Family stories: Inna Bronstein and Yakov Bunimovich. “Psychological pills of optimism and bliss” from Inna Bronstein Don’t laugh at your grandmother in a shiny jacket

Inge Löök and Inna Bronstein
Famous cheerful old ladies who don’t want to grow old,
they were made by Finnish artist Inge Löök
The author of the poems is Inna Bronstein, an old woman of 80 years old. Former history teacher,
lives in Minsk and writes, as they are dubbed online, “pills for despondency.”


What a blessing to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, it means you are alive.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!


Use your feet to go to the toilet.
And then head back
And quickly dive under the blanket.
And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up
And walk, talk and breathe again.

What bliss it is to walk through the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - mini molecule of bliss
In the flow of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny jacket.

What bliss it is to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You will read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you - thanks to sclerosis.

What bliss it is to walk through the forest,
At the same time, lick the chocolate-covered popsicle.
After all, after breakfast I’m on a diet for an hour,
And I deserve these joys.
I'll burn off calories while walking,
And that means I’ll be back for food by lunchtime.

What a bliss it is to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair,
But just a fright and a little shake-up.
Now you will agree with me, friends,
That, after all, I am very lucky.

What bliss, you know it yourself,
When you lie down and are already falling asleep.
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning,
No insomnia! I'm falling asleep... Hurray!

What bliss in old age
Do not go on the Internet with your own hands,
Quietly look for your man
In ancient volumes from the century before last.

What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in our house it’s nice and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!

What a bliss it is to stand in the shower,
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I dealt with it myself.
I feel so good! Don't go crazy...

What bliss: my hand hurt,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if my right hand ached?
Let us note that I have been lucky in life so far.
And even when fate gets it,
In order to still be blissful, there will be a reason.

What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you,
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know, if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.

What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And drink this bliss to the last drop.

And then stretch out your legs, groaning,
But to wake up the next day and hit the road!
So all pedestrians seem to be in bliss.
Where do drivers find joy?

What bliss it is to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the prescription.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects: dystonia,

Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infections...
I'll throw these pills away right away.

And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.

What bliss it is to crawl from the market
And it’s awesome to carry a banana in your bag.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
What a banana lifts our mood.

How happily monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.

Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - hugging a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
And I came up with the lines to laugh.

What bliss fate has given me
– I forgot my bag and then found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street
And then I continue on the tram mindlessly.
I grabbed it, came back and - a miracle happens
- The girl is returning my bag to me!

Today I not only found a loss
–I have regained faith in people!
Out of a thousand good people there is only one scoundrel.
You can live, and I lived to see my gray hairs.

I glance at the bag with happy glances,
And I don’t need other bliss today.
And if I hadn’t lost my purse,
Why on earth would I become blissful?

What bliss! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my amazed friends.
And like a queen in the backseat
I sit in a delightful stupor.

And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back of the head is cute with a golden tail.
Will not experience such bliss
Only those who habitually drive around in cars.

What a blessing it is to have a voucher
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled and sick walk by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,

And I, among others, also - oh-ho-ho!
So far nothing hurts me.
And if it hurts, it’s only a little bit.
I just made my way to the doctor.

What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.

And then forget that I was waiting for change
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything was forgotten, and the mind fell asleep...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!

80-year-old Minsk resident Inna Yakovlevna Bronstein invented a pill for despondency. What nonsense, you might think? Don't rush to jump to conclusions! The entire editorial staff broke into a smile when we came across the work of this beautiful old lady.

Having experienced more than one bitter tragedy, having lost her son and husband, this amazing woman began to write poetry. Ironic and heartfelt poems make absolutely everyone they see smile.

Do you remember the biting “gariki” of Igor Guberman? Then "So simple!" strongly recommends that you swallow amazing “Pills of Optimism” by Inna Bronstein, which will become a real cure for many.

Inna Bronstein

What bliss it is to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the prescription.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects: dystonia,
Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infections...
I'll throw these pills away right away.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.

What bliss it is to walk through the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
In the flow of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny jacket.

What a blessing to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, it means you are alive.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!

What bliss in old age
Use your feet to go to the toilet.
And then head back
And quickly dive under the blanket.
And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up.
And walk, talk and breathe again.

What bliss! In my old age I know
That I won’t lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
It's worse for beauties. But that's their business.
For them, this is fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hang in there, poor things!

What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you,
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
You know, if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.

What bliss it is to crawl from the market
And it’s awesome to carry a banana in your bag.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
What a banana lifts our mood.
How happily monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.
Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - hugging a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
And I came up with the lines to laugh.

What a blessing it is to hear the call
And there’s such a beloved voice on the phone,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is fine, and the bell is a custom.
What a blessing it is to find out and answer!
I don’t need any other happiness in the world.
The invention of the wizard Bell,
Oh my phone, you are a great thing!

What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in our house it’s nice and warm,
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!

What a blessing it is to see an advertisement.
Think about how much trash there is,
Which I don’t need at all.
I am completely satisfied with what I have.
And how much do I save, guys?
without buying “Sorti” and pads!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?

What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for change,
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything was forgotten, and the mind fell asleep...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!

Inna Yakovlevna Bronstein is an amazing woman. She is already well over 80. In her previous life, she was a history teacher... She lives in Minsk.

Having experienced more than one tragedy, having lost her son and husband, at the age of 80, the Minsk pensioner began writing poetry. Well, not exactly poetry in the generally accepted sense. These are rather rhymes, bitter, ironic, but warming to everyone who comes across these lines.

Inna Yakovlevna, one might say, invented her own philosophical system, which forbids despondency and limpness. The system, at first glance, is simple: actively seek and find reasons to rejoice in life. Let them be inconspicuous. Even the most insignificant ones!

Inna Yakovlevna admits that for her these “bliss” (most of her short poems begin with the words “what bliss!”) have become a kind of “psychological pill” against the virus of loneliness and hopeless sadness. A medicine that can be useful to many...

Maybe these verses will now help you too? Read it! And may God grant the author of these amazing lines mental strength and physical health.

Beatitudes of Inna Bronstein

What a blessing to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, it means you are alive.

And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!

***
What bliss in old age
Use your feet to go to the toilet.
And then head back
And quickly dive under the blanket.

And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up
And walk, talk and breathe again.

***
What bliss it is to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the prescription.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects: dystonia,

Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infections...
I'll throw these pills away right away.

And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.

***
What bliss it is to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You will read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you - thanks to sclerosis.

***
What a bliss it is to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair,
But just a fright and a little shake-up.

Now you will agree with me, friends,
That I’m still very lucky.

***
What bliss it is to walk through the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - a molecule of mini-bliss
In the flow of natural imperfection.

And different joys will meet more often...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny jacket.

***
What bliss it is to walk through the forest,
At the same time, lick the chocolate-covered popsicle.
After all, after breakfast I’m on a diet for an hour,
And I deserve these joys.

I'll burn off calories while walking,
And that means I’ll be back for food by lunchtime.

And how much do I save, guys?
without buying “Sorti” and pads!
But only a reasonable question arises:
Where are the millions saved?

***
What bliss! In my old age I know
That I won’t lose all my beauty.
You can't lose what you didn't have.
It's worse for beauties. But this is their business.

For them, this is fitness, diet, braces.
I feel sorry for them. Well then! Hang in there, poor things!

***
What bliss, you know it yourself,
When you lie down and are already falling asleep.
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning.
No insomnia! I'm falling asleep... Hurray!

***
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in our house it’s nice and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!

***
What a bliss it is to stand in the shower,
Wash and become clean again,
And to know that I dealt with it myself.
I feel so good! Don't go crazy...

***
What bliss: my hand hurt,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if my right hand ached?
Let us note that I have been lucky in life so far.

And even when fate gets it,
In order to still be blissful, there will be a reason.

***
What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you,
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.

You know, if you need a reason for joy,
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.

***
What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And drink this bliss to the last drop.

And then stretch out your legs, groaning,
But to wake up the next day and hit the road!
So all pedestrians seem to be in bliss.
Where do drivers find joy?

***
What bliss it is to crawl from the market
And it’s awesome to carry a banana in your bag.
No wonder doctors everywhere say
What a banana lifts our mood.

How happily monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.

Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - hugging a banana.
Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
And I came up with the lines to laugh.

***
What bliss fate has given me -
I forgot my bag and then found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street
And then I continue on the tram mindlessly.

She grabbed it, came back and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!
Today I not only found a loss -
I have regained faith in people!

Out of a thousand good people there is only one scoundrel.
You can live, and I lived to see my gray hairs.
I glance at the bag with happy glances,
And I don’t need other bliss today.

