Под лаской плюшевого пледа...

Nastoi͡ashchiĭ sbornik sostavili stikhotvorenii͡a Mariny T͡Svetaevoĭ, v osnovnom napisannye v ėmigrat͡sii. Vo vtoroĭ i tretiĭ razdely voshli preimushchestvenno proizvedenii͡a iz poslednego prizhiznennogo sbornika 1940 goda, kotoryĭ eĭ ne udalosʹ napechatatʹ. A v pervom chitatelʹ naĭdët stikhi, davno stavshie izvestnymi pesni͡ami: "Mne nravitsi͡a, chto Vy bolʹny ne mnoĭ", "Pod laskoĭ pli͡ushevogo pleda", "Vchera eshche v glaza gli͡adel" i drugie. Navernoe, nikto iz poėtov Serebri͡anogo veka tak pronzitelʹno i otkrovenno, s takoĭ ėmot͡sionalʹnoĭ tochnostʹi͡u, kak M. T͡Svetaeva, ne napisal o sebe, o zhizni, o tvorchestve i o li͡ubvi. Ee poėticheskie stroki voskhishchai͡ut virtuoznostʹi͡u sozdanii͡a, slog zavorazhivