On the night of December 27, '25, Sergéj Aleksándrovič Esénin wrote a farewell poem with his own blood: "До свиданья, друг мой, до свиданья" (Goodbye, my friend, goodbye), then he hanged himself; he was thirty years old...
Carmelo Bene - Morte di Un Poeta (Esenin) « Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.
My dear, you are in my heart.
This predestined departure
Promises that we will meet again.
Goodbye, my friend, without a hand, without a word
No pain and no sadness in the eyebrows.
In this life, dying is not a novelty,
but, certainly, living isn't either. »
Angelo Branduardi - Confessioni Di Un Malandrino (Live -Antwerpen) "I like to walk disheveled
With my head on my shoulders like a light
So I enjoy brightening
Your autumn without feathers
I like that the hailstones fall on my face
The dense hail of insults
I grab myself just to feel alive
From the shell of my hair
And in my mind comes back that pond
Which reeds and moss have submerged
And my parents who don’t know they have
A son who writes verses
But love me like fields
Like skin and seasonal rain
Rarely will someone who offends me
Escape the points of the pitchfork
Poor peasant parents
Surely you have aged and still fear
The Lord of heaven and the marshes
Parents who will never understand
That today your son has become
The first among the poets of the Country
And now in patent leather shoes
And with a top hat on his head, he walks
But within him survives the frenzy
Of an old country rogue
And at every butcher shop sign
The cow bows to her companion
And when he meets a carter
He remembers his native hide
And would like the tail of the roan
To be held like a wedding train
I love my homeland
Though afflicted with rusty trunks
I cherish the dirty snouts of pigs
And the sighing toads in the shade
I am sick of childhood and memories
And of fresh April twilights
It almost seems that the maple bends
To warm up and then sleep
From the nest of that tree, the eggs
To steal, I would climb to the top
But its crown will always be new
And its bark as tough as before
And you, my dear old dog friend,
Faint and blind have you made by old age
And you roam with your tail down in the yard
Unaware of the doors of the granaries
I cherish my mischiefs as a rascal
When I used to steal a bit of bread at home
And we ate like two brothers
A crumb for the man and one for the dog
I haven't changed
The heart and thoughts are the same
On the magnificent carpet of verses
I want to tell you something that touches you
Good night to the sickle of the moon
Yes, quiet while the air becomes dusky
From my window, I want to shout
Against the disk of the moon
The night is so clear
Here perhaps even dying doesn't hurt
What does it matter if my spirit is perverse
And from my back dangles a lantern
O decrepit and kind Pegasus
Your gallop is now aimless
I arrived like a solitary master
And I sing and celebrate just the rats
From my head like ripe grapes
Drips the"
