Inna bronstein what. Family stories: Inna Bronstein and Yakov Bunimovich. About parents and myself
The retired poet has become popular on the Internet.
In the LiveJournal of a musician, photographer and just creative person Dmitry Schwartz published a story about a wonderful woman. "They sent me by mail, poems that are splendid in their sharpness and relevance," writes Schwartz.
True, one does not dare to call her an ordinary pensioner, because an ordinary person, having retired and having lost the closest people, does not suddenly start scribbling amazing poems in which the incredible depth of content shines through through the impeccable humorous form. And not everyone, albeit to old age, manages to invent their own philosophical system, forbidding to become discouraged and limp.
At first glance, the system is simple: to look for and find reasons to rejoice in life. Even the most insignificant! Inna Yakovlevna admits that for her these "bliss" (most of her short poems begin with the words "what bliss!") Have become a kind of "psychological pills". At first, she was very surprised when it turned out that the lines that helped her to survive became a support for others. Her first listeners were pensioner neighbors. But when her poems appeared on the Internet, it turned out that the circle of admirers was much wider: she began to receive responses not only from Belarus, but also from Russia, Israel, and the United States.
Here's what she writes.
"What bliss
wake up and know
What do you get to work
no need to run.
And the day is coming
very good
And if you are sick,
that means - you live.
And old age -
not a bad time at all.
Long live
time of freedom! Hooray!"
"What bliss
lie in bed
And for a good night
You will read it a hundred times
familiar prose,
And everything is new to you -
thanks to multiple sclerosis. "
“I am from a different era,” says Inna Bronstein, a resident of Minsk, who is well over 80 years old, and continues: “Here is an old woman Inna in front of you. It is a historical ruin. It is not a cultural heritage, therefore it is not protected by law ”. But she, of course, is disingenuous. This amazing woman, in whose room there is a portrait of Che Guevara, has experienced more than one tragedy in her life, but has not lost her optimism.
Her family lived in Minsk. Inna Bronstein's father was a professor, a well-known literary critic, a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences of the BSSR and the Union of Writers of the USSR. Mom - a methodologist and teacher. Inna's childhood ended in the terrible 1937. When she was 5 years old, her parents were arrested, and she and her brother ended up in an orphanage. She never saw her father again, and her mother left the camps after 10 years and took her daughter.
She became a history teacher, got married, gave birth to a talented son. He graduated from the Radio Engineering Institute and GITIS in Moscow, stayed there. He wrote poetry. When he arrived, the parents were completely happy. Once arrived, came late. Inna looked at him - she was asleep, and went to work. And he, it turns out, died in a dream. The cause of death is cardiac arrest. He was 32 years old. Inna's husband died two years later.
Inna said: " I am alone, despair in my soul. I realized that I could not live like this and that I needed to look for some kind of consolation. If you look optimistic in the eyes of others, the mask gradually grows, you change. There is no other way out if you want to live. So the poems themselves appeared in my head".
There were so many poems that friends helped Inna Bronstein to publish a book - "Beatitudes. Something in the morning." We publish some of the tablets from this book.
***
What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there health prescription can be found.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects in them: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I will throw away such pills at once.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen illnesses.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.
***
What bliss to walk around the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
And different joys will meet more often ...
Don't laugh at your grandmother in a shiny sweater.
What a bliss to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good
And if you are sick, then you live.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
What bliss in old age
Go to the toilet with your feet.
And then on the way back
And quickly dive under the covers.
And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up.
And again walk, talk and breathe.
What bliss! I know in old age
That I will not lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
Beauties are worse. But that's their business.
For them, this fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hold on, poor things!
Title = "(! LANG:
When nothing hurts you!" border="0" vspace="5">!}
What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you!
What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.
What bliss to crawl from the bazaar
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
That banana raises our mood.
How happy the monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And they bask in the warm embraces of their relatives.
Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
And I came up with the lines to laugh.
What bliss to hear the call
And in the receiver is such a beloved voice,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is fine, but the bell is a custom.
What bliss - to find out and answer!
I don't need another happiness in the world.
The invention of the wizard Bell
Oh my phone, you are a great thing!
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and blizzard in the yard,
And in our house it is good and warm,
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!
And how much do I save, guys,
without buying "Sort" and gaskets!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?
What bliss: the hand ached,
And, most importantly, the left one is a nice thing!
What if your right hand ached?
Note that in life - I'm lucky so far ...
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blissful - there is a reason ...
Title = "(! LANG:
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!" border="0" vspace="5">!}
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!
