The former head of the FSB Deputy Nikolai Kovalev approved the arrest of the speaker, Recalling his seditious poems, “blacken Russia”
The Deputy of the state Duma, the former head of FSB Nikolai Kovalev called the expected detention of the Minister of economic development Alexei Ulyukayev, Recalling that his seditious verses, which, in the opinion of the representative of the security services, “blacken Russia”.
“I’m not surprised – something I expected after I read
it published poems, urging his son to flee from Russia – “Go
my son, go from here”, told to “Interfax” Kovalev. According to him, the essence of these verses is clear: they vilify Russia, and they say that life abroad is much better. “That’s how I interpreted the content of these poems,” said Kovalev.
First poems Alexei Ulyukayev was published in 1978 in the magazine “Student Meridian”, when the future Minister studied at the economic faculty of the Moscow state University. In 2002, his early poetry was published as a separate book “Fire and glow”. In 2012, the world saw the new collection of verses “another’s coast” (publishing house “Vremya”, Moscow). In 2013 in the same publishing house were published the poetry collection “Beriberi”.
By the way, the verses that the former head of the FSB considers to be seditious, was published in the same collection called “people’s coast” by 2012. The epigraph to him, the author took lines from the works of Marina Tsvetaeva’s “Poems to son”: “Nor there, and neither here –
Go, my son, in his country –
The edge – the edges all the way around!”
Go, my son, go from here
For now the ball will find
A lot of places where a step forward
Steps back, where, they say,
Not always, on the contrary,
Where it is not always escort platoon
Small children thrown out,
Where it is not always the gag in her mouth,
Happen – truth be told,
Often head up
A lower – leg
Where bread is not sprinkled dust
And not laugh at the poor:
Ha-ha, heh-heh, hee-hee, hoo-hoo
From the same cycle, “I’m from the universe of Gutenberg”, the “Znamya” magazine in 2011 published the following lines:
For thirty years I took a vow of silence
But it is in hours, the sand turned over
As long as it is not raining nights
From the body frail, and not pereobulsya
I’m in the shoes of a disposable nature
Helpful, not helpful people
Because carnal life I’m the boss
In the spiritual relies austerity
I’ve clipped and cut
Almost all. But survived the accident
The Appendix is small and caught early
In a fairly manured soil
Now to feasts.
Generally, in the journal “Banner” in 2011 verses Alexei Ulyukayev published regularly.
In one of these publications, being under the influence of the verses of Joseph Brodsky, from “Roman cycle,” Alexei Ulyukayev wrote:
Having lived in a remote province by the sea
Take a rest from Constantinople schemers,
Where no wars… only the waves of the waves echo,
And write at least the Cossacks, even to the Sultan.
Every place firmly connected with the suburb,
The voice of the king will kill crashing surf.
Now I know for sure:
From the Empire not to relax, but just relax.
In 2015, the birthday of Alexei Ulyukayev, 23 March, colleagues of the doctor of Economics and Minister of economic development of the Russian Federation read out on the state channel “Russia 24″ verses of his own composition.
Under it appropriately
Cherished daddy stored
Not a bunch of cheap rhymes,
Not crap Aesop armor
But the abuse of harsh sentences,
Boreas chill print
On the white spirits space
The mind which does not understand.
Courage – on paper
Himself to carry,
Look for the native flag
To argue with the medicine,
To leave something to the son,
Before you sink into the murk…
Can not be that only the memory
Us on their laps led,
His strong hands
Flipping through eternal “things”:
“Keep always” joking lightly
Over every trick of the country?
She is eternal, eternal, eternal,
As krasnoprudny granite!
History is always the history of the disease
And naturally the final.
A moth dances over the abyss,
It all a little.
He cuts the world in the image-likeness,
Striving with every fiber in the annals.
And carpenters knocking together coffins
And all them little.