And if I hadn’t lost my purse,
Why on earth would I become blissful?

***
What bliss! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my amazed friends.
And like a queen in the backseat
I sit in a delightful stupor.

And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back of the head is cute with a golden tail.
Will not experience such bliss
Only those who habitually drive around in cars.

***
What a blessing it is to have a voucher
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled and sick walk by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,

And I, among others, also - oh-ho-ho!
So far nothing hurts me.
And if it hurts, it’s only a little bit.
I just made my way to the doctor.

***
What a blessing it is to hear the call
And there’s such a beloved voice on the phone,
Male or female, or maybe girlish,
That everything is fine, and the bell is a custom.

What a blessing it is to find out and answer!
I don’t need any other happiness in the world.
The invention of the wizard Bell,
Oh my phone - you are a great thing!

***
What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.

And then forget that I was waiting for change
And crawl gradually without incident.
And everything was forgotten, and the mind fell asleep...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!

***
My hopeless, bitter fate,
Useless to anyone, I live to live.
Death is delayed, which means we must live
And to find different “bliss” in life.

I just don't want to torment my friends with tears.
It's still more fun with stupid "bliss"

Family stories

Inna Bronstein
Yakov Bunimovich

“She lost her son in 1994. The son was 31 years old. He died in his sleep. In the morning she went to work, thinking that he was sleeping, but he was already dead. The cause of death has not been established. Yakov also wrote poetry. When they come to Inna, she talks about Yakov..."

“There are also excerpts from letters from Yasha’s acquaintances - among them the brilliant miniaturist Devi Tushinski)” (from letters).

* * *

Yakov Bunimovich was born on July 26, 1962. Graduated from the Minsk Radio Engineering Institute and GITIS. On two sites - and - his girlfriend left his poems:

“I’m his friend and I just laid it all out. Actually, the source has dried up. Because he was not a poet and did not categorically consider himself one. I wrote for friends on scraps of paper. But I am absolutely sure that if there is poetry - real, simple and pure - then it is these scraps - raw, written impromptu.”

And I selected some of them for our publication.

* * * In a dream, I launched letters into the sky. Literally. Like kites. The letter “A” resembled a thin piece of ice from the daylight moon. The appearance of the letter “B” nearby was reminiscent of an epic, the meeting of Odysseus and Penelope. Something right came out of the swaying of five balloons “S”, “L”, “O”, “V”, “O”. Like the name of the store "LIGHT".

And now I'm left alone in the room

And so I am left alone in a room with an open window on a white sheet of paper a blank verse is imprinted an invisible imprint of sadness the fear of typos makes me attentive elegiac I add a space for fear of illegibility an extra space The sad fate of this poem is similar to our meeting today which did not take place because you did not call me and you don’t call even now when the anticipation is filled with the uneven knock of the typewriter on the closed door of silence. The fate of this poem is sad from the very beginning

In the waiting room
(especially for the newspaper “WE”)

In fact, in the waiting room. In fact, especially for the newspaper “We”. Uncontrived. That's what's precious. The ability not to invent. Metaphor and document, the point of coincidence between art and life. Night waiting room in the small Belarusian town of Orsha. Waiting for the train to St. Petersburg. Waiting for inspiration. What is inspiration? Some special inhalation and the need to exhale, to speak, to communicate. Or just watch with bated breath. This country is the country of Inspiration. At least this is the Great Hall of Waiting for Inspiration. Because otherwise you can’t take a step here - without Poetry, without Love, without the Artist’s Intuition... Otherwise - longing. “You can’t understand Russia with your mind” - that’s for sure. You can’t move here with your mind, or you can move with your mind. Or, having come to your senses, you will move far away, grabbing some junk - solving other problems, solving other riddles, leaving the bearded sphinx alone on Revolution Square. (He really looks like a sphinx, with his riddle about man and his claim to eternity - this monument to the founder of Marxism. Only recently I noticed how “Egyptian” it is, especially in profile - the head gradually turning into a block of stone. And just as suddenly archaic in surrounded by boys on roller skates... The Pyramids of Cheops with a dancing Michael Jackson. Exotic.) (So I bought some coffee at the buffet to cheer myself up.)

And yet this seems to be the theme every time

And yet this seems to be a theme every time, especially when the wind drives away the darkness and the blue sky peeks through and the special lighting seems to matter. A smile on the face of the house opposite and I can’t sit at home opposite, I look out the window there, the fresh wind takes off the gray cover and the skies are the same Blue a notebook, a white cloud-blotter, or to put it another way - a shirt of different shades, or if you just say - there is wind outside, then a cloud-like tablecloth, then clouds are flying across the sky, then the sun is shining.

For a fee without cronyism
can't get Plato

You can’t get Plato for a fee without cronyism, and there’s tons of waste paper. But I’m not talking about the fact that not everything in my house is volumes - there is a languor of the mind - a craving for the simple and ingenious... Okay, let’s return to the real world. Genius comes from the word “genes”, but we are not mannequins where we are placed (in the manner of the crocodile Genes, demonstrating our heredity). Spontaneity is important in life. Here I am walking single - “holy bonds” are beyond my means, but I throw myself at the feet of the Muse, like Dasaev and Don Guan, like Yesenin to the autumn Duncan Sometimes (yes!) I touch the feet of the goddess, I wake up - they are abandoned, Bye!.. On Parnassus Pegasus races There the stern eye of the immortal classic evaluates the trotter... And the poets crowd around the cash register as if they were catching the opinion of an expert!

Wizards

Wizards recognize each other by their faces, they travel through capitals, rush through the streets here and there, they hurry and run to where they will be called: Wizards!.. And this is Joy and this is Work - Wizards And their movements are like in ballet, they smile like children to the people around and suddenly, as if there was a brighter light in this world, these must be these wizards And - like a life preserver, a Friend appears

Comrade…
(dedication to Zhora Dubovets)

Comrade... / I would like to say: “Comrade, believe!..” / Girl!.. / but it would be better: “Daughter...” / My friend! I'm sitting at the table. I get up from the table. My friend! Who says "bummer"? Our place is in the ranks. I admire the light bulb, I open the window, I look at the clock, a friend brings me slippers, a friend offers me vodka, alcohol and sausages. But I tell him: My friend! But I say: Comrade! But I say: listen! Let's make some tea! and fruits appear and vegetables appear and a record called “Chaif” appears, and little Marinka and her dad get a buzz.

Santa Claus played the clarinet

Santa Claus played the clarinet. Rare passers-by threw rubles. The steps sounded as confident as the clatter of a typewriter. The baby spoke more clearly. The window opened. Sometimes... Sometimes ellipses or footsteps outside the window A dog barking He couldn’t Explain why He Why not I The cranes kept their noses in the wind Reflection of multi-colored windows in the puddles The movement of the curtain could be called ballet. Liszt danced like a girl in the gallery. They sit her down and say Quietly This should have had a name reflection echo Without this everything would have lost its meaning He would like to listen beautifully like someone who is loved generously and unselfishly without understanding anything about rhymes and intervals But this... But this had no name like any genuine movement He lacked other others He turned off the machine and sat in silence. Sometimes I felt something like a feeling of hunger It could be a story with the touch of a phone ringing Movement towards people It had no name...

When you launch like a boomerang

When you launch a line into the unknown like a boomerang with the hope of the unknown as divine inspiration given to a fool, do not express impatience. The time will come to reap the harvest - you need to sow the feeling of a dead tree, do not decorate it - this is not art. It’s better to look at the sun’s rays, which we haven’t noticed for a long time, jump out and, not knowing sadness, become wonderfully silent.

Song of the Desert Ship
And about his third hump - the Bedouin
Yes, unfortunately even now
Desert paths are dangerous

I walk like a camel through the sandpit. The path is long east to the source. The driver's heart-rending cry: “Water!” He pokes you with a stick, that’s the problem, he pushes you to the side with his heel, and again you have to dodge to the side. Garden and river. From afar there are a lot of people near the willows. The camel's legs hurt like an old man's. (He knows: mirages are just new turns) Going in circles again... It’s a shame for my smart friend! How many days did my mind take me away from my goal? But if so, then who am I? Humpbacked fool? I just can’t understand something: what is the sense of duty? How long will it take to carry his belongings of sorrows? (Oh, this Arab of blue blood is my third artificial hump.) How proud he is, however! I recently learned the truth: Our brother, it turns out, has intuition. the mind can’t even dream of it, huh?

In the end it's always been like this

In the end, it was always like this: a few blank sheets of paper, waiting for inspiration and unwillingness to use punctuation marks. In the end, it was always like this, waiting for a special language of love, a holiday of understanding work, being yourself, discovering friends, rhymes, poetry of life, different forms of love.

