Nikolay Kolychev of Murmansk. The poet Nikolai Kolychev has passed away. Spiritual poems by Nikolai Kolychev

And now the sad news that came from Kandalaksha. Nikolai Kolychev, a poet, prose writer, and member of the Russian Writers' Union, has passed away. He passed away on Tuesday evening. Ironically, Nikolai Kolychev died on Pushkin’s day, the day of the Russian language.

07.06.2017, 20:05

And now the sad news that came from Kandalaksha. Nikolai Kolychev, a poet, prose writer, and member of the Russian Writers' Union, has passed away. He passed away on Tuesday evening. Ironically, Nikolai Kolychev died on Pushkin’s day, the day of the Russian language.

He was born in Murmansk, but grew up in Kandalaksha. A significant part of his life was spent there. He served in the army, worked as an electrician, driver, and farmer.

Kolychev’s first poetic publications were in Kandalaksha newspapers in 1982, at the same time his poems were published in the capital - in the almanac “Istoki”. And then there were the “thick” literary magazines “Neva” and “Sever”.

In the late 90s he lived in Murmansk, worked as a fireman in one of the boiler houses. This was not the easiest period in his life.

And then Kolychev again left for the White Sea. Where he lived in recent years. He wrote poems that - as his fellow writers note - were outwardly simple, accurately rhymed, and traditional for Russian poetry.

Poems are not born painlessly, poetry has its own laws, there are no models to suffer through song, clones are obtained from models.

He took part in the revival of the Day of Slavic Literature and Culture, numerous literary holidays and festivals. Poet, prose writer, translator, performer of his own songs. Winner of numerous literary awards. Nikolai Kolychev was a truly Russian poet. One of the best in modern Russia.

The hill stretches like a double-headed eagle over the road,
Ancient stones listen to the lingering winds.
A poor church looked into the river from the slope
And I saw an incredibly beautiful temple.

The temple was reflected in the river as an unprecedented fantasy,
A bright dream of a great happy country,
As if through a dream I saw something that was not there,
As if through tears I dreamed of something that is not there.

People, come and take a look, dear, good ones!
You see, there, among the gray impassive stones
Or a broken temple of the irrevocable past,
Or an unfulfilled temple of our days.

People, wake up! Wake up, surrounding villages!
People, go down to the river to look at the miracle!
Black buildings stick out over the sightless terrain,
Dark shadows are silent, not going down to the river.

Autumn brings sobs over the hills and swamps
And fills the clouds with rainy tears.
An unborn drowned man looks into the sky from the river,
The river carries the unsung song into the sea.

People, come, you can’t help but regret what you’ve lost!
People, take a look, think about what lies ahead!..
The spirit of St. Tryphon is a weeping angel,
Overshadowing us, it flies over the sinful earth.

Consubstantial and Indivisible Trinity,
Have pity on our country and its peoples.
Lord, give us strength to pray and build!
Create a temple reflected in the river on earth!

Belomorye
Vitaly Semenovich Maslov

Oh, how wise is the ligature of the Lord's thoughts!
How the network of Love is strong - from the threads of Grief.
I'm caught. I won't leave here.
My soul is dark without the White Sea.

I haven't become coarse from the salty spray,
I didn’t stop loving the wind that tanned my skin.
Over the White Sea the light is white all summer.
What a blessing it is to live in the WHITE world!

The dawn calls the transparent moon,
The late afternoon is approaching sunset.
A trodden path into silence
The calloused heel of the bare sun.

And so much light - in every tubercle
A living wave - gentle, but elastic!
And languid seals on a corgi
They lie caressing each other with their flippers.

Barn... Hut... Dog at the porch...
In a large vat there is cod, in a basin there is herring.
Tethered like a prodigal sheep
A boat grazes in the wavy greenery.

In the hut, on the bench - the children - side by side,
On a warm Russian stove - a stern grandfather.
The hostess for evening milk
A big generous cow is calling...

