor... I laid out my notebooks and looked out the window, I couldn’t see enough. Mother and sister went home in the rain.
And here is the very image that was supposed to establish itself in the minds of readers. V. N. Barakov in the article “The Living Word of Yashin” writes:
Alexander Yashin was a believer; in his apartment he kept icons, a folding bag, and a Bible, which he never parted with; he observed Orthodox fasts, lived ascetically, not allowing himself anything unnecessary. In his house on Bobrishny Ugor there is only a hard trestle bed, a desk, and a homemade coffee table - a gift from Vasily Belov.
On Bobrishny Ugor... his soul burned in solitary prayer, because the closest thing to prayer is lyrical poetry.
“In the last days of a severe illness,” says his daughter, “he, raising his hand high, turned over the pages of an invisible book in the air, said that he now knew how to write... And then, when he woke up, he addressed directly many times a day: “Lord, I am coming with You to connect!..”
“People like Yashin,” concludes the poet’s daughter, “led their generation, raised and supported them with their creativity, feeding the moral spiritual foundation in a person...”
But there was another way. On this road of bright, frantic loving life in all its manifestations, many complications awaited the amorous person.
Alexander Yashin has a poem dated 1959 - “You forgave such things...”.
You forgave such things, You were so able to love, You forgot so easily, What others couldn’t forget... ...Only you couldn’t stand a lie, You couldn’t bear one lie, You couldn’t justify it, And you couldn’t understand.
This is probably about his wife, Zlata Konstantinovna, the mother of his youngest children.
And one more thing. A loved one, grieving at the grave of a woman who became his bitter, predicted loss (Tushnova died in 1965), writes in 1966:
But you must be somewhere? And not someone else’s - Mine... But which one? Beautiful? Kind? Maybe she’s evil?.. We couldn’t miss you.
Waiting again new love? And then there was the realization: “I didn’t save anyone’s love before the deadline...” (“Otkhodnaya”, 1966).
“And my revelations will turn into the most best poems"- Yashin wrote in 1961. Truly this is so, because in recent years his life literally burst through, and I simply advise you to find, read and compare his early and late poems.
And no matter what posthumous monuments are erected to him, no matter what white clothes he is dressed in, the best, miraculous monument to myself, I consider these truthful, frank, life-suffering lines of the poem of the same 1966 “Transitional Issues”, dedicated to Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky :
By what measure is My absurdity measured? And I don’t believe in God, And I don’t get along with the devil.
This is how fate brought the “woman in the window in a dress” pink color”, who chose a “beautiful, but in vain” road, and a man for whom “there are always two roads ahead - this one and this one, without which it is impossible, like without heaven and earth”... Fairy tales say that they lived happily and died on the same day.
“This woman in the window in a pink dress
asserts that it is impossible to live without tears in separation.”
(B. Okudzhava)
...And they tell me: there is no such love. They tell me: live like everyone else! And I won’t let anyone put out their souls. And I live like everyone else will someday live!
But if it were in my power, I would continue the journey forever, because there are many minutes of approaching happiness. better than happiness himself.
I was afraid of you, I had difficulty taming myself to you, I didn’t know that you were my spring, my daily bread, my home!
But you are in another, distant house and even in another city. Someone else's powerful palms lie on a dear heart.
Don’t think, I’m brave, I’m not afraid of offense or grief, whatever you want, I’ll do anything, do you hear, my dear heart?
I only have a few springs left, so give me a choice of what I want: blue-winged fir trees, pine trees, and a birch tree - a white candle.
Don’t blame me for wishing for little, don’t judge that I’m timid at heart. It just so happened - I was late... Give me your hand! Where is your hand?
I don’t need flattering smiles, I don’t need beautiful words, the only gift I want is your dear heart.
I won’t bother you and I’ll pass by like your shadow... Life is so short, and there’s only one spring a year. There the forest birds sing, there the soul sings in the chest... A hundred sins will be forgiven you if you say:
- Come!