"Road. Condition of the road. Movement. A backpack with books on its shoulders. There are so many interesting things around. Stops along the way provide an opportunity to think... about eternal things for people involved in creativity, and indeed for all people: what is inspiration, what moves us... He did not consider himself a poet and wrote for friends on scraps of paper. But I am absolutely sure that if there is poetry in the world - real, simple and pure - then here it is, these lines, written impromptu, filled with air, light and natural, like inhaling and exhaling. They speak for themselves, they are our life... play with words and sounds, lack of punctuation, brevity and clarity of thought, a special gentle mood, unobtrusive trust, unhurriedness and at the same time a huge interest in people, in the world” ( from comments to the poems of Yakov Bunimovich by Minsk resident Gala Lokhova).

Bronshtein Yakov Anatolievich

Born 11/10/1899, Gomel (Poland); Jew; higher education; member/candidate member of the All-Union Communist Party (Bolsheviks); executive secretary, Union of Soviet Writers of the BSSR. Arrested on June 6, 1937. Sentenced: HCAF of the USSR on October 28, 1937, case: 70, 76 of the Criminal Code of the BSSR - member of the Trotskyist organization, organized terrorist activities. group. Sentence: VMN, confiscation of property Executed on October 29, 1937. Burial place: Minsk. Rehabilitated June 27, 1956 Military Collegium Upper. USSR courts ( Belarusian "Memorial")

Bronshtein Yakov Anatolyevich, lit. critic, publicist. Ch.-k. Academy of Sciences of the BSSR (1936). Member Central Executive Committee of the BSSR. In 1918 he volunteered for Kr. Army. After demobilization he worked in the editor's office. gas. "Orlovskaya Pravda". In 1922–26 he studied at the 1st Moscow State University, then at Kommunistiche. Academy in Moscow, at BSU - asp. in Semitology. Since 1930 - scientific. co-workers Institute of Linguistics, Literature and Art of the Academy of Sciences of the BSSR. Gave courses of lectures on Russian and Belarusian history. and ev. liters in Minsk ped. in-those He headed the cafe there. euro literature and language From the mid-20s. actively participated in lit. life, was one of the theorists of RAPP. Author of the book. critical Art. “Attack”, 1930, “Farfestikte positions” (“Fixed positions”), 1934, “Creative problems of the Hebrew. owls poetry", 1936.

* * *

“We can say that it was from Minsk, where the World Conference of Jewish Writers was held recently (in 1931), that the destruction of Yiddish literature began. In 1935, the deputy was arrested and convicted. People's Commissar of Education, journalist Chaim Dunets. In 1936, writer Leib Ziskind was arrested and executed. In 1937, the poets Izi Harik (editor-in-chief of the Stern magazine) and Moshe Kulbak, literary critic Yashe Bronstein, executive editor of the Oktyaber magazine Ilya Osherovich and others (E. Gurevich, Y. Spektor, S. Levin, A. Volobrinsky and others). All of them (including H. Dunts, who was involved in the case) were shot that same year. Many members of their families were also subjected to repression. Traces of their children were lost in shelters for repressed children" ( from Yakov Basin’s article “Bolshevism and Belarusian Jewry”).

Minkina Maria Vladimirovna (Vulfovna).

What a blessing to wake up and know
That you don't have to run to work.
And the coming day is very good,
And if you are sick, it means you are alive.
And old age is not a bad time at all.
Long live the time of freedom! Hooray!

What bliss in old age
Use your feet to go to the toilet.
And then - set off on the way back
And quickly dive under the blanket.
And in the morning wake up, wake up and get up
And walk, talk and breathe again.

What bliss it is to walk through the market
And buy a new jacket one day.
New thing - mini molecule of bliss
In the flow of natural imperfection.
And different joys will meet more often...
Don't laugh at grandma in a shiny jacket.

What bliss it is to lie in bed
And read a good book at night.
You will read familiar prose a hundred times,
And everything is new to you - thanks to sclerosis.

What bliss it is to walk through the forest,
Moreover, you can lick a chocolate-covered popsicle.
After all, after breakfast I’m on a diet for an hour,
And I deserve these joys.
I'll burn off calories while walking,
And that means I’ll be back for food by lunchtime.

What a bliss it is to rise from the asphalt
And know that your unprecedented somersault
Ended up not in a wheelchair,
But just a fright and a little shake-up.
Now you will agree with me, friends,
That, after all, I am very lucky.