What happiness!
Here it is:
To love your land - beautiful, generous, free.
To be born here and live with dignity here,
Here to die and lie down in the ground with dignity.

If you can’t do that, then you’ll be in harmony with nature
Swim into the seas, look for a different kind of happiness.
But come back - salmon - back.
Skinning, flesh - come back!

...And I wanted to go back. But where?
For a long time I followed the tracks of my former life...
Oh sea! Why is your water
Doesn’t it reflect the happiness of the coastal villages?

I walked, searched and, finding, I grieved,
The mountain branched on the coastal hills...
And I saw that the light was no longer white,
Colorless light that declared the White Sea.

I walked... No one recognized me,
The depleted world was not filled with children.
And the boats dried up on the rocks...
And they hung up and forgot the weight of the net...

Ask... About what? To say... What to say,
When one disease gnawed at us all...
I'm ashamed to look people in the eyes
I'm scared to look out the windows of the huts.
From them the night looks with its dying eye...

Oh, how black is the melancholy of the skinny huts!
Having forgotten (forever?) its former power,
Pomeranian villages are rotting holy relics.

Trouble! Trouble! Trouble! Trouble! Trouble!
Everything collapsed... As planned? Or foolishly?
And they keep bringing foreigners here,
Towards “the wreckage of an exotic culture.”

...Let them say: “You can’t bring back the past.”
I love and remember - a sweet dream.
And my dreams are more real than lies
About the fact that money can buy everything.

Native species... Wise, kind life...
And the dream of the cross of centuries on the graves...
No amount of money can buy
Something that people cannot stop loving.

I'll go beyond the river... There the city ends with the village.
I'll go across the river. It's always good there, across the river.
I will walk through the village to the ancient Pomeranian cemetery,
There, over the cape, winds swirl - forest and sea.

Oh, what lucky weather I had today!
No blue this blue! And there is no greenery!
I will walk along the family fences and be a little jealous.
I can’t travel around our huge country.

There, with my eyes wide open, I will drink the White Sea sky,
And I will feel eternity in my gut, like an invisible connection
From distant times, when we were not yet on earth,
Until distant times, when the world forgets about us.

On the foundation of a church that someone once built here
For his descendants, and which his great-grandson demolished,
The quiet noise of herbs... But this woeful land survived
Not with the crosses of churches, but with the crosses of Pomeranian graves.

We are all, we are all used to carrying hope in our hearts.
To their native places, which will help overcome trouble...
If things get hard for me, I’ll come to my Kandalaksha,
And I'll go across the river. And I’ll go beyond the river... beyond the river...

While the mind and eyes are clear,
I'll be sick with incurable caress
To the trees, birds, forest streams
And to the small northern field.

Loving, I will live my years,
And at the hour when the heart gets tired of beating,
Wherever I am, I’ll still come here,
Look at the forest, stream, field.

Receiving the last grace,
I tear the collar of my shirt with my hands.
And I won’t be afraid to die,
Falling into the grass, crushing daisies with his face.

And everything will be overshadowed by the noise of the tall pines,
And the cold of unwanted peace,
And the joy of leaving,
But I don’t take anything with me.

What I leave at the threshold of darkness
A forest, a field, someone’s dear name...
We only borrow for a short moment
Life has what is after our hearts now.

Companion

He was on the rise
As you can see - not local,
He waved at passing cars without success.
It's always interesting to talk to a stranger
And fellow travelers are never a hindrance to me.

Sit down, let's go...
He lit a cigarette:
- And the weather is bad today, isn’t it?
They say it's been the warmest week here all summer? -
I agreed with him...
And the fool for assenting!

He suddenly began to scold all the bumps and slides,
He cursed the hills and pines flying past...
And I clenched my teeth,
It was painful and bitter
It’s like they say nasty things to me about my beloved.

