У Северянина есть о себе самом такой сонет:...

Severyanin has such a sonnet about himself:

He is so good because he is not at all
What does the crowd think of him empty
Essentially not reading verses,
Since there are no pineapples and cars in them,
Foxtrot, cinema and lotto -
Here, that's where the flock of people rushes!
Meanwhile, his soul is simple,
Like a spring day. But who knows?
Blessing the world, curse of war
He sends in verse, worthy of recognition,
Sorrowing slightly, sometimes slightly joking
Above the ever-superior planet ...
He is in every song sung from his heart,
The ironic child.

And many of his poems fully confirm this:

You won’t come back to me even for Tamara’s sake,
For the sake of our daughter, babies like a rabbit:
You have summer cottages now, lobster at lunch,
You are now under the protection of the black wing ...
You won’t come back to me: velvet is on you now,
He hides the winglessness of weary shoulders ...
You will not return to me: the predictor on the maps
Redeemed for a cent flash of late rays! ..
You won’t come back to me, even ... even to say goodbye,
But over the coffin, it's a shame you will wet a scarf ...
You won’t come back to me in a quiet chintz dress,
In a dress joyfully miserable, like a penniless flower.
Like a flower ... Do you remember roses from muslin paper?
About the living, not a word by the gravestone!
You will not return to me: dreams are no longer magicians, -
I will die alone, do you understand?!.

Beethoven

Non-incarnate
In silver-clad sonatas
You lonely in exorbitant spending
Souls, the eternal found a motive.
And therefore you will always be alive
Petrified in the foams of the ninth,
Like a truly winged monument,
Whose spirit is an unspeakable impulse.
Creator of Egmont and Leonora,
Now you, leaving your burrows,
Even Vanity is ready to praise,
Gazing blind eyes at your light
The whole world is with you. In response to this honor
Your contemptuous deafness.

Poetry outside subscription

I'm afraid to admit to myself
That I live in such a country
Where a quarter century centered by Nadson,
And I and Mirra are on the sidelines;
Where the taste is so miserable and crushed
What even, is this not an example?
They don’t know how two-syllable Melshin
Baudelaire was compromised;
Where the brilliance and ringing of a career is the ruble,
And the passport of the mind is a diploma;
Where Vrubel is called a decadent
Because the genius is not in the past ...
I am a wolf, and Criticism is a raid!
But I am winged! And for Atlant -
The day will come! - lava will flow -
My ambiguous glory
And unequivocal talent!

Block

Beautiful, like the Vrubel Demon for women,
He seemed like a swan whose feather
Whiter than cloud and silver
Whose stanfriend was, oddly enough, with a jacket ...
Benevolent to smaller and smaller,
Dersal - poetry to see good in evil.
Took off. Failed. He wandered in the wilds.
Loved Love and Death, two crowned.
He searched in vain in the land of love:
She is not here. When did you grin your
Death appeared, he understood: - A stranger ...
At heaven, a slight crunch of steps is heard:
Fits Block. With him - from his poems
Radiant - a wandering bag ...