What bliss, you know it yourself,
When you lie down and are already falling asleep...
And you will sleep peacefully until the morning,
No insomnia! I'm falling asleep... Hurray!
What bliss when in January
Epiphany frost and snowstorm in the yard,
And in our house it’s nice and warm
And I'm not on the street - I'm lucky!
What a bliss it is to stand in the shower,
Wash and become clean again,

And to know that I dealt with it myself.
I feel so good! Don't go crazy...
What bliss: my hand hurt,
And, most importantly, the left one is a sweet deal!
What if my right hand ached?
Let us note that I have been lucky in life so far.
And even when fate gets it,
In order to still be blissful, there will be a reason.

What bliss - remember it -
When nothing hurts you,
But only, starting to moan in pain,
You can understand such bliss.
But know, (if you need a reason for joy),
That tomorrow everything will be much worse.
What bliss at the end of the journey
In the evening, staggering, crawl home
And sit down and close your eyes with pleasure,
And drink this bliss to the last drop.

And then stretch out your legs, groaning,
But to wake up the next day - and hit the road!
So all pedestrians seem to be in bliss.
Where do drivers find joy?
What bliss it is to come to the pharmacy
And there you can find health according to the prescription.
I bought pills for hypertension
Side effects: dystonia,

Heart attack and bronchitis, stomatitis, arrhythmia,
Constipation, anorexia, leukopenia,
Pemphigus, lichen and other infections...
I'll throw these pills away right away.
And I will immediately be saved from a dozen diseases.
Hypertension is, of course, healthier.
What a bliss it is to crawl from the market,
And it’s awesome to carry a banana in your bag.

No wonder doctors everywhere say
What a banana lifts our mood.
How happily monkeys live in the jungle!
And all because they eat bananas.
But monkeys do not live alone,
And bask in the warm embrace of relatives.
Unlike them, I am alone all the time,
And even today - hugging a banana.

Bliss? Which? Think, brothers!
I made up the lines to laugh.
What bliss fate has given me
- I forgot my bag, and then I found it!
I forgot her on the noisy street,
And then I continue on the tram thoughtlessly.
She grabbed it, came back and - a miracle happens -
The girl returns my bag to me!

Today I not only found a loss
- I have regained faith in people!
Out of a thousand good people there is only one scoundrel.
You can live, and I lived to see my gray hairs.
I glance at the bag with happy glances,
And I don’t need other bliss today.
And if I hadn’t lost my purse,
Why on earth would I become blissful?

What bliss! In a car near the house
I sit down in front of my amazed friends.
And like a queen in the backseat
I sit in a delightful stupor.
And there ahead in a radiant halo
The back of the head is cute with a golden tail.
Will not experience such bliss
Only those who habitually drive around in cars.

What a blessing it is to have a ticket
And sit quietly with him in the clinic.
And the disabled and sick walk by,
Old women, as well as other sufferers,
And I, among others, also - oh-ho-ho!
So far nothing hurts me.
And if it hurts, it’s only a little bit.
I just made my way to the doctor.

What bliss in the soul and in nature,
When nothing happens to us.
But in order to taste such bliss,
You have to somehow survive until old age.
And then forget that I was waiting for change
And, without incident, crawl gradually.
And everything was forgotten, and the mind fell asleep...
What bliss! Hooray! Guard!

Inna Bronstein - Behind the glossy cover of the Beatitudes

Inna Yakovlevna graduated from the Kharkov Pedagogical Institute in 1954. She was offered graduate school, but she, who adored the actress Maretskaya and the film “The Village Teacher,” abandoned her academic career and went to work in a rural school. And he still considers this time the best in his life.

Lost my son and husband. Left completely alone. In order not to go crazy, she composed short poems for herself, most of which began with the words “what bliss!” In fact, she invented a new genre. It turned out that these Beatitudes, in which deep content lies behind the impeccable humorous form, help not only her, but also many others to live. The poems instantly spread around the world thanks to the Internet and won the hearts of readers in different countries: in Belarus and Russia, in Israel and America, in Australia and Germany...

In her room, on a bookshelf next to a photograph of her son Yasha, a drawing by Davy Tushinsky and a small album by Chagall, there is a bust of Yakov Bronstein, father of IYA, by the sculptor Zaire Azgur. Azgur, People's Artist of the USSR, winner of two Stalin Prizes, was friends with Inna Yakovlevna's parents (Azgur studied painting with Marc Chagall at the Vitebsk Art and Practical Institute).