What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
One must at least somehow survive to old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for a change,
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!
Maybe these verses will help you too? Read it! Pills for the virus of loneliness and hopeless sadness!
Inna Bronstein is truly an amazing woman. She is 80 years old. In the past - a history teacher ... Lives in Minsk. She lost her son many years ago. The biggest tragedy in a mother's life. But Inna survived and even found something to oppose the cruelty of the world around us. She writes amazing poems, in which an incredible depth of content shines through through an impeccable humorous form, poems that warm everyone who gets these lines in one way or another ... These are, rather, a kind of optimism pills from the virus of loneliness and hopeless sadness. A medicine that can be useful to many ... Maybe these verses will now help you too? Read it! And God forbid the author of these amazing lines - Inna Bronstein - mental strength and health.
What a bliss to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good
And if you are sick, then you live.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!
* * *
What bliss! I know in old age
That I will not lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
Beauties are worse. But that is their business.
For them, this fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hold on, poor things!
* * *
What bliss to walk around the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
In the stream of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often ...
Don't laugh at your grandmother in a shiny sweater.
* * *
Go to the toilet with your feet.
And then on the way back
And quickly dive under the covers.
And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up
And again walk, talk and breathe.
* * *
What bliss to lie in bed
And at night good book read.
Read familiar prose a hundred times
And everything is new to you, thanks to sclerosis.
* * *
What bliss, you know it yourself
When you lay down and fall asleep.
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning.
No insomnia! Falling asleep ... Hurray!
* * *
What bliss in old age
Do not go online with your own hands,
And quietly look for your man
In the old volumes of the century before last.
* * *
What bliss fate gave me
I lost the keys, and then found them.
There is a beautiful way to be happy -
Lose and suffer, and then find!
* * *
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and blizzard in the yard,
And in our house it is good and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!
* * *
What bliss to stand under the shower
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I handled it myself.
How good I am! Wouldn't go crazy ...
* * *
What bliss: the hand ached,
And, most importantly, the left one is a nice thing!
What if your right hand ached?
Note that I am lucky in life so far.
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blissful, there is a reason.
* * *
What bliss to walk in the woods,
Moreover, lick the popsicle in chocolate.
After all, after breakfast I am on a diet for an hour
And I deserve these sweets.
Taking a walk, I will consume calories
And that means I'll be back by lunchtime for food.
* * *
What bliss at the sight of an advertisement
Think how much junk there is
Which I don't need at all.
I am quite happy with what I have.
And how much do I save, guys,
Without buying "Sort" and gaskets!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?
* * *
What bliss to rise from the pavement
And know that your unprecedented flip
Ended up not with a wheelchair,
And just a fright and a little shake.
Now you will agree with me friends,
That, after all, I am very lucky.
* * *
What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.
* * *
What bliss is the end of the path
In the evening, stagger, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And drink this bliss to the drop.
And there already legs, groaning, stretch out,
But to wake up the next day - and go!
So all pedestrians are blissful, like.
And where do drivers find joy?
* * *
What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there health prescription can be found.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects in them: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anarexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I will throw away such pills at once.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen illnesses.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.
* * *
What bliss to crawl from the bazaar
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
That banana raises our mood.
How happy the monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone
And they bask in the warm embraces of their relatives.
Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
And I came up with the lines to laugh.
* * *
What bliss fate gave me -
I forgot my bag and found it later!
I forgot her on a noisy street
And then I go on the tram thoughtlessly.
Grabbed, came back and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!
Today I have not only found a loss -
I regained faith in people!
There is only one scoundrel for a thousand good ones.
You can live, and I lived to be gray.
I throw happy looks at the bag
And I don't need other bliss today.
And if I hadn't lost my purse,
Why on earth would I be blissful?
* * *
What bliss! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my astonished acquaintances.
And like a queen in the back seat
I am sitting in a delightful daze.
And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back is cute with a golden tail.
Will not experience such bliss
Only the one who habitually drives around in a car.
* * *
What a bliss to have a coupon
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled and the sick are walking by
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I, among others - oh-ho-ho!
So far nothing hurts me.
And if it hurts, then quite a bit.
I just paved the way for the doctor.
* * *
I sit behind bars in my apartment,
It's cold outside, warmer in the house.
And the room is warm - the screen is blue
Talking about something quietly with me.
And if I see an ugly face in him,
I will press the button and destroy it.
I will not suffer and languish in tears
What bliss that I am on my feet!
* * *
What bliss to hear the call
And in the receiver is such a beloved voice,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is good, but the bell is a custom.
What bliss - to find out and answer!
I don't need another happiness in the world.
The invention of the wizard Bell
Oh my phone - you are a great thing!
* * *
What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
One must at least somehow survive to old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for a change
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!
The bliss of one day
* * *
What bliss has come today -
The heat was turned on in the cold apartment.
The plumber finished the flood yesterday.
What bliss on land! Hooray!
Again the TV went out for me.
But he turned on again. I am blissful.
What bliss - the trolleybus came,
And I waited for him! How good!
And if our world had reached perfection,
Where would I get these bliss!
* * *
Without luck, there will be no luck.
Time to bliss, time to sigh.
Black - white, what does it mean?
So, you have to walk on the zebra!
If white is not for me
What else would I be glad for!
Therefore, in this I will find bliss.
But if it doesn’t help, I’ll take up the food.
There is salvation from failure -
Somewhere to eat something tasty.
* * *
A hopeless share, my bitter,
I am not needed by anyone.
Death is delayed, so you have to live
And find different "bliss" in life.
I just don't want to torment my friends with tears.
It’s more fun with stupid “bliss”.
* * *
What a terrible word - freedom.
When no one on earth needs it
When you owe nothing to anyone.
It is like fruitlessly free years.
What a longing - not to rush anywhere,
Get up when you want, roll in bed,
Do not think about business, do not take up business,
Do not set or start the alarm.
What a misfortune to cook for yourself
And there is alone, even to the dump.
Forget about the dress that you bought yesterday,
Do not wait for a change in a lonely fate.
What bliss I have
My brother and friends are on the phone and nearby.
Such beloved, with an affectionate look.
And I erase my tears and I rejoice.
Family stories
Inna Bronstein
Yakov Bunimovich
“She lost her son in 1994. The son was 31 years old. He died in his sleep. In the morning she went to work, thinking that he was asleep, and he was already dead. The cause of death has not been established. Jacob also wrote poetry. When they come to Inna, she talks about Yakov ... "
“There are also excerpts from the letters of Yasha's acquaintances - among them the genius miniaturist Devi Tushinski)” (from the letters).
* * *
Yakov Bunimovich was born on July 26, 1962. Graduated from the Minsk Radio Engineering Institute and GITIS. On two sites - and - his girlfriend left his poems:
“I'm his friend and I just posted everything. Actually - the source has dried up. Because he was not a poet and did not consider himself so categorically. I wrote for friends on scraps of paper. But I am absolutely sure that if there is poetry - real, simple and pure - then these are these scraps - raw, impromptu. "
And I have selected some of them for our publication.
* * * In a dream, I launched letters into the sky. Literally. Like kites. The letter "A" resembled a thin piece of ice of the daytime moon in the light. The appearance of the letter "B" next to it was reminiscent of the epic, the meeting of Odysseus and Penelope. Something correct consisted of the swaying of five balloons "C", "L", "O", "V", "O". As the name of the store "LIGHT".
And so I'm left alone in the room
And now I am left alone in a room with an open window on a white sheet of paper a white verse is imprinted an imperceptible imprint of sadness fear of typos makes me attentive elegiac add a space fearing illegibility an extra space The sad fate of this poem is similar to our meeting today, which did not take place because you did not call me and you don’t call even now when the wait is filled with the uneven sound of the car at the closed door of silence The fate of this poem is sad initially
In the waiting room
(specially for the newspaper "WE")
In fact - in the waiting room. In fact - especially for the newspaper "We". Lack of contrivance. That's what is precious. The ability not to invent. Metaphor and document, the coincidence of art and life. Night waiting room in the small Belarusian town of Orsha. Waiting for the train to St. Petersburg. Waiting for inspiration. What is inspiration? Some kind of special inhalation and the need for exhalation, statements, messages. Or just watch with bated breath. This country is the land of Inspiration. At least this is the Great Waiting Room for Inspiration. Because otherwise you will not make a step here - without Poetry, without Love, without the Intuition of the Artist ... Otherwise, longing. “You can't understand Russia with your mind” - that's for sure. You can't move your mind here - or you can move along with your mind. Or, taking hold of your mind, go far away, grabbing junk - solve other problems, solve other riddles, leaving alone the bearded sphinx on Revolution Square. (After all, it really looks like a sphinx, with its riddle about a man and a claim to eternity - this monument to the founder of Marxism. Only recently noticed how "Egyptian" it is, especially in profile - a head gradually turning into a stone block. And just as suddenly archaic in surrounded by boys on roller skates ... Pyramids of Cheops with dancing Michael Jackson. Exotic.) (So I bought a coffee in the buffet to cheer up.)