I haven’t told you everything yet - do you know how I walk around train stations? How do I study the schedules? How do I meet trains at night?
I speak to you in poetry, I can’t stop. They are like tears, like breathing, and that means I am not lying about anything...
Everything is unusual this summer, strange: the fact that these spruce trees are so straight, and the fact that we feel the forest as a temple, and the fact that we are the gods in this temple!
I light fires and stoke damp stoves, and I admire how you straighten your drooping shoulders, and I watch how the icy crust melts in your eyes, how your cloudy soul dawns and blossoms.
You taught me the patience of a bird preparing for a long flight, the patience of everyone who knows what will happen and silently awaits the inevitable.
Sometimes prickly, sometimes soft beyond measure, sometimes too cheerful, you clumsily hide me from the gaze of sorrowful eyes...
Maybe it will still come true? - I won’t lie - your eyes always seem to me, sometimes pleading, pitiful, sometimes cheerful, hot, happy, amazed, reddish-green.
You live and breathe somewhere, smile, eat and drink... Can’t you really hear at all? Won't you call? Won't you call me? I will be submissive and faithful, I will not cry, I will not reproach. And for the holidays, and for everyday life, and for everything, I thank you.
Don’t be angry with your vagrant bird, I myself understand that this is bad.
It’s just in vain that you drive me away, you often hurt me with unkind words: I won’t be with you for long - just until my last hour.
Days with you, months apart... At first it was like this. You leave, you come, and again and again you say goodbye, then you turn into tears, then into dreams.
And the dreams become more and more sad, and your eyes become more and more dear, and it becomes more and more unthinkable to remain without you! It's getting harder!
She was always the way she wanted: she wanted - she laughed, but she wanted - she was silent... But there is a limit to mental flexibility, and there is an end to every beginning.
You don't like counting clouds in the blue. You don't like walking barefoot on the grass. You don’t like fiber in the fields of cobwebs, you don’t like having the window wide open in your room, your eyes wide open, your soul wide open, so you can wander around slowly and sin slowly.
A falcon swam majestically over the rocky gray cliff; in the rusty and prickly thicket something squealed sleepily. Under the ruddy rowan tree you did not call me beloved, you kissed me without looking me in the eyes, without stroking my tangled strands.
Around me it’s as if there is a fence of other people’s hopes, love, other people’s happiness... How strange - everything without my participation. How strange - no one needs me...
They say: “You know, he left her...”. And without you I am like a boat without oars.
Do you know what grief is? Do you know what happiness is?
I stand like a defendant... And you cry about the past, and you pay for your purity with my life.
Well, you can leave me, you can part with me - nothing from my wealth will be given to anyone else. It is not in your power, as it was, so everything will be. My misfortune will not bring her happiness.
Blaming me alone for all your sins, having discussed everything and thought it all over soberly, you wish that I would not exist... Don’t worry - I have already disappeared.
Don't grieve for me, don't grieve - you, and not me, should live in a lie, no one will order me: - Be silent! Smile! - when you even scream. I don’t need to think until the end of my life - yes, say - no. I live without hiding anything, all my pain is in the palm of my hand, my whole life is in the palm of my hand, whatever it is - here I am!
I’m not swimming, I’m going to the bottom, I can’t see three steps ahead, I blame myself, I curse you, I rebel, I cry, I hate... Everyone has a difficult time, torn apart by evil little things. Forgive me this time, and the next, and the tenth, - you gave me such happiness, you cannot subtract it or add it up, and no matter how much you take away, you cannot take anything away. Don’t listen to what I say, being jealous, tormented, grieving... Thank you! Thank you I will never repay you!
Not a prey, not a reward - it was a simple find. That’s probably why I don’t make you happy, because I’m not worth anything. Only my life is short, but I firmly and bitterly believe: if you didn’t love your find, you will love your loss...
I'm standing at open door, I say goodbye, I'm leaving. I won’t believe anything anymore, write anyway, please! In order not to be tormented by late pity, from which there is no escape, please write me a letter a thousand years in advance. Not for the future, but for the past, for the peace of my soul, write good things about me. I'm already dead. Write!
