Elena Shirman Biography

Inna Rudenko, editor of the education department of KP, commented on these letters. After some time, a former employee of the German commandant’s office K. appeared in the newspaper’s editorial office from this diary entered the collection “Live! Readers of that time noted the unusual poems of Elena, the doom of the author. These poems, probably the latter, a person has the right to speak out before his death, so nothing is ashamed to me.

All my life I tried to be courageous, I wanted to be worthy of your good smile or at least your good memory. But I have always succeeded badly, every day I succeed worse, and now, probably, it will never succeed. All our long -term correspondence in vain and painful attempt to jump over the laws of space and time. Today, if they write about Elena, then in this vein: “Shirman is one of the long -forgotten poets, whose name and work is not even familiar to all philologists.” Indeed, there are not so many information about Shirman on the Internet - a dozen verses plus several small articles.

But, fortunately, in addition to the Internet, there are also libraries, in particular the Don public. That's what I found there. They lived in a mysterious, special house fenced by a high fence, behind which there was a cherry garden. Of course, then I did not know anything about Chekhov or the cherry garden. But everything that was connected with this family was always felt as something different from the environment in which I grew up.

Once one of the girls - the eldest - suddenly came up to me on the street and said: - I want to meet you. My name is Ala. I very often dream of a girl with your face with her, I entered their extraordinary house. Through a large room, the walls of which were hung with a variety of weapons, she led me to her. Everywhere there were overseas trinkets. The girl explained: "Our dad is a sailor.

He travels around the world and bring it as a keepsake." At the wall - a wide ottoman. In the floor, electric bulbs are screwed, in the middle of the room - a huge skin of a white bear. We went out into the cherry garden. Because of the haystack, a little girl with mischievous eyes appeared. She was clearly angry, dissatisfied with the fact that we violated her solitude.

So my life included the sisters Shirman Lena and Alya, a neighbor on the street, girls from a distant Rostov childhood. ” The princess of fairy tales about beautiful horses, a brave smeared, whose widespread and dare is so proud. "The poems of the five -year -old Lena recorded about horses, about cats, about different animals. She was anyone: a cleaner and a pressman at a pasta factory, a teacher in a kindergarten and a librarian.

Then she became a journalist, and this work became my main work. I found a specialty there. We organized Dobrodon - a society of lovers of Don and verses.

And I immediately remembered the Rostov summer. "A strange thing, because the winter was in Rostov and snowy drills: brought tram, railway tracks, and you say" Rostov ", and in memory - the smell of acacia, pepper, heated asphalt, the smell of the Rostov summer. The Society of Lovers of the Don and Poems - it was, of course, the fiction of Lena. To become a member of this society, to become a member of this society, to become a member of this society, to become a member of this society.

At least three feats: to cross the Don, to light the fire with one match and read 10 poems Svetlov, Bagritsky and Selvinsky by heart. Like any self -respecting society, we had a hymn. Senka composed him Staroselsky first husband of Vera Panova. Senka whistled very well. Walkthrous, and then say: "this is a grig" or "this is a sheet." And he came up with the song, a cheerful, mischievous one: I will put on a black hat, I will go to the city of Anapa and sit on the shore of the sea with my incomprehensible longing.

A beautiful man will perish in you, O Marine Bender, and people, seeing the coffin, will understand that the sufferer is drowned. Almost all of Rostov sang this song. And now they sing. I heard. And no one knows that this is our good Don anthem, Senka Staroselsky invented it. There is no longer alive Senka. Cities and people dispute this song from each other. And she walks along the embankments and beaches, as cheerful and funny as our youth we usually met on the shore of the Don.

The descent to the Don is steep. Like the backs of huge fish, a lane is bent, wiped with large cobblestone. And behind the tram calls spurred from behind, Rostov trams had a characteristic sharp southern voice. And it was best not to resist the steepness, but to rush down, throwing his arms to the sides. I will scatter along the oblique bridge, and confidently, as always, water accepts me.

It seems that this was one of the first poems by Lena, printed in the "Tolstoy" magazine. It was called - "Summer". Lena began to be printed early. She ran a girl at the Rabbro club that he stood on Pushkinskaya Street - the street of the mansion. Here, Rostov writers gathered in the basement. In the Club of Rabbling, he read his first story “Against the Turus” of the thin, like Komarik, Fadeev.

Benhips with a portup, in a leather jacket and a Budyonnovka with a star, Lyalya Orlova, the daughter of a famous Rostov professor, ran here in passing. And the young journalist Vera Veltman seemed next to her from another peaceful life.In a dazzling white blouse, not white - white, that there are napkins in a restaurant! Many years later, the country recognizes the writer Vera Panov, and few will know that this is the same thin girl who printed essays in the newspaper under the pseudonym Vera Veltman.

” This wall newspaper hung over her bed, the bed stood in an unpretentious room in the house. And the house was surrounded by a kindergarten of jasmine, almonds and roses I do not know if this wall newspaper was preserved. I want to think that she is in some archive, for it is impossible for the legacy left by such people who belonged to Lena, always looking for, always fixed to the spiritual.

” I was too cruel, for a long time and persistently beat Rapp from a year, I have formed a certain psychological hump from their whipping. And this mapping is very difficult to fix. True, I still grew up in my own way, but it was painful growth. I look like a tree that grew through the stones, I am all in the knots, all twisted, extinguishing myself from myself.

I can’t sing in a full voice now, I have some kind of sighing all the time, hoarse. ” You think yours will take it, you think that you are chased? They did not rob, a feature from two. Not a primary, not 40 rubles. A violent head does not give up. He beats, as before, on his forehead hair. I will, as before, look at the sun. Like an eagle, not frowning from the light, and it will still sound like copper, my voice in the bustle of your streets.

” This is written in the year. These are poems against those who told me: "Throw poems, you will get married anyway, you will give birth to children, cook borscht on the primus and forget poetry." No, it turned out differently, I am already 31 years old, and I have not yet been tamed either to the primus or the borsch. I have not been robbed yet. ” I affirm - Lena was not a beauty.

Small height with a slightly large head in growth, modestly dressed, slightly stooped, flat-breasted, she would not have attracted a male gaze in the city crowd. But the face was extraordinary - wide with large cheekbones, a small straight nose, a hat of curly brown hair over a clean forehead, a small mouth, always ready for a white -toothed smile, and her eyes were large, oblong, the colors of the dark amber in early youth, she made a rebellious trick, a demonstration of protest: she left the bourgeois lifestyle of her parental family.

She married the first oncoming, some worker, with whom she soon parted. Her second marriage was also unsuccessful. The husband, the Moscow poet of the ciner, according to her own reviews of the reviews of people, with him acquaintances, turned out to be small. And all, of course, ended with a divorce. There were many fans later. One of them is associated with a funny story.

Someone Ivan fell in love with her, went for Lena on his heels and was very tired of her.