Shortly after the publication of Garnete I received a letter from 90-year-old doctor of geographical Sciences Oleg Pavlovich Chizhov, the scientist and polar Explorer. In Soviet times Chizhov returned to the scientific revolution of the theory of glaciation Eugene Garnet and reissued his book “Ice blisters”.
In the letter Oleg Pavlovich thanked me for publication and congratulated me with the name of the captain of Garnet Strait in the Kara sea. I was boyish happy. However, I guessed the connection between my essay and the emergence of the name of Garnet on the map most likely saw only the good old Professor.
after a few years, Oleg Pavlovich Chizhov died. And recently, I learned about the scientist-the scientist, the poet and bard Dmitry Chyzhiv. He was born 55 years ago, July 31, 1965, in Tuapse. The first lessons of playing the guitar dime gave Vladimir Lantsberg. Favorite writer the boys became Vladislav Krapivin. Then they became friends and Krapivin gave Dima soldiers. They were very persistent. Live at Dima’s mother so far.
while Still in Moscow state University, Dima rushed to the hardest of the expedition. And in 1988, I went as a lifeguard in the devastated Spitak.
In 1993, Dmitry Chizhov died in the Elbrus region. Then on a scientific base MSU avalanche. Dima was 27 years old.
of Course, learning about Dima, I remembered about Oleg Pavlovich, but then thought, namesakes. Little did the world of good Chyzowych.
a Year ago, Vera, Dima’s mother, sent me his book “About my son”. In her poems, love letters, diaries, photographs. And only from this book learn: Dmitry Chizhov – grandson of the Arctic Explorer Oleg Chizhov.
So closed one of the circles of life. So the stars came together.
Bob said, “If I didn’t want the sea and poetry, I would become an astronomer…”
“…Going home, hoping to buy something for tea. Entangled in countless construction sites, fences, and the trash, suddenly I get to the place where ten years ago I kissed N. It was my most romantic love. First the blue sea and yellow sand, a Moonbeam stretching to the horizon. The July rain, erupting in a riot of greenery Sochi arboretum, lonely cries of the peacocks; we’re wet and happy.
Then the room, taken for 10 rubles at the deaf and those priceless hostess. And finally, here, in this place, winter, cold cheeks icicles of tears.
You think I’m going to tell you about love? No, I will not. I shake off memories and getting to the roots of Tver. I like to look at the counter. Especially girls and policemen. Girls clear – they are nice. The policemen I look closely because I totally understand how you can be a policeman. Janitor – understand. Night watchman – I understand. Even an ensign! But the police don’t understand. I look at them with surprise of a lifetime. But it’s personal, do not judge strictly…”
1992.
* * *
a Quiet rustle of night,
Sky book open of eternity.
the World is, of course, nobody…
yet everyone – to infinity.
1984
the Winds are blowing
Prewar points
But he bristled trunks
Bunkers hives.
Snow if down if
Winds in the crazed waltz.
pained from the grip of the tendons of the fingers,
crunch swelled.
whether a Knock cheekbones if
In bloodless memory.
We are their skulls
the Bent bullet.
was it, could
to the enemy to get there first.
a Cry of twisted nerves
Whined, stalling.
the Bridge if, ladder if
Thrown into oblivion.
Document on the atonement
Blood drops.
1987
the Sky in pale yellow patches.
Island gray, as snow.
Arctic, the Laptev sea.
White night. June.
my Love is unlike
On a quiet, cozy Paradise.
And it is not live on the bed
in the shadow of the wall of the carpet.
It is necessary to rush endlessly
And the North wind to entwine.
Then it will be eternal.
Believe a love like this?..
all Sorts of petty squabbles I
large shield
The worst thing – different
Our hearts frequency.
* * *
This road is hyped to the sky
Rusty spiral miles.
This road drives on the left
the bitter March East.
This road is broken into pieces
Tomorrow, Today, Yesterday.
Very tempting, though partly
This road is old.
But this way spun in the sky
the Power of good meetings,
Need eh to ask her and demand
proximity to the lip and shoulder?
This road is hyped to the sky
Sad spring days.
should We be afraid of the coming of the fiction,
If we go on it?..
1990