I say goodbye to you at the last line. WITH true love maybe you'll meet.
One hundred hours of happiness, pure, without deception. One hundred hours of happiness! Is this not enough?
They do not renounce, loving...
I do not renounce -
Be as before.
It's better to suffer
How life has set...
How could you even think that I was running away from my family? Your lane is not the end of the earth, I am not a needle in a haystack... The world is either thawed or frosty - it’s hard to pull your cart. I was looking for friendship, I didn’t know that I was carrying so many unnecessary tears.
I don't want to meet you. I don't want to love you. It’s easier to pump water all your life and crush stones on the road. It’s better to live in the wilderness, in a hut, where you at least know for sure why your soul is heavy, why you feel melancholy...
Resurrect! Arise! My destiny has broken. All the joys have faded and faded without you. I bow before everything that I didn’t value before. Resurrect! I repent that I loved and lived timidly.
And we will recognize each other there too. I’m only afraid that without a living fire, my hut will no longer seem like paradise, and, looking intently through me, out of a long-standing habit, she is still obedient, kind and trusting, there she will no longer be so in love, so patiently generous.
Give me, God, another piece of shagreen leather! I don't want to leave! God give me some more time to live. And women, women look in love, a little crazy and detached, selfless, unprotected...
So what do I want along with everyone else? You just have to die, since the time has come...
Veronika Mikhailovna was dying in severe agony. The poetess passed away on July 7, 1965. Yashin, shocked by Tushnova’s death, published in “ Literary newspaper» obituary and dedicated poems to her - his belated insight, filled with the pain of loss.
In the early 60s, on Bobrishny Ugor, near his native village of Bludnovo (Vologda region), Alexander Yashin built himself a house, where he came to work and experienced difficult moments.
Three years after Veronica's death, on June 11, 1968, he also died. And also from cancer.
In Ugor, according to the will, he was buried. Yashin was only fifty-five years old.
About what was not included in the official biographies.
In my essay “Who is Olga Vaksel, we don’t know...” I already wrote about selective memory and posthumous monuments to poets.
In most publications dedicated to A. Yashin, I again see a vague, contextual mention of Yashin’s wives and children from his first marriages. Natalya, the fifth child out of seven, is for some reason called the poet’s eldest daughter, meaning that the seventh, Mikhail, is her younger brother. In essence, it seems like a trifle, but in fact such selectivity makes you distrust any memories and comments from “interested parties.” I understand that Alexander Yashin represents a movement in literature that presupposes a mythologized, cleansed image of the author. But still... still... I would like to go beyond the canonized image and learn more about real person, whom this amazing woman, sublime and earthly at the same time, loved so boundlessly and hopelessly - Veronica Tushnova.
We learn some facts from the diary of Alexander Yashin (Electronic version of the newspaper “Literary Diary”):
“Yesterday at the Literary Fund I signed up my children for evacuation with the second batch. All unnecessary people are leaving Moscow" (July 8, 1941)
“From my wife yesterday - a postcard. Moved to Nikolsk. This is unpleasant and restless for me. I don’t trust women” (October 11, 1941)
“For the third day now, I have been tormented by some kind of anxiety, a premonition of something bad. As they say, cats scratch my soul. Probably everything is connected with thoughts about his wife, about Gala... She hasn’t left yet. We need to return to our children, live for them... There was no need to get married again” (June 30, 1942)
“Slava (secretary of the party bureau of the Literary Institute, friend of A. Ya. Yashin) introduced him to the architect, student of the Literary Institute Zlata Konstantinovna Rostkovskaya” (May 8, 1943)
“It was Zlata Konstantinovna again. And every time I bring her to tears. Bad. I’m ashamed myself that I’m so wild and evil” (June 28, 1943)
Zlata Konstantinovna was born (14) on May 27, 1914 in the family of the senior doctor of the infirmary of the headquarters of the Vladivostok fortress, nobleman Konstantin Pavlovich and architect Ekaterina Georgievna Rostkovsky. WITH youth wrote poetry, entered the Literary Institute in Moscow, where she met Vologda resident Alexander Yashin. They had two children - Natalya and Mikhail. In 1999, a collection of poems by Zlata Popova-Yashina was published, which she wrote throughout her life as a diary.