How I wanted to scream:
“Shut up, you bore!”
The muscles squeezed into a tight lump under the clothes...
Well, where did he come from...
- Where are you from?

I don’t remember what he answered, from somewhere in the South.
There is a village there somewhere, surrounded by a field,
House with a veranda, family...
And there he will return.
There are gardens, vineyards, a warm sea...
So why the hell is he coming here?

I asked him. And he spread his arms,
And a smile flashed with a fidgety cigarette butt:
- For the riches of the North I...
Yes with money
Like everyone else here...
What, do I look like an idiot?

And in silence we drove to the village.
- Get out! -
Hands rummaged through my pockets...
Surely the North wants to buy for five?
Almost spat at him:
- Take it away, not in the South.

What a good morning!
Blue endless expanse.
Like a big newborn calf -
Wet, tousled field.
And on the pine trees stretching into the sky,
The first ray flows with early caress.
The yellow resins trembled,
Dewdrops flashed on her eyelashes.
You can hear the early birds chirping,
But the peace has not yet been disturbed.
They are just mincing about early business
At the edge of the field are faded old women.
You should be resting, but you are still wandering,
You have to wake up this early!
They’ll come up and I’ll tell them: “Hello!”
And they will smile back at me.
A golden stream slides through the greenery,
It flows at dusk under the crowns.
People are generously sown with tenderness,
If only I could touch them with a kind word!

- Well, what can you write about?
I don’t understand... -
I will always remember
How she looked into your eyes with a grin
I know a woman at work.

I handed her my papers,
Swallowing a lump of burning resentment.
I read it.
- Good poems
Only you yourself are no better than others.
If only someone were super sinless
So he wrote... And it turns out that
As if showing the way
A man stuck in a swamp.

I remember I wanted to smile -
It turned out to be a stupid grimace.
Well, it turns out that it's my fault
What, like everything, what is made of bones and meat.

It's my fault that in blue dreams
She sees the Poet's fragile image.
For her my words are rude
And his actions are very questionable.

I wasn't shaved perfectly
And the suit hasn’t been ironed for a long time...
She has no idea what's inside,
There is everything that I couldn’t find outside.

I don’t blame her and I don’t curse her,
The path to understanding a person is difficult.
How easy it is for you people to deceive!
How can we not be deceived in you, people!

After all, sometimes there is such a lie in yourself
An ideal appearance will hide...
I am like those with whom I live.
Why should I look different?

I walked along the road through the fallen leaves,
And a cloud walked across the sky above me.
My hand is tired of voting,
And now I voted with my back.

I was ready to lose faith in kindness,
Suddenly - an invigorating squeal from behind the brakes.
The cold door opened wide,
And I tumbled into the warm room: “Sit down.”

And the pines and fir trees rushed somewhere,
There was a long climb and the descent was steep,
And the dim lights of foreign villages
They told tales about comfort.

The moon peered dimly through the window,
And I dozed off to the noise of the engine...
And we should speak as if
But what about? I can't find the words.

And he sang, quietly and drawn out,
About the distance of roads and the sadness of fields.
And the song crawled in harmony along the wet glass
Those raindrops that are heavier.

A song sounded and she asked me to sing along,
She was as old as this world.
Russia is not short of songs,
Only the coachmen changed the driver.

Cow

- Stop, damned one! Stop!
- Hey, hold her, bitch!
Just hold on! Eh (bad word)…
And on fragrant July
From a tired farm
Away from the milkmaids' screams
A cow ran away.

And around the field - in circles,
to the point of exhaustion
Obeying some order from above...
Suddenly she froze, unable to withstand the rhythm of movement,
After all, she has never grazed since birth.

And cow eyes, two teary sadness,
As if they wanted to remember something forgotten...
I take it on faith, without any “let’s say” -
People and animals have similar feelings...

- Well, why, jumping lady, did you run around to your heart’s content?..
Two milkmaids sat down, tired, next to each other
And they became quiet and looked at the field for a long time.
And three thoughtful glances wandered across the grass.

The lane that had forgotten its wheels did not swirl,
It was quiet: no clanging, no screaming, no creaking...
And I couldn’t believe that there was a village behind the forest,
Five panel boxes of standard type.

And, like molasses, the minutes dragged on sweetly
Contemplation of indestructible and ancient beauties,
And along the blooming grasses towards someone
Childhood came from a distant Russian village...

And when they returned to the farm,
So the beast turned around and looked at them,
What one milkmaid whispered:
- OK… -
And the second one broke her twig.

I'm not me without you
I'm in trouble without you.
Murmansk land,
Kola beauty.

As if I'm wandering towards dawn
Quiet forest path.
The voice of streams and rivers -
My inner voice.

Hills of distant blue,
Tall pines noise...
Northern region of Rus',
Home of my feelings and thoughts.

Both father and mother are here,
We keep everything we have from evil.
To become a soul - to match
To your white snows.

By the light of a native star
My hearth is warm.
Here - by the big water,
Eternal love pier.

I'll fall on my face
In tender soft moss.
After all, I
Closer - from here - is God.

Kola beauty,
Murmansk land.
I'm in trouble without you.
I am not me without you.

WEREWOLF

Everything is damned - hopes and dreams,
Overthrown, torn apart by discord -
To the desecration of honest poverty,
To the point of humiliation before a rich thief.
Life squeezed us and twisted us out,
Squeezing out everything human from the bodies.
We devour our neighbor, striving
Some want to profit, while others want to survive.
It’s hard for me to be with you, former People!
But the weight of loneliness is no easier.
We changed the world so cruelly...
And now - in revenge - he is crippling us!
ABOUT! An endless list of losses...

The darkness arose and strangled the soul,
And a wild beast rushed into my heart,
And the blood rushed like a beast in my veins.
And Reason died. And the Lord was silent...
And I howled, tearing my clothes,
And he knocked down the door and growled wildly,
And ran out into the yard,
And from the yard I
Darted into the night -
Through the grass, through the dew...
The blood was furious - it hissed and hummed.
The beast grew inside me -
Through the pores everything
Thick fur permeated the body.
A pinching ringing sound squeezed my temples like a ring.
I stumbled, falling on the stones.
And what was once a face -
It stretched out and bared its fangs.
He tore me! It grew outward!
I squeezed the pain in my palms - but did not help those.
From your fingers - burning my face,
Curved claws pierced the flesh.
I was furious! I screamed in the darkness
And trembled from his own howl,

And he cursed those living on the earth,
And he hated it - mortally! - everything is alive...
And I fell into a heavy sleep on the stones...
And in the morning I was awakened by a long look.
...And the Man took aim at me.
And I couldn’t tell him: “Don’t.”

Author of eighteen books published in Moscow and Murmansk. Published in magazines and collective collections “North”, “Neva”, “Aurora”, “Roman-newspaper 21st century”, “Our Contemporary”, “Under the Shadow of Tryphon”, “Science and Business on Murman”, “World of the North”, almanacs “Poetry”, “Poetry Day”, “First Teachers Square”, “Tournament”, etc.

Biography

Nikolai Vladimirovich Kolychev was born in 1959 in the city of Murmansk.

Mother - Apollinaria Petrovna Kolycheva, medical worker, head of a kindergarten, cosmetologist. Father - Vladimir Nikolaevich Kolychev, engineer of the shipping company.

He studied at the Leningrad Arctic School (1975-1977), but was expelled for indiscipline.

He served in the army as an instructor in a training unit.

Lived in Murmansk, Kandalaksha, the village of Luvenga, the village of Kolvitsa in the Murmansk region, studied farming in Norway.

He worked as a driver, storekeeper-distributor, leader of amateur performances, mechanic, farmer (1989-1998), journalist, fireman.

