Biography of Markelov Vladimir
V. Markelov, DM - the modern Russian poet was born 21-01-1958 in a small village near to Finland. His father, the military man, was the participant of Great War with Germany (1941-1945) . Now lives in Kazan, Tatarstan, Russia.
The majority of poems are written in style of irony, grotesque, a joke, basically in Russian. Its known poem 'Helicopter' is written in style of neoacmeism, devoted to the destiny of the Russian families, lost their children in War with Afghanistan.
Recently it is keen by translations into Russian of the American and English poets (Robert Frost, Ezra Pound, Byron, Allen Ginsberg, Wallace Stevens, William Blake and others) , and also wrights the Limericks. The most part of creativity is devoted to poems for children.
Markelov Vladimir's Works:
In the given collection there are some poems written for English-speaking readers. The Reader’s comments may kindly be sent to his email address: email@example.com
More details also available on Russian site http: //www.stihi.ru/author.html? markeloff
Markelov Vladimir Poems
Is Night Gentle?
Night closes doors forever Night cures my soul as a medicine In Night should’nt be doubted ever Night sense increases to everything
Autumn In Russia.
The wood seems to be tired. Preparation of all alive to the lingering somnambulist. Disturbing feelings of forthcoming separation, loss. The last elaborate trees apparel in yellow-orange-purple colors.
Desert all in blossom in September - - I‘ll not meet with marvel face to face. I shall pass out, reeling from the bounties Of burnt, dry, and penetrating faith.
After The Flood. Limerick.
Snow has covered all primeval wood. Shaggy Yeti was just in the mood. Fresh meat clamping by paw... (Not such as in a store,
The famous Poet here's lying. Only but now his Masterpiece’s dying. You WILL not be at all forgotten,
Commune Of Russia.
Country log hut Has made itself comfortable upon a warm belly of the pregnant mother-ground.
Disorders In Time.
It’s not easy to stop the rolling time. Maybe it’s good to me – to lean over a clock-hand? In the middle of the way –
There Is A Love…
There is a Love that lives in us and never ends. There is a Love, by which we breathe and sing, like bird. It’s Love, when both of us are fallin’In love; And when the other heart we’ve heard.
.… Break a small stalk which the ladybird’s scramblin’ on. and, during that moment, when it assiduously clambers,
Simple Formulas Of Happiness.
BIRTH … … … … … … …open your eyes - beside the mum. The CHILDHOOD … … …you loved, surrounded by care. ADOLESCENCE … … … you loved, you love. YOUTH … … … … … … dad catch the meaning at once.
I’m very, very tired: Helped the Moon to eat the Light. First we bit it, Soon completed,
Sometimes it seems to him - he’s not flying between the Heaven, the Earth, the Underworld, gathering the souls lost the way. What a wonderful moment to lay upon a cloud, doing nothing!
Gentle face bewitched me so: Clear look, eyelashes a veil. Years untimelity was failed. All, that earlier troubled soul-
Please, don’t create to itself an Idol In freakish dreams, in the Universe. Your lyre will fly off at the handle Like blind Mole made a shitty verse.
Please, don’t create to itself an Idol
In freakish dreams, in the Universe.
Your lyre will fly off at the handle
Like blind Mole made a shitty verse.
Don’t pick at wreath upon gravestone:
Perhaps, it’s lovely to someone;
In night, having heard a spiteful howl,
Recall – d’you washed your anus in the morn?