From the memories of Natalya’s daughter:
Nikolai Rubtsov, perhaps, visited us less than others - he was probably shy. He lived with us in 1966 at a very bitter time for our family. All our thoughts were about something else: we wanted to see only one person - brother Sasha. Rubtsov came to the house with compassion and words of consolation. In order to somehow warm him up, his mother then gave away the coat of her deceased son, which was especially dear to her...
Mikhail Yashin:
"I - youngest son Alexandra Yashina. Pianist, graduated from the Moscow Conservatory in the class of Professor Vera Gornostaeva. In 1981, having married the daughter of a Russian emigrant, he moved to Paris, where I live to this day.” (Vologda regional newspaper “Krasny Sever”, March 25, 2006)
Alexander Yashin, “Together with Prishvin” (1962):
I'll tell you how Mikhail Mikhailovich (Prishvin - author's note) gave the person a name.
In 1953 my son was born, and for a long time we could not find one for him. a suitable name. He was seventh...
I decided to call Prishvin.
- Mikhail Mikhailovich, a son was born... - We can’t find a name.
- You need to think! “Mikhail Mikhailovich was clearly stalling and thinking. “There are two good names,” he finally said... “The first is Dmitry.”
- So! And the second?..
- Then here’s the second one - Mikhail...
- Oh, my Misha Maly! - I say...
So how many children were there in the family of Alexander Yakovlevich and Zlata Konstantinovna?
The poet’s daughter, Tatyana, is mentioned, and his grandson, Kostya Smirnitsky, is mentioned in connection with the half-forgotten Moscow Popular Front.
Grigory Svirsky’s book “Heroes of the Execution Years” talks about “Literary Moscow,” which was banned in 1956 after the release of its first two volumes.
In the second volume, Alexander Yashin’s story “Levers” was published, after which many years of persecution of the writer, winner of the Stalin Prize, began.
G. Svirsky mentions Yashin’s six children in connection with the beginning of devastating criticism of the story. According to him, the writer’s sixteen-year-old son shot himself in his father’s empty office:
This shocked Alexander Yashin so much that he himself fell ill and never left the hospital... In his last hours, he held Zlata Konstantinovna’s hand, cried and was executed...
And, according to the surgeon of the former “Kremlin” Praskovya Nikolaevna Moshentseva, the son of Alexander Yashin committed suicide because of love.
From the memoirs of A. Yashin by Capitolina Kozhevnikova:
He had difficult fate writer, person big family, mentally ill wife... There was plenty of gossip and various conversations around him.” (www.vestnik.com, December 25, 2002)
Apparently, the “mentally ill wife” is the second wife of the poet Galya (“You shouldn’t have gotten married again…”), in his third marriage he had three children, not two. And it is possible that the child from his second marriage (son? daughter?) was raised in the poet’s family, since Veronica Tushnova did not want to destroy a family in which there were FOUR children.
Zlata Konstantinovna Popova-Yashina and Natalya Aleksandrovna Yashina preserve the legacy of their husband and father, taking part in the preparation and publication of his books.
I found no information about the fate of her husbands. The first, Yuri Rozinsky, the father of Natalya, Tushnova’s daughter, was a psychiatrist. Olga Ivinskaya in her book “The Years with Boris Pasternak: Captivated by Time” wrote that he “saved my two-year-old son from meningitis.”
Whether Veronika Tushnova was married or her second marriage had already broken up when she met Alexander Yashin, I do not know.
Natalya Savelyeva wrote in her essay “Two stops to happiness” (« New newspaper", February 14, 2002):
The only thing documentary evidence of this love are the memories of Fyodor Abramov. Because of Soviet hypocrisy, they were removed from his collected works and the only time they saw the light of day was in 1996 in the Arkhangelsk newspaper Pravda Severa: “I understand, I understand well how risky it is to touch such a delicate area human relations, like the love of two people, and even middle-aged, married people, living out their last years. To make wounds of loved ones that may not yet have healed bleed again, to revive again the flame of passions that once caused so much gossip and rumors...
Is it the only thing? In 1973, Eduard Asadov wrote a poem “To Veronica Tushnova and Alexander Yashin” (“I really won’t reveal a secret...”). You can read it in the book: Eduard Arkadyevich Asadov, “Favorites”, Smolensk: Rusich, 2003. - 624 p.
Veronica Tushnova's daughter, Natalya Yurievna Rozinskaya, is mentioned in various editions of her mother's books as a compiler, and takes part in various literary events.
Paloma, August 2006
Born in the village of Bludnovo, Vologda province, into a peasant family. The poet’s first mentors were teachers from a seven-year school and a pedagogical college in district city Nikolsk, from which Alexander Yashin graduated in 1931. Print Yashin began in 1928 in the regional newspaper “Nikolsky Kommunar”, in the district newspaper of Veliky Ustyug “Soviet Thought” and in the central periodical press. While still a student at the Pedagogical College, he became a participant in the First Provincial Congress of Writers in Veliky Ustyug. After graduating from technical school, Yashin taught in the village, read a lot, wrote poetry, and collaborated in Vologda and Arkhangelsk newspapers.
Since 1932, Yashin lived in Vologda, then in Arkhangelsk, where in 1934 the first collection of his poems, “Songs to the North,” was published. After participating in the First All-Union Congress of Writers, Yashin moved to Moscow in 1935 and entered the Literary Institute. M. Gorky, who graduated in 1941.
During the Great Patriotic War, he volunteered for the front and, as a war correspondent and political worker, participated in the defense of Leningrad and Staligrad and in the liberation of Crimea. In 1942 - 1943, his collections of poems “It Was in the Baltic” and “City of Wrath” were published.
In the post-war years, Yashin traveled a lot around the country, making trips to the North, to Altai, to the construction of hydroelectric power stations, to virgin lands. Impressions from what he saw were reflected in Yashin’s collections of poems “Countrymen” (1946), “Soviet Man” (1951), and in the poem “Alena Fomina” (1949). Yashin also begins to write prose, his stories “Levers” (1956), “Vologda Wedding” (1962), stories “Orphan” (1962), “I Treat You to Rowan” (1965) and others were published. prose works.
In the 1960s, poetry collections “Barefoot on the Earth,” “Creation Day,” and “Insomnia” were published. Yashin also wrote prose works: the stories “Orphan” (1962) and “Vologda Wedding” (1965), the stories “I Treat You to Rowan” (1965), etc.
Many works remained unfinished. Posthumously, in 1972, two volumes of “Selected Works” were published. Alexandra Yashina. The poet and prose writer Vasily Belov owes much of his rise in Russian literature to Yashin.
A special place in the life of Alexander Yashin was occupied by his love for the poetess, which ended in a break. They met secretly, in other cities, in hotels, went to the forest, wandered all day, spent the night in hunting lodges. And when they returned to Moscow by train, Yashin asked Veronica to get off two or three stops so that they would not be seen together. It was not possible to keep the relationship a secret. Friends condemn him, family real tragedy. The break with Veronica Tushnova was predetermined and inevitable.
Yashin Alexander Yakovlevich (real name Popov) (March 14 (March 27), 1913, village of Bludnovo, Vologda region - July 11, 1968, Moscow) - Russian poet and prose writer.
Born in the village of Bludnovo, Vologda province, into a peasant family. The poet’s first mentors were teachers from a seven-year school and a pedagogical college in the regional town of Nikolsk, from which Alexander Yashin graduated in 1931. Yashin began publishing in 1928 in the regional newspaper “Nikolsky Kommunar”, in the district newspaper of Veliky Ustyug “Sovetskaya Mysl” and in the central periodical press. While still a student at the Pedagogical College, he became a participant in the First Provincial Congress of Writers in Veliky Ustyug. After graduating from technical school, Yashin taught in the village, read a lot, wrote poetry, and collaborated in Vologda and Arkhangelsk newspapers.
Since 1932, Yashin lived in Vologda, then in Arkhangelsk, where in 1934 the first collection of his poems, “Songs to the North,” was published. After participating in the First All-Union Congress of Writers, Yashin moved to Moscow in 1935 and entered the Literary Institute. M. Gorky, who graduated in 1941.
During the Great Patriotic War, he volunteered for the front and, as a war correspondent and political worker, participated in the defense of Leningrad and Staligrad and in the liberation of Crimea. In 1942 - 1943, his collections of poems “It Was in the Baltic” and “City of Wrath” were published.
In the post-war years, Yashin traveled a lot around the country, making trips to the North, to Altai, to the construction of hydroelectric power stations, to virgin lands. Impressions from what he saw were reflected in Yashin’s collections of poems “Countrymen” (1946), “Soviet Man” (1951), and in the poem “Alena Fomina” (1949). Yashin also began to write prose; his stories “Levers” (1956), “Vologda Wedding” (1962), stories “Orphan” (1962), “I Treat You to Rowan” (1965) and other prose works were published.
In the 1960s, poetry collections “Barefoot on the Earth,” “Creation Day,” and “Insomnia” were published. Yashin also wrote prose works: the stories “Orphan” (1962) and “Vologda Wedding” (1965), the stories “I Treat You to Rowan” (1965), etc.
Many works remained unfinished. Posthumously, in 1972, two volumes of “Selected Works” by Alexander Yashin were published. The poet Nikolai Rubtsov and the prose writer Vasily Belov owe much of their rise in Russian literature to Yashin.
A special place in the life of Alexander Yashin was occupied by his love for the poetess Veronica Tushnova, which ended in a breakup. They met secretly, in other cities, in hotels, went to the forest, wandered all day, spent the night in hunting lodges. And when they returned to Moscow by train, Yashin asked Veronica to get off two or three stops so that they would not be seen together. It was not possible to keep the relationship a secret. His friends condemn him, there is a real tragedy in his family. The break with Veronica Tushnova was predetermined and inevitable.
The Soviet poet Alexander Yashin, also known as a prose writer, literary editor and journalist, lived a short, but rich life, full of events and creativity. This article presents the biography of the writer, from which you can find out what kind of person Alexander Yashin was.
Biography
Yashin (real name Popov) was born on March 27, 1913 in the village of Bludnovo (the territory of the modern Vologda region). Alexander grew up in a peasant family, already poor, and after the death of his father in the First World War, completely poor.
From the age of five, Sasha Popov worked in the fields and around the house - in difficult time Every hand was important. His mother remarried, and his stepfather was rude to the boy. After graduating from three classes of a rural school, eight-year-old Sasha asked to be allowed to go to the district to continue his studies. But his stepfather did not want to let him go, losing him, albeit a small one, but still a worker and assistant. The boy complained to his loved ones school teachers, and they assembled a village council, where by a majority vote they decided to send Sasha for further studies in the neighboring city of Nikolsk.
After graduating from seven classes there, the fifteen-year-old boy entered a pedagogical school.
The beginning of creativity
While still at school, Alexander began writing poetry, for which he received the nickname “Red Pushkin” from his classmates. In his first year at college, the aspiring poet began sending his work to the newspaper. The first publication took place in 1928, in the newspaper "Nikolsky Kommunar". From that time on, Alexander began to use the pseudonym Yashin.