He began to engage in literary activities after returning from the army. Published in periodicals and poetry collections since 1982. The first collection of poems, “Flowers and People,” was published by the Murmansk Book Publishing House in 1987.

Member of the Union of Writers of the USSR (1990), member of the Union of Writers of Russia (1991).

Diploma winner of the Moscow International Poetry Competition "Golden Pen" (twice).

Laureate of the interregional song and poetry festival “Silver Psalter” (2005, Dubna).

He was a scholarship recipient of the Peace Fund and the Literary Fund of the Russian Writers' Union.

Awarded the Commemorative Medal “Great Russian writer Nobel Prize laureate M. A. Sholokhov 1905-2005” for humanism and service to Russia (2004); commemorative medal “In commemoration of the 90th anniversary of the formation of the USSR” (2012); commemorative medal “200th anniversary of M. Yu. Lermontov” (2014); commemorative medal named after Nikolai Rubtsov (2017); honorary badge “For services to the city of Kandalaksha” (2014).

He took part in the revival of the Day of Slavic Literature and Culture in the USSR.

He composed and performed songs based on his poems.

Since 1998 he lived in Murmansk.

Nikolai Kolychev was buried at the Murmansk City Cemetery, in sector No. 44. In Kandalaksha, he was asked to erect a monument on one of the central streets.

Creation

Nikolai Kolychev’s first poetic publications, which appeared in periodicals (1982), aroused the interest of specialists. .

Between the first collection of poetry, “Flowers and People,” published in the cassette “First Book of Poems” (1987) and the second, “Learning to Be Sad and Smile” (1990), a number of publications followed in the thick magazines “Neva”, “North”, and the almanac “ Poetry". The poet received his first large fee for publication in the Youth Calendar (Politizdat).

The heyday of Nikolai Kolychev’s poetic talent occurred during the period of perestroika and the 90s of the 20th century. In 1993, the third book of poems, “The Ringer’s Pupil,” was published, which became a landmark for the poet’s work for many years. In 1995, it was republished in a bilingual (Russian-Finnish) version, which evoked rave reviews from the poet’s Finnish colleagues. The collection included poems from the farming period of Nikolai Kolychev’s life and work, and reflected the poet’s pain for the destruction of Russia and the village, the human personality, the soul. The emotionally rich essay “How I Was a Peasant in Russia and Norway” is also dedicated to the peasant theme, the troubles of the Russian village during the perestroika and post-perestroika periods.

The work of Nikolai Kolychev can be divided into two periods. The first (until 2012) is following the best traditions of classical Russian poetry. In the second period (since 2013) - the search for new poetic forms. Vrubel's notes are added to Kolychev's poetry - sharp, somewhat ragged. The poems of the second period carry a powerful emotional charge, however, literary critics note the excessive journalistic nature of the poetry of Nikolai Kolychev of the late period.

The poet also wrote for children of different ages. (Poetry collections “Mur-Manchanka”, “Murmansk steps”, “Clubfooted boots”, “Children’s poems”, fairy tale “Nyufotsey Bach”.

The musicality of N. Kolychev’s poems contributed to the fact that many of them became songs and are performed by professional and amateur singers. N. Kolychev is the author of the song that became the anthem of Kandalaksha.

Nikolai Kolychev is the author of the historical novel “Theodorite,” dedicated to the saint of the Russian North, Theodoret of Kola, and the humorous story “We’ll fly out tomorrow!” , stories and journalistic essays, an unfinished play about the saint of the Russian North, Tryphon of Pechenga.

Nikolai Kolychev is the compiler of a number of poetry collections.

The poet also proved himself interesting as a translator. He made poetic translations from Serbian, Udmurt, and Kazakh languages, word for word. In 2011, a book of poetic translations from Finnish was published.

In recent years he has worked in collaboration with Honored Artist of Russia Anatoly Sergienko.