And yet it seems like a theme every time
And yet this every time seems to be a topic, especially when the wind drives away the darkness and the blue sky peeps through and the special lighting seems to matter Smile on the face of the house opposite and I do not sit at home opposite I look out the window there the fresh gray wind takes off the cover and the sky is the same Blue a notebook, a white cloud-blotter, and to put it another way - a shirt of different shades, and if you just say - outside the wind is a cloud-tablecloth, then clouds are flying across the sky, then the sun is shining.
For a fee without cronyism
do not get Plato
You can't get Plato for a fee without cronyism, and there are tons of waste paper. But it’s not that I’m not all volumes at home — there is a languor of mind — a craving for the simple and ingenious ... Okay, let's go back to the real world. Genius - from the word "genes" but we are not mannequins, where we do not stand (in the manner of Gena the crocodile, demonstrating our heredity). Immediacy is important in life. Here I am walking single - beyond the means of "holy bonds" but I throw myself at the feet of the Muse, like Dasaev and Don-Guan, like Yesenin to the autumn Duncan Sometimes I touch the goddess's feet (yes!), I wake up - they will be left, Bye! .. On Parnassus Pegasus running There the stern eye of the immortal classic evaluates the trotter ... And the poets crowd at the cash register as - they catch the opinion of a connoisseur!
Wizards
Wizards recognize each other by their faces, they travel through the capitals rush through the streets there and then they hurry and run wherever they will be called: Magicians! .. And this is Joy and this is Labor - Magicians And their movements, like in ballet, they smile like children to people around and suddenly As if brighter in this world it must be these wizards And - like a lifeline, a Friend appears
Comrade…
(dedicated to Zhora Dubovets)
Comrade ... / I would like to say: "Comrade, believe! .." / Girl! .. / but it would be better: "Daughter ..." / My friend! I'm sitting at the table. I get up from the table. My friend! Who says bummer? Our place is in the ranks. I admire the light bulb, I open the window, I look at the clock. A friend brings me slippers. A friend offers vodka, alcohol and sausages. But I say to him: My friend! But I say: Comrade! But I say: listen! Let's make some tea! and fruit appears and a vegetable appears and a record called "Chaif" appears, and little Marinka with her dad catches a high.
Santa Claus played the clarinet
Santa Claus played the clarinet. Rare passers-by threw rubles. The footsteps sounded arrogant like the clatter of a typewriter. The baby spoke more clearly. A window opened. Sometimes ... Sometimes ellipsis or steps outside the window Dog barking He could not Explain why He Why not Me Liszt danced like a girl in a gallery. They sit her down, they say Quietly This should have had a name, a reflection of an echo Without this, everything lost its meaning. He would like to listen beautifully as someone who is loved generously and disinterestedly, without understanding anything in rhymes and intervals. But this ... But it had no name like any genuine movement. the other He turned off the machine and sat in silence. Sometimes I felt something like a feeling of hunger It could be a story by touching the phone ringing Movement to people It had no name ...
When you run like a boomerang
When you launch, like a boomerang, into an unknown line with the hope of a divine inspiration unknown as a gift to a fool, do not express impatience. The time will come to harvest - you need to sow the feeling of a dead tree, do not decorate - this is not art. Better on the sun's rays, which we have not noticed for a long time, jump out and, not knowing sadness, remarkably shut up.
Song of the ship of the desert
And about his third hump - the Bedouin
Yes, unfortunately even now
Dangerous paths of the desert
As a camel I wander through the sandpit. The path is long east to the source. Heart-rending drover cry: "Water!" He pokes with a stick, that's the problem, he pushes with his heel to the side, and again you have to dodge to the side. Garden and river. Camels have a lot of people from afar. The camel's legs hurt like an old man's. (He knows: mirages are just new turns) Going in circles again ... It's a shame for a clever friend! How many days did my mind take away from the goal? But if so, who am I? Humpbacked fool? I’m not getting anything into my sense: what is the sense of duty? long to carry his belongings of sorrows? (Oh, to me this blue-blooded Arab is my third artificial hump.) How proud he is! I recently learned the truth: Our brother, it turns out, has intuition. She's not dreaming of the mind, huh?