His poems began to appear frequently in various local newspapers, such as “Leninskaya Smena”, “Northern Lights”, “Soviet Thought”, and subsequently in the all-Union publications “Kolkhoznik” and “Pionerskaya Pravda”. In the same year, 1928, Alexander Yashin twice acted as a delegate to the association of proletarian writers - first at the provincial congress, and then at the regional one.
After graduating from college in 1931, Yashin worked for a year village teacher, and then moved to Vologda, where he worked in a newspaper and on the radio. In 1934, the first poetry collection 21-year-old Alexander Yashin entitled “Songs to the North”. Same year young poet received his first award for the Komsomol marching song "Four Brothers".
In 1935, Alexander moved to Moscow and entered the Gorky Literary Institute. There, in 1938, the second collection of his poetry, “Severyanka,” was published. In 1941, after completing his studies, Yashin voluntarily went to the front, spending three war years in battalions Marine Corps, defending Leningrad and Stalingrad, liberating Crimea and working as a war correspondent for the magazine "Battle Salvo".
In 1943 he received the Medal for Military Merit, and in 1944 he was demobilized due to serious illness. In 1945 there was awarded the order Red Star and medals for the defense of Leningrad and Stalingrad.
Recognition and best works
The military creativity of Alexander Yashin, expressed in the collections “It Was in the Baltic” and “City of Wrath,” was highly appreciated by the Union of Soviet Writers, but real recognition came to the poet after the poem “Alena Fomina,” written in 1949. For her, Yashin received the Stalin Prize of the second degree.
In the late forties and early fifties, Alexander Yakovlevich traveled to virgin lands and built hydroelectric power stations, traveled throughout the North and Altai. Huge number his impressions were described in his collections “Countrymen” and “Soviet Man”.
In 1954, the poet took part in the Second Congress of Soviet Writers. In 1958 he wrote his most famous poem- “Hurry to do good deeds”:
Life with my stepfather was not fun,
Still, he raised me - And that’s why
Sometimes I regret that I didn’t get to
At least give him something to please him.
When he fell ill and died quietly, -
Mother says, - Day by day
He remembered me more and more often and waited:
“If only Shurka... He would have saved me!”
To a homeless grandmother in her native village
I said: I love her so much,
That I’ll grow up and build her a house myself,
I’ll prepare firewood, I’ll buy a cartload of bread.
I dreamed about a lot, I promised a lot...
In the siege of Leningrad, an old man
I would have saved me from death, but I was a day late,
And centuries will not return that day.
Now I've walked a thousand roads -
I could buy a cart of bread and cut down a house.
There is no stepfather, and the grandmother died...
Hurry up to do good deeds!
Since 1956, Alexander Yashin turned to prose, writing several works criticizing Stalin's regime and describing the life of Soviet workers and collective farmers without embellishment. These include the story “Levers” (1956), the story “Visiting the Son” (1958), “Vologda Wedding” (1962). All of these works were either banned immediately after publication, or were even released only after the death of the writer.
Personal life
Alexander Yashin was married twice and had seven children: a son and two daughters from his first marriage, two sons and two daughters from his second. After his second marriage, the poet’s eldest children remained to live with him, and not with their mother.
The poet's true love was Veronika Tushnova, a Soviet poetess. They met in the early 60s and immediately became imbued with fiery feelings for each other, despite Alexander’s marriage and Veronica’s recent second divorce. The last book poetess "One Hundred Hours of Happiness" is dedicated to her ardent love for Alexander Yakovlevich.
Not daring to leave mine large family, Yashin decided to end the relationship. And soon after that, Tushnova fell ill with cancer, from which she died in 1965. The poet was seriously worried about the death of his beloved, blaming himself for everything. Most his lyrics of that period are dedicated to the poetess. The article presents a photo of Alexander Yashin with Veronica Tushnova.
Death and memory
Alexander Yakovlevich Yashin died on July 11, 1968 from cancer. At the request of the poet himself, he was buried in his homeland, in the village of Bludnovo. In memory of him, a memorial complex Alexandra Yashin, including him home and a grave. Also, one of the Vologda streets bears the name of the poet.