Books

Editor and contributor to collections:

• Spiritual Poetry of the North: Murmansk Anthology (2000)
• North at Heart Level (2004)

Published in collections (except those listed above):

• Bro. Vol. 4. - M., 2004.
• Be a man, man! - Murmansk: MGODYUB, 1997.
• Living breath of the North. - Mrmansk: North, 2000.
• This is where the roads begin. - Arkhangelsk: Barents publisher, - 2001.
• Murmansk, hello! - Murmansk: MGODYUB, 2011.
• At the top of the Kola land. - Apatity: Book Publishing House, 2006.
• About our glorious monuments... Poems about the monuments of Murmansk. - Murmansk: MGODYUB, 2013.
• The light of the word in the Arctic: an anthology of Murman's literature. - Murmansk: North, 2008.
• Bullfinches. - Petrozavodsk: Northern Lights, 2013.
• My destiny is Olenegorsk. - Murmansk, 2014.
• Russia is generous with the word of spring. - Murmansk: Opimakh, 2012.
• I love my Arctic... Poetic photo album - M.: Red Proletarian, 2006 and others.

Translations:

• Hynynen M. Nameless island of stones: Poems / Artist. lane from Finnish N.V. Kolycheva. Murmansk: Dobrokhot, 2011.

Notes

Links

• Nikolai Vladimirovich Kolychev // Russian writers and poets: Biographical reference book.
• Nikolai Vladimirovich Kolychev // Kola North: Encyclopedic Lexicon.
• Nikolay Vladimirovich Kolychev // Who is who in the Murmansk region: biographical reference book / comp. V. Belyaev. - St. Petersburg - Murmansk: Argest LLC, 2004. - P. 89.
• Kolychev Nikolay Vladimirovich // Writers of the Arctic: To the 30th anniversary of the Murmansk writers' organization: Bibliographic reference book. - Murmansk: MGOUNB, 2008. - pp. 52-60.
• Belousov V. Farmer writes poems / V. Belousov // Polar Truth. - 1991. - March 12. - P. 3.
• Galyudkin V. It’s good that he exists in the world...: Instead of a review / V. Galyudkin // Polar Truth. - 1989. - April 10. - P. 3.
• Gulidov E. Images. From life - to life / E. Gulidov // Severomorskaya Pravda. - 1991. - September 21.
• Dvoretskaya G. A poet in Russia is more than a poet / G. Dvoretskaya // Murm. messenger - 1998. - October 7. - P. 3.
• The soul of the poet and the artist: A study of creativity // Missionary Orthodox newspaper. - 2011. - No. 11-12.
• Evgrafov V. my friend Kolya Kolychev / V. Evgrafov //Evening Murmansk. - 2000. - July 21. - P. 5.
• Zolottsev S. And it’s becoming more and more difficult to believe in luck... / V. Zolottsev // North. - 1989. - No. 2. - P. 115-111.
• Ivanov G. About Nikolai Kolychev / Ivanov G. // Kolychev N. V. Harmony of contradictions: Poems. - Murmansk, Prince. publishing house, 2007. - P.7-8.
• Ivanov G. New minutes are coming: Notes on modern poetry. N. Kolychev // Roman-newspaper. XXI Century. 1999. No. 3. P. 78-79.
• Kolycheva V. M. Hyunynen - N. Kolychev: Experience of mutual translation // Literature and culture of the Kola and European North of the second half of the 20th - beginning of the 21st century: Collection of scientific articles and seminar materials, Responsible editor. Pozhidaeva O.V., Naumlyuk M.V. - Murmansk, Moscow State University for Humanities, 2011. - P. 32-37.
• Kondratiev V. Songs beg into the hearts / V. Kondratiev // Murm. Vestn. - 1998. - 31 Oct. - With. 4.
• Kondratyev V. Sensation: a Poet lives next to us! / V. Kondratiev // Sov. Murman. - 1993. - July 21. - P. 3.
• Korzhov D. There are joys in this world! // North. 1999. No. 9. P. 150-157.
• Korzhov, D. A book for all times / Korzhov D. // Murmansk coast: lit. almanac. - 2006. - No. 3. - P. 216-221.
• Korzhov D. Krestyansky Mayakovsky // Murmansk Bulletin. - 2013. - December 21.
• Korzhov D. Turning mortal life into poetry / D. Korzhov // Murm. Vestn. - 1997. - January 11. - P. 6.
• Korzhov D. Hear, country, its poets. / D. Korzhov //Murm. messenger - 1999. - November 24. - P. 3, 4.
• Kudimova M. Kolychevo section: Preface // Kolychev N.V. Ugly: Poems/ N.V. Kolychev. Il. A. Sergienko. - Murmansk, 2013.

