Alexey Kalakutin (Russia)

 
Alexey Kalakutin (Russia)
 
 
Alexey Kalakutin (October 30, 1973) lives in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia. He is a Russian writer, a philologist. He studied at the Philological Faculty of Nizhny Novgorod State Pedagogical University. His debut publication is "Khokhloma Pattern", 1990 (fairy-tale novel for children) co-authored with E.V. Kalakutin. He is the author of six novels in verse, as well as of six poems and pieces of poetry.
Alexey is a member of the Professional Writers Union of Russia (PWUR). He was awarded the 1 st degree diploma (PWUR) for high professional skills. International Ambassador for Peace, participant in several international poetic anthologies, awarded with certificates of recognition.
 
 
A fragment from the poem: “The Sweet Martyr”
 
Sonechka
You turned to me with immense sadness, Anna,
As if I intertangled a dream with lie
And brighten up my life of self-deception,
My standing at the present time is shy,
And now’s not the time to shout hosanna.
 
Anna
Oh, Sonechka, you at the present days
Are bride, your dreams and contemplations create
A shielding block of childish naives –
They cheer the heart while looking very great.
 
But there is one catch, and keep in mind:
The real life is not a great screenwriting,
Somewhat of fairy tales for cinema
With pictures full of love and magic lighting.
 
Life is a tough and bare-knuckled fight.
Unfortunately, endless snowfall
You can’t replace to cheerful days and light
Like little girl can easy change her doll.
 
I dreamed of happiness since I was small,
But life made alterations to my plans,
The stinking wooden dirty bench-hole
Is pictured in the midst of the grand palace.
 
Excuse me, I have lost the ethics stream,
And my impressive speech is for the contrast,
As far as those who are warmed by dream
Hit stiff headwinds, escapeless and full blast.
 
 
A fragment from the poem: “The Sweet Martyr”
 
Rumors are flies and the tattles are gadflies
Feeling the high blood and stinging aggressively,
Driving the sting into flesh and the souls
Of the sovereigns and royal successors shamelessly.
 
The virulent piercers in Russian Empire
Fell to the lady from Alemannia,
That one inspiring love and admiration
Of high-minded Romanov, son of Emperor.
 
Anna, excuse me, I state things straightforwardly,
Wounding your feelings by tactless pronouncements,
Cannot be secretive, cannot gloss over,
Thoughts seething madly in brain like denouncements.
 
In former times, you remember, the common herd
Twisted the face with dislike for the empress,
As if for dinner not vodka, but cider
Is served with steak that is coarse and tasteless.
 
Members of gentry glanced at her askance,
Merchants did not start to dance with excitement.
Gingerbread cookies baked in the Russian lands
Didn’t accept Alemannic sweet items.
 
Old and young, in a jacket and fashions,
Did not compassion the peregrine queen.
The ancestor worship is dear to Russians,
The image of Mother is in the genes!
 
Father the Tsar, and the queen should be Mother!
But she was born by the Britons and Germans.
To understand Russian world like the others
For stranger’s heart is extremely uncommon!
 
You may the name Alexandra receive,
You may feel alone so much less,
But cannot wear your heart on your sleeve,
Because you are proud Alice of Hesse.
 
Big Russian soul cannot be bought!
You are a Russian since you were born –
With Pushkin, Yesenin, the noise of birches,
With tear of the Virgin inside your core!
 
 
 

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