How few are those who want to wake up. “There are so many people you can go to bed with, How few people you want to wake up with...

An immortal work that you want to re-read a million times! 👍👍👍

Eduard Asadov's poems always make you think about something important, laugh and immediately cry. That is why his work is incredibly popular these days. But one poem has become simply legendary and we decided to remind you of it today.

And in the morning, parting, turn around,
And wave and smile,
And all day, worrying, waiting for news.

There are so many people with whom you can just live,
Drink coffee in the morning, talk and argue...
Who can you go on vacation with at sea?
And, as it should be - both in joy and in sorrow
To be close... But at the same time not to love...

There are so few people with whom you want to dream!
Watch the clouds swarm in the sky
Write words of love on the first snow,
And think only about this person...
And I don’t know or want more happiness.

There are so few people with whom you can be silent,
Who understands at a glance, at a glance,
Who doesn’t mind giving back year after year,
And for whom can you, as a reward,
Accept any pain, any execution...

This is how this gimmick winds its way -
They meet easily, they part without pain...
This is because there are many people with whom you can go to bed.
And there are few people with whom you want to wake up.

How many people can you go to bed with?
There are so few people with whom you want to wake up...
And life weaves us like a gimp,
Shifting, as if fortune telling on a saucer.

We rush about: work... life... affairs...
Whoever wants to hear must still listen,
And as you run, you only notice bodies,
Stop... to see the soul.

We choose with our hearts - with our minds,
Sometimes we are afraid to smile - to smile,
But we open our souls only to those
The one you want to wake up with...

How correctly it is said... Let your loved ones always be there!

Girls and boys, I really liked one poem about love, it’s so lifelike, so real. The poem is called “How many are there with whom you can go to bed...”, I read it in its entirety only today, previously only a fragment of it caught my eye. Read it! Take a minute of your time for this! Believe me, you will have a lot of fun!

Actually, here is his verse: “There are so many people with whom you can go to bed...” in full:

How many people can you go to bed with?
And in the morning, parting to smile,
And wave and smile,
And all day, worrying, waiting for news.

There are so many people with whom you can just live,
Drink coffee in the morning, talk and argue...
Who can you go on vacation with at sea?
And, as it should be - both in joy and in sorrow
To be close... But at the same time not to love...

There are so few people with whom you want to dream!
Watch the clouds swarm in the sky
Write words of love on the first snow,
And think only about this person...
And I don’t know or want more happiness.

There are so few people with whom you can be silent,
Who understands at a glance, at a glance,
Who doesn’t mind giving back year after year,
And for whom can you, as a reward,
Accept any pain, any execution...

This is how this gimmick winds its way -
They meet easily, they part without pain...
This is because there are many people with whom you can go to bed.
This is because there are few people with whom you want to wake up.

There are so many people you can go to bed with...
There are so few people with whom you want to wake up...
And life weaves us like a gimp...
Shifting, as if fortune telling on a saucer.

We are rushing about: - work... life... affairs...
Anyone who wants to hear must still listen...
And as you run, you only notice bodies...
Stop...to see the soul.

We choose with our hearts - with our minds...
Sometimes we are afraid to smile, to smile,
But we open our souls only to those
The one you want to wake up with...

There are so many people with whom you can talk.
How few are those with whom silence is reverent.
When hope is a thin thread
Between us, like a simple understanding.

There are so many people with whom you can grieve,
Questions fuel doubts.
There are so few people with whom you can get to know
Ourselves as a reflection of our life.

There are so many people with whom it would be better to remain silent,
Who wouldn't blab when they're sad?
How few are those whom we trust
They could have what they were hiding from themselves.

With whom will we find spiritual strength,
Whom we blindly trust with our soul and heart.
Whom we will definitely call
When trouble opens our doors.

There are so few of them, with whom you can - without further ado.
With whom we sipped sadness and joy.
Perhaps only thanks to them
We loved this changing world.

He was born at the height of the NEP, heard the last school bell almost simultaneously with the message about the beginning of the war, three years later he became blind at the front from fragments of an artillery shell that exploded nearby, and lived the remaining 60 years of his life in complete darkness. At the same time, he became a spiritual light for millions of Soviet boys and girls, proving with his creativity that a person sees not with his eyes, but with his heart...

Poems about a red mongrel

Student Asadov wrote this poignant poem while studying at the Literary Institute after the war. In general, the theme of four-legged animals is one of the favorite (although not the most extensive) in the poet’s work. Very few poets in Russian poetry could write so poignantly about our lesser friends. Eduard Arkadyevich especially loved dogs, kept them in his house, and considered them his comrades and interlocutors. And most importantly, he identified them with people, and of the “purest breed.”