Poets fall into the sky
When it's hard for them on earth.
N. Kolychev

The sky is gray, the sky is sad.
The meadow is withered and the forest is scared.
Swans and geese are crying
And they flow across the sky to the south.

Birds cry - it hurts my heart,
That's why behind the sharp wedge
A man ran across the field
From the shack, from the cattle.

From a wife bent over with labor,
From the children, following the screaming ones,
From a stack of rotten hay...
He wanted to fly over the thicket.

He wanted to embrace the heights,
He wanted to part with the arable land,

Above yourself - funny and scary.

And he thrust his hands into the sky
With a cry almost like a crane,
And they branched in sweet flour
The strings lived on a long neck.

“I’ll fly away!” - and with this faith
He ran, flying into freedom...
And fell into a gray lump
On the edge of the native field.

My dear wife came up,
She took her head in her hands:
-Where did you run?
- Don't know.
- What did you want?
- I do not remember.

Spiritual poetry of Nikolai Kolychev

The other day I discovered a thin book - “Spiritual Poetry of the North.” I don't remember where I got it from. Looking through this collection, I noticed the poems of Nikolai Kolychev. Musical (later I found out that many songs were written based on his poems) and poignant... Real spiritual poems. I became interested and went online...
It turns out that Nikolai Vladimirovich Kolychev is one of the most famous Murmansk poets. And after I began to read his poems, I realized that he is one of the most widely read poets of modern Russia. Poems by N.V. Kolychev about the soul, about life, about faith can be found on many Internet pages. And I myself have already come across his poem “White Angel”.

Today I want to offer a selection of spiritual poems by Nikolai Vladimirovich Kolychev and give a few facts from his biography. You can get acquainted with the poet and his work in more detail. The same page provides links to other resources of the poet.

Biography of Nikolai Kolychev

Nikolay Kolychev was born in Murmansk in 1959. Studied at a music school. I searched for myself for a long time, entered a nautical school, where I studied for 3 years, changed several professions, became the first Murmansk farmer, but the farm went bankrupt. He worked in Norway, and Kandalaksha became the place where Nikolai was born as a poet. The author has no professional literary education. He speaks from the soul.

The spiritual formation of Nikolai Kolychev occurred largely thanks to the former abbot of the Trifonov-Pechenga monastery Aristarchus (by the way, Abbot Aristarchus took part in the compilation of this collection - “Spiritual Poetry of the North” and it was published by the Trifonovsky Pechenga Monastery). The poet's poems are permeated with love for the Motherland, light sadness, kindness and, of course, the search for oneself. There has never been an abundance of good spiritual verses (as well as good verses in general). Therefore, verses such as revelation...
N.V. Kolychev has been a member of the Russian Writers' Union since 1991. Author of many books published in Murmansk and Russia. Sings songs based on his poems. Many people come to meet him. And it pleases. “Feeding the soul with base, vulgar, disgusting things is the same as feeding the body with imported “man-eating additives.” “The more you eat, the more you lose weight.” The soul will lose weight, the soul will become impoverished and disappear altogether.

