Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin

Sergei Yesenin's personal life was turbulent, full of passions, high-profile affairs, and both official and common-law marriages. The poet had four children with different women.

He cherished the poet Oreshin and defended him in front of Mayakovsky

When Mayakovsky tried to recruit Yesenin to collaborate on the magazine, he, according to N. Aseyev, "immediately requested entry as a group." (The conversation took place in a café on Tverskaya Street shortly before Yesenin's death.)

"Forget about it," Mayakovsky said, "your Oreshins and Klychkovs! Why are you dragging this clay around on your feet?"

"I am clay, and you are cast iron and iron," Yesenin replied. "Man is made of clay, but what is made of cast iron?"

"And the monuments are made of cast iron!" Mayakovsky retorted, but he was unable to dissuade his interlocutor.

He loved to sing sad songs in the evenings, go to the village and wear good shirts.

His favorite song was: "On the mountain stands an alder, beneath the mountain a cherry tree, a boy fell in love with a girl, she got married..." And there was so much sadness in it. We'd sing along for a long time, quietly, lyrically, in the semi-darkness. He also loved the Polovtsian dances from "Prince Igor." We'd act out a whole orchestra there...

In this communal apartment, where workers lived alongside them, he was much loved. He possessed a special charm, was gentle, warm, and had a special word for everyone.

Yesenin loved his village very much. Sometimes he'd get bored: "Oh, I'll go and live there for two weeks—I'm sick of the city, I want to get out into nature." He'd leave and... return three days later. "Seryozha, what's wrong? What happened?" "Eh!" he'd wave his hand. Three days was enough for him. He loved the village with his mind, his heart, his blood, but he was a city man. He loved good shirts and dressed at Moscow's best tailor.

He loved his watch and sometimes talked to it.

Duncan, seeing me, waved a welcoming hand, something glittering in it. She flew up two flights of marble stairs and stopped before me, still beaming and joyfully excited.

"Look," she said, holding out her hand. A large man's watch gleamed gold in her palm. "For Yesenin! He'll be so happy he has a watch now!"

Isadora used scissors to shape her small photograph and, opening the back of her plump gold watch, inserted the card.

Yesenin was delighted (he didn't have a watch). He kept opening it, putting it back in his pocket, and taking it out again, with childish joy.

"Let's see," he said, pulling his watch out of his pocket, "what time is it?" And, satisfied, he slammed the lid shut, and then, biting his lip and running a fingernail under the back cover, he opened it slightly, jokingly whispering: "Who's here?"

I didn't want to discuss my poems.

In 1925, this was his first public appearance in Moscow.

The spacious Writers' Union room on the third floor was packed. Besides the Perevaltsi "on Yesenin," many "Mappovtsy," "Kuznets," and others showed up.

But it so happened that the beautiful poem did not have much success.

Someone suggested discussing it.

"No, comrades, I don't have time to listen to your discussion. You have nothing to teach me; you all learn from me," Yesenin said.

Then he read "Persian Motifs." These poems made a huge impression. Yesenin once again captivated the entire audience.

I read my poems aloud to my mother.

A photograph of Sergei with his mother at this samovar has now become widely known. The picture was taken on Bryusovsky Lane in March 1925. His mother came to visit us, and Sergei read her the poem "Anna Snegina," which he was working on at the time. As always, she listened to Sergei's reading with bated breath, without interrupting or asking any questions. Although illiterate, she understood her son's poems perfectly and memorized many of them as he read.

Sometimes he asked to burn his manuscripts

In September 1925, he came with a large white package at eight o’clock in the morning, without greeting, and asked:

— Do you have a stove?

— Should I bake what you want?

• No, I need to burn it.

I tried to persuade him not to burn it, he'd regret it later, because this had happened before: he'd come, tear up his cards and manuscripts, and then scold me for giving them to him. This time, no amount of persuasion worked; he got nervous and said, "Can it be that even you won't do what I want for me?"

She led him into the kitchen and lit the stove. And there he was, in his gray suit and hat, standing by the stove with a poker in his hand, carefully checking to make sure nothing was left unburned. When he'd burned everything, he calmed down, began drinking tea, and chatting peacefully.

He dressed well and called me "darling" when he was irritated.

Sergei had an uneven, quick-tempered temperament. But once he lost his temper, he would immediately cool down—he couldn't stay angry for long.

Sergei was a neat man, spending long mornings in the bathroom and washing his hair very frequently. He loved to dress well and could never be found sloppily dressed at any time of day. He admired this same trait in others, especially those around him.

We never used superfluous praise, words like "darling" or "darling," and the word "darling" was more often uttered in moments of irritation. But then Sergei would come up to you and, in passing, silently place his hand on your neck or shoulder, and the touch of that hand would warm us in a way no kind words could ever have.

Mischievous and reckless: Contemporaries recalled his hooligan nature, love of practical jokes, flashy style of dress, and abrupt actions. Vulnerable and sensitive: Behind the external bravado hid a sensitive person, who painfully experienced loneliness and misunderstanding. Proud and stubborn: Yesenin reacted sharply to criticism, entered new literary trends with difficulty, and did not tolerate falsehood. Impulsive: His actions were often determined by momentary impulses - from sudden marriages to sharp outbursts of anger. Duality of the "hooligan" and the "songwriter": In public life, he could shock the public with scandalous behavior, and in poetry he remained a sincere, tender lyricist, singing the praises of nature and Russia. Homesick and lost: A peasant's son, caught in the turbulent whirlpool of revolutionary Petrograd and Moscow, he was never able to The end of his life, he struggled to embrace a new era, torn between the past and the present. Tragic breakdown: Towards the end of his life, due to a severe internal crisis and alcohol abuse, melancholy, depressive states, and a feeling of deep loneliness began to dominate his character. Contradiction and emotionality: The poet combined childish naivety, mischief, sincere kindness, and a sharp impulsiveness that often degenerated into psychological infantilism.
A love of freedom and rebelliousness, Yesenin had a hard time with any restrictions. His scandalous antics and rowdy behavior in restaurants became part of his outrageous image, although he himself never wrote poetry while intoxicated.

Eksmo
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Kindness and compassion: He had a genuine love for animals, protected them from cruelty, and often helped the weak.
Tragedy and vulnerability: Behind the outwardly riotous life lurked deep emotional pain, a longing for lost harmony, and early internal conflicts. October 3rd is the birthday of the poet Sergei Yesenin. A naive and simple-minded regular guy, a drunkard and hooligan, a village genius indifferent to criticism... He loved to read and laugh.