The owner stroked his hand

Shaggy red back:

- Goodbye, brother! Although I’m sorry, I won’t hide it,

But still I will leave you.

He threw his collar under the bench

And disappeared under the echoing canopy,

Where is the motley human anthill

Plunged into express cars.

The dog didn't howl even once.

And only behind a familiar back

Two brown eyes were watching

With almost human melancholy.

Old man at the station entrance

Said that? Left behind, poor fellow?

Eh, if you were a good breed...

But he’s just a simple mongrel!

…

The owner did not know that somewhere

Along the sleepers, exhausted,

Behind the red flickering light

The dog runs panting!

Stumbling, he rushes again,

The paws are bloody on the stones,

That the heart is ready to jump out

Out from the open mouth!

The owner did not know that the forces

Suddenly they left the body at once,

And, hitting his forehead on the railing,

The dog flew under the bridge...

The wave carried the corpse under the driftwood...

Old man! You don't know nature:

After all, maybe the body of a mongrel,

And the heart is of the purest breed!

"Poems about a red mongrel" was read on school evenings, among friends and on first dates.

Snow falls

The wound, which led Lieutenant Asadov to complete blindness, aggravated his inner life, having taught young man"unravel with the heart" the slightest movements souls - your own and those around you. What a sighted person did not notice, the poet saw clearly and clearly. And he empathized with what is called “breaking.”

The snow is falling, the snow is falling -

Thousands of whites are fleeing...

And a man is walking along the road,

And his lips tremble.

The frost under your steps crunches like salt,

A man's face is resentment and pain,

There are two black red flags in the pupils

The melancholy was thrown away.

Treason? Are dreams broken?

Is it a friend with a vile soul?

Only he knows about this

Yes, someone else.

…

And how can this be taken into account?

Some kind of etiquette there,

Is it convenient or not to approach him,

Do you know him or not?

The snow is falling, the snow is falling,

There is a patterned rustling sound on the glass.

And a man walks through a snowstorm,

And the snow seems black to him...

And if you meet him on the way,

Let the bell ring in your soul,

Rush towards him through the stream of people.

Stop it! Come!

Coward

Asadov’s poems were rarely praised by “famous” writers. In some newspapers of that era, he was criticized for his “tearfulness,” “primitive” romanticism, “exaggerated tragedy” of his themes, and even their “far-fetchedness.” While refined youth was reciting Rozhdestvensky, Yevtushenko, Akhmadullina, Brodsky, “simpler” boys and girls were sweeping collections of Asadov’s poems that were being published in hundreds of thousands of copies from bookstore shelves. And they read them by heart on dates to their lovers, swallowing tears, without being ashamed of it. How many hearts have the poet’s poems connected for the rest of their lives? I think a lot. Who is united by poetry today?..

Ball of the moon under a star lampshade

The sleeping town was illuminated.

We walked, laughing, along the gloomy embankment

Guy with a athletic figure

And the girl is a fragile stalk.

Apparently, heated up from the conversation,

The guy, by the way, said,

Like once in a storm for the sake of an argument

He swam across the sea bay,

How I fought the devilish current,

How the thunderstorm threw lightning.

And she looked with admiration

In bold, hot eyes...

…

And when, having passed the strip of light,

We entered into the shadow of the slumbering acacias,

Two broad-shouldered dark silhouettes

They suddenly grew out of the ground.

The first one muttered hoarsely: “Stop, chickens!”

The path is closed, and no nails!

Rings, earrings, watches, coins -

Everything you have is on the barrel, and live!

And the second, blowing smoke into his mustache,

I watched how, with excitement, brown,

Guy with a athletic figure

He began to hastily unfasten his watch.

And, apparently pleased with the success,

The red-haired man chuckled: “Hey, goat!”

Why are you pouting?! - And he takes it with a laugh.

He pulled it over the girl's eyes.

The girl tore off her beret

And with the words: - Scum! Damn fascist! -

It was as if the child had been burned by fire.

…

And she looked firmly into the eyes.

He was confused: - Okay... quieter, thunder... -

And the second one mumbled: - Well, to hell with them! -

And the figures disappeared around the corner.

Lunar disk, on the milky road

Having got out, he walked diagonally

And he looked thoughtfully and sternly

From top to bottom on a sleeping town,

Where without words along the gloomy embankment

They walked, barely audible rustling of the gravel,

Guy with a athletic figure

And the girl is a weak nature,

"Coward" and "sparrow soul".

Ballad about a friend

“I take themes for poems from life. I travel around the country a lot. I visit factories, factories, and institutes. I can't live without people. And I consider serving people as my highest task, that is, those for whom I live, breathe and work,” Eduard Arkadyevich wrote about himself. He did not make excuses in response to the nagging of his colleagues, but explained calmly and kindly. In general, respect for people was perhaps his most important quality.

When I hear about firm friendship,

About a courageous and modest heart,

I do not present a proud profile,

Not a sail of disaster in a whirlwind of a storm, -

I just see one window

In patterns of dust or frost

And the reddish puny Leshka -

The maintenance guy from the Red Rose...

Every morning before work

He ran to a friend on his floor,

He came in and jokingly saluted the pilot:

- The elevator is ready. Please breathe on the beach!..

He will carry his friend out, sit him down in the park,

Playfully wraps you up warmer,

He will pull the pigeons out of the cage:

- That's it! If anything, send a “courier”!

…

Sweat pours... The railings slide like snakes...

On the third one, stand for a little while, resting.

- Alyoshka, stop it!

- Sit, don’t strain!.. -

And again the steps are like boundaries:

And so not just a day or a month,

So years and years: not three, not five,

I only have ten. And after how long?!

Friendship, as you can see, knows no boundaries,

The heels still click stubbornly.

Steps, steps, steps, steps...

One is the second, one is the second...

Oh, if suddenly fairy hand

I would add them all at once,

This staircase is for sure

The top would go beyond the clouds,

Almost invisible to the eye.

And there, in the cosmic heights

(Imagine just a little)

On par with satellite tracks

I would stand with a friend on my back

Nice guy Alyoshka!

Let them not give him flowers

And let them not write about him in the newspaper,

Yes, he doesn’t expect grateful words,

He's just ready to help,

If you feel bad in the world...

The poet “saw” the themes for his poems in life, and did not invent them, as some believed...

Miniatures

There are probably no topics to which Eduard Asadov would not devote a miniature - capacious, sometimes caustic, but always surprisingly accurate. There are several hundred of them in the poet’s creative baggage. In the 80s and 90s, people quoted many of them, sometimes without even knowing who their author was. If you had asked then, the “people” would have answered. Most of the quatrains (rarely octagons) are written as if for our life today.

President and ministers! You bet your life

On knees. After all, the prices are literally crazy!

You should at least leave the prices on the ropes,

So that people can hang themselves!

He willingly inserted teeth for clients.

However, at the same time he “exposed” them like that.

That those, having grown thin with their bellies,

For six months my teeth were chattering.

Enough chatting about the people, gentlemen,

And, puffing out your belly, talk about the nationality!

After all, after Peter, for for years,

Have always ruled our people

Various foreign things...

And as a message to us today:

Be kind, don't be angry, have patience.

Remember: from your bright smiles Asadov, Edward Arkadievich - Wikipedia

The poet died on April 21, 2004 at the age of 82. Eduard Arkadyevich was buried at the Kuntsevo cemetery next to his mother and beloved wife, whom he outlived by only seven years.

The poet bequeathed his heart to be buried on Sapun Mountain near Sevostopol, where a shell explosion on May 4, 1944 forever deprived him of his sight and radically changed his life...

Read by Denis Shchurov. Music selection
Anastasia Timonkina.

How many people can you go to bed with?
There are so few people with whom you want to wake up.
And in the morning, parting, turn around,
And wave and smile,
And all day, worrying, waiting for news.

There are so many people with whom you can just live,
Drink coffee in the morning, talk and argue.
Who can you go on vacation with at sea?
And, as it should be - both in joy and in sorrow
To be close... But at the same time not to love.

There are so few people with whom you want to dream,
Watch the clouds swarm in the sky
Write words of love on the first snow,
And think only about this person.
And I don’t know or want more happiness.

There are so few people with whom you can be silent,
Who understands in half a word, half a glance,
Who doesn’t mind giving back year after year,
And for whom you can as a reward
Accept any pain, any execution.

This is how this gimmick winds its way -
They meet easily and part without pain.
All because
That there are many people with whom you can go to bed
All because
That there are few people with whom you want to wake up.

***

Eduard Asadov

How many people can you go to bed with?

And in the morning, parting to smile,
And wave and smile,
And all day, worrying, waiting for news.