In the end it has always been this way
In the end, it was always a few blank sheets waiting for inspiration and unwillingness to use punctuation marks In the end, it was always like this waiting for a special love language holiday understanding work Being yourself discovering friends rhymes poetry of life different forms of love
"Road. Road condition. Traffic. Backpack with books over the shoulders. There are so many interesting things around. Stops on the way give an opportunity to think ... about things that are eternal for people involved in creativity, and indeed for all people: what is inspiration, what drives us ... He did not consider himself a poet and wrote for friends on scraps of paper. But I am absolutely sure that if there is poetry in the world - real, simple and pure - then here it is, these lines, written impromptu, filled with air, light and natural, like inhalation and exhalation. They speak for themselves, they are our life ... play with words and sounds, lack of punctuation marks, brevity and clarity of thought, a special gentle mood, unobtrusive confidentiality inherent only in him, slowness and at the same time a huge interest in people, in the world ”( from the comments to the poems of Yakov Bunimovich from Minsk, Gala Lokhova).
Bronshtein Yakov Anatolievich
Born on November 10, 1899, Gomel (Poland); Jew; higher education; member / candidate. a member of the CPSU (b); Responsible Secretary, Union of Soviet Writers of the BSSR. Arrested on June 6, 1937. Sentenced: HCVS of the USSR on October 28, 1937, obv .: 70, 76 of the Criminal Code of the BSSR - a member of the Trotskyist org., Organized by a terrorist. group. Sentence: VMN, confiscation of property. Shot on October 29, 1937. Place of burial - Minsk. Rehabilitated on June 27, 1956. Military Collegium Top. courts of the USSR ( Belarusian "Memorial")
Bronstein Yakov Anatolyevich, lit. critic, publicist. Ch.-c. Academy of Sciences of the BSSR (1936). Member Central Executive Committee of the BSSR. In 1918 he volunteered for the Kr. Army. After demobilization, he worked as a editor. gas. Orlovskaya Pravda. In 1922-26 he studied at the 1st Moscow State University, then at the Communist. academy in Moscow, at BSU - Ph.D. in Semitology. Since 1930 - scientific. sotr. Institute of Linguistics, Literature and Arts of the Academy of Sciences of the BSSR. He gave lecture courses on the history of Russian, Belarusian. and Heb. literature in Minsk ped. in-those. The department was in charge of it. Heb. lit-ry and language. Since the mid-20s. actively participated in lit. life, was one of the theorists of the RAPP. The author of the book. critical Art. "Attack", 1930, "Farfestikte Positions" ("Fixed Positions"), 1934, "Creative Problems of the Hebrews. owls. poetry ", 1936.
* * *“We can say that it was from Minsk, where not long ago (in 1931) the World Conference of Jewish Writers was held, that the destruction of Yiddish literature began. In 1935 he was arrested and convicted by the deputy. People's Commissar of Education, journalist Chaim Dunets. In 1936, the writer Leib Ziskind was arrested and shot. In 1937, the poets Izi Kharik (editor-in-chief of the Stern magazine) and Moshe Kulbak, the literary critic Yasha Bronstein, the executive editor of the October magazine Ilya Osherovich and others (E. Gurevich, Ya. Spektor, S. Levin, A. Volobrinsky and others). All of them (including H. Duntz, who was involved in the case) were shot in the same year. Many members of their families were also repressed. The traces of their children were lost in the shelters for the children of the repressed ”( from the article by Yakov Basin "Bolshevism and Belarusian Jewry").
Minkina Maria Vladimirovna (Vulfovna).
Inna Bronstein is not a poet. An eighty-year-old pensioner from Minsk, a former teacher ... who lost the most precious thing in her life - her son ...
***
What a bliss to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good
And if you are sick, then you live.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!
* * *
What bliss! I know in old age
That I will not lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
Beauties are worse. But that is their business.
For them, this fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hold on, poor things!
* * *
What bliss to walk around the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
In the stream of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often ...
Don't laugh at your grandmother in a shiny sweater.
* * *
Go to the toilet with your feet.
And then on the way back
And quickly dive under the covers.
And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up
And again walk, talk and breathe.
* * *
What bliss to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
Read familiar prose a hundred times
And everything is new to you, thanks to sclerosis.
* * *
What bliss, you know it yourself
When you lay down and fall asleep.
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning.
No insomnia! Falling asleep ... Hurray!
* * *
What bliss in old age
Do not go online with your own hands,
And quietly look for your man
In the old volumes of the century before last.
* * *
What bliss fate gave me
I lost the keys, and then found them.
There is a beautiful way to be happy -
Lose and suffer, and then find!
* * *
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and blizzard in the yard,
And in our house it is good and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!
* * *
What bliss to stand under the shower
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I handled it myself.