So...
Once upon a time there lived a happy family: father Yakov Bronstein, mother Maria Minkina and two children, five-year-old Inna and two-year-old Roma. Papa Yakov, a graduate of Moscow University, was a well-known literary critic in Belarus, corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences of the BSSR, professor, member of the Union of Writers of the USSR, secretary of the Jewish section of the Union of Belarusian Writers. Mom Maria was a teacher; her books on preschool education are still used in kindergartens.

It seems that this photo was taken after the wedding, 1930, dad told mom: “Marunka, we will never part with you, unless the party demands it.”

They were romantics, Yakov and his friend, the famous Jewish poet Izi Harik, who was considered a classic; his poems were then in all textbooks. By the way, Izy Kharik’s wife, Dina, also worked in a kindergarten and was friends with Inna’s mother Maria, who often helped Dina with her work. The husbands worked almost around the clock. Here, in Minsk, by the 1930s, one of the largest centers of Yiddish culture had formed. Today in the republic no one speaks or thinks in Yiddish, the language is on the verge of complete extinction, a great culture has practically perished... And then literary and cultural life was in full swing, it was the heyday of young Jewish poetry in the country, and they were in the epicenter of this life.

Easy Harik. Photo from the Hesed Museum, Minsk.

...Yakov Bronstein was arrested on June 6, Izi Kharik on September 11, 1937, the arrest warrant was signed by Tsanava himself. Together with Izi Harik, more than 20 people, representatives of the Jewish creative intelligentsia, were arrested. All of them were accused of actions directed against Soviet power. The charges for each were written as a carbon copy: “Undermining state industry, transport, trade, monetary circulation, cooperation, committing terrorist acts, participation in an anti-Soviet organization, participation in a militant terrorist group that prepared and carried out the murder of S.M. Kirov, connection with German and Polish intelligence services, from which he received espionage, sabotage and terrorist assignments, and carried out active counter-revolutionary Trotskyist activities in the field of literature and the press.”

The court verdict, with rare exceptions, was the same for everyone - execution. On the night of October 28-29, NKVD officers shot about a hundred Belarusian cultural figures, among them 22 writers, including Izya Kharik and Yakov Bronstein. Total in Belarus in 20-50. 238 writers were arrested. Only about 20 of them returned from the camps.

Inna's mother Maria Minkina was sent to ALGERIA in 1937. If anyone thinks that this is a hot African resort country, they are mistaken. ALZHIR is the Akmola camp for the wives of traitors to the Motherland. Inna's mother served 8 years in Algeria. Her neighbor in the barracks was Ashkhen Nalbandyan, Bulat Okudzhava’s mother.

5-year-old Inna and her two-year-old brother Roman were sent to different orphanages. NKVD officers came to the house and told the children: “Your dad asked to take you to the cinema.” Grandfather stood in the corner, cried and was silent. Inna remembers how the door was nailed crosswise with boards. Then the distributor, a long line of children, in front, far above the children’s heads, were the white scarves of women who registered and distributed the children to orphanages. Inna held her brother tightly by the hand, this is the only relative who remained for her, a five-year-old, matured girl. The aunties in headscarves said: “You are already big, where you will be there are few toys, but your brother is small, and we will send him to where there are many toys.” One woman grabbed her brother’s hand, and Romain was carried away.

Mom managed to throw a note out of the window of a freight car, which contained the address of her sisters in Moscow and a request to inform them that she was alive and was being taken to the East. So the relatives found out about what had happened and began to look for the children - Romain and Inna. Yakov Minkin, my mother’s brother, was a shock worker. He achieved a meeting with Kalinin, and he gave instructions to provide information about the fate of the children. Relatives found the children, Inna was taken by Aunt Rachel, her father’s sister and her husband Uncle Mark. Roman was taken by his mother's sisters. 17-year-old Lyubushka Kuntsevich, studied at a medical school and worked part-time as a housekeeper for the Bronsteins. When the children were taken to the orphanage, she was at the school. Returning home and seeing the boarded up door, she came to the NKVD to find out where the children were. The policeman simply told her: “Get out of here, otherwise you’ll end up where the Bronsteins are.”

In 2012, Inna Yakovlevna turned 80.
She once told her students: “I am a fossil that has survived everything that I talk about in class...”.