Nikolai Kolychev is a laureate of the Grand Literary Prize of the Union of Writers of Russia, the All-Russian Prizes “Ladoga” named after A. Prokofiev, “Inexorable Vertograd” named after. N. Tryapkin, Baev-Podstanitsky, “Golden Pen of Russia” (twice), “Open Book” library prize. Lives and works in Murmansk. His spiritual poetry has helped and continues to help many people in the most difficult moments of their lives. Can you imagine my happiness when I was able to have an interview with this wonderful person? I think the interview turned out amazing! If you liked the author’s poems, come and read. Not only, but also the poet’s reasoning, it seems to me, will not leave anyone indifferent!

Spiritual poems by Nikolai Kolychev

Gray mosses of the woodland...

Gray mosses of the woodland
I went out onto the hill tiredly
And I was stupefied - at this place
Something was sorely missing.

The faded distances have withered,
And I felt it in my back:
The sun was burning, falling,
An autumn leaf, there, behind me.

And my shadow on the bare hill
Suddenly it began to grow, branch,
And the voice became louder than the wind,
And a bird sat on my shoulder.

I wanted to touch myself
But he arched over in a creaking groan,
And a leaf, a reminder of the sun,
He rolled off the branch as if from the palm of his hand.

A hot leaf rolled across the sky,
The burn of the sunset was burning...
And it hurt me. I understand:
There used to be a tree here.

Angel white

Beggar, beggar...
Life punished me with birth.
Big-eyed girl -
A beggar at the station.

A dress with thin legs,
A little face... and a handful of pain -
Fragile boat palm
Splashes in the people's grief.

Filled with red sunshine,
The stuffy city was suffocating.
And he flew away, unheard of by the crowd,
Baby babble from bluish lips:

"White angel, white angel,
Take me to heaven to my mother..."
The look was filled with Vera,
The mind was flowing with tears.

But we are driven by faceless evil,
A mixture of men and women
Flowed silently past
Girls gone crazy.

"White angel, white angel..."
Large-winged splash in the gaze, -
“In this world the good one is poor,
And the rich are angry and greedy..."

A skinny ringing sound fell at her feet
Mercy worth a penny.
And the eyes were looking for a glance,
And the soul asked for Words!..

To her, in the madness of melancholy, I
I couldn't get through my heart.
Eyes shouldn't be like that
Sprout on children's faces.

I stood dumbfounded
Calling upon death a miracle:
"White angel, white angel,
Get me out of here!

* * *

God didn't reject me. I have rejected God...

God didn't reject me. I have rejected God.
But in vain I looked for love between people.
The spirit is crushed. Heart breaks...
Bless me, Lord! Accept the sacrifice!

How long can you cherish a vicious soul?
To feed the damned pride shame...
I have erected a temple of sin. But I will destroy it
To build an eternal, unshakable temple.

The millstone of memory grinds terribly in a circle,
And the burning flame of shame stings me.
Healing the soul is penitential torment,
But even Christ suffered in order to be resurrected!

Be naked, soul! Shame on you, naked
To painfully scrape off the sinful dirt...
Christ is merciful, but he also rejects
Those who do not want to save themselves.

It’s not a sin to make mistakes, but are our mistakes good for us?

It’s not a sin to make mistakes, but are our mistakes good for us?
The dust on the road behind us will not settle soon...
And I looked back. And he cursed the unclear past.
And he killed the future with this hasty curse.

Everything passes, but memory is cruel and unforgiving,
Nothing can be corrected from the past, nothing can be forgotten.
I now understand that I wanted to be loved too much,
That’s why I couldn’t love unselfishly until now.

I now understand that there is no absolute knowledge,
That great wisdom is like going crazy.
I now understand: you can’t rebuild a building,
If you have nowhere else to live, and winter is knocking on your door.

I now understand that there is no absolute happiness,
And especially happiness built on blood...
I didn't believe in power, and now I don't believe in anarchy,
I didn’t believe in love, but now I can’t live without love.