How good I am! Wouldn't go crazy ...
* * *
What bliss: the hand ached,
And, most importantly, the left one is a nice thing!
What if your right hand ached?
Note that I am lucky in life so far.
And even when fate gets it,
To still be blissful, there is a reason.
* * *
What bliss to walk in the woods,
Moreover, lick the popsicle in chocolate.
After all, after breakfast I am on a diet for an hour
And I deserve these sweets.
Taking a walk, I will consume calories
And that means I'll be back by lunchtime for food.
* * *
What bliss at the sight of an advertisement
Think how much junk there is
Which I don't need at all.
I am quite happy with what I have.
And how much do I save, guys,
Without buying "Sort" and gaskets!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?
* * *
What bliss to rise from the pavement
And know that your unprecedented flip
Ended up not with a wheelchair,
And just a fright and a little shake.
Now you will agree with me friends,
That, after all, I am very lucky.
* * *
What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.
* * *
What bliss is the end of the path
In the evening, stagger, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And drink this bliss to the drop.
And there already legs, groaning, stretch out,
But to wake up the next day - and go!
So all pedestrians are blissful, like.
And where do drivers find joy?
* * *
What bliss to come to the pharmacy
And there health prescription can be found.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects in them: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anarexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infection ...
I will throw away such pills at once.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen illnesses.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.
* * *
What bliss to crawl from the bazaar
And in the bag a funky banana to carry.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
That banana raises our mood.
How happy the monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone
And they bask in the warm embraces of their relatives.
Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - in an embrace with a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
And I came up with the lines to laugh.
* * *
What bliss fate gave me -
I forgot my bag and found it later!
I forgot her on a noisy street
And then I go on the tram thoughtlessly.
Grabbed, came back and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!
Today I have not only found a loss -
I regained faith in people!
There is only one scoundrel for a thousand good ones.
You can live, and I lived to be gray.
I throw happy looks at the bag
And I don't need other bliss today.
And if I hadn't lost my purse,
Why on earth would I be blissful?
* * *
What bliss! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my astonished acquaintances.
And like a queen in the back seat
I am sitting in a delightful daze.
And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back is cute with a golden tail.
Will not experience such bliss
Only the one who habitually drives around in a car.
* * *
What a bliss to have a coupon
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled and the sick are walking by
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I, among others - oh-ho-ho!
So far nothing hurts me.
And if it hurts, then quite a bit.
I just paved the way for the doctor.
* * *
I sit behind bars in my apartment,
It's cold outside, warmer in the house.
And the room is warm - the screen is blue
Talking about something quietly with me.
And if I see an ugly face in him,
I will press the button and destroy it.
I will not suffer and languish in tears
What bliss that I am on my feet!
* * *
What bliss to hear the call
And in the receiver is such a beloved voice,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is good, but the bell is a custom.
What bliss - to find out and answer!
I don't need another happiness in the world.
The invention of the wizard Bell
Oh my phone - you are a great thing!
* * *
What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
One must at least somehow survive to old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for a change
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything is forgotten, and the mind fell asleep ...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!
* * *
What bliss has come today -
The heat was turned on in the cold apartment.
The plumber finished the flood yesterday.
What bliss on land! Hooray!
Again the TV went out for me.
But he turned on again. I am blissful.
What bliss - the trolleybus came,
And I waited for him! How good!
And if our world had reached perfection,
Where would I get these bliss!
* * *
Without luck, there will be no luck.
Time to bliss, time to sigh.
Black - white, what does it mean?
So, you have to walk on the zebra!
If white is not for me
What else would I be glad for!
Therefore, in this I will find bliss.
But if it doesn’t help, I’ll take up the food.
There is salvation from failure -
Somewhere to eat something tasty.
* * *
A hopeless share, my bitter,
I am not needed by anyone.
Death is delayed, so you have to live
And find different "bliss" in life.
I just don't want to torment my friends with tears.
It’s more fun with stupid “bliss”.
* * *
What a terrible word - freedom.
When no one on earth needs it
When you owe nothing to anyone.
It is like fruitlessly free years.
What a longing - not to rush anywhere,
Get up when you want, roll in bed,
Do not think about business, do not take up business,
Do not set or start the alarm.
What a misfortune to cook for yourself
And there is alone, even to the dump.
Forget about the dress that you bought yesterday,
Do not wait for a change in a lonely fate.
What bliss I have
My brother and friends are on the phone and nearby.
Such beloved, with an affectionate look.
And I erase my tears and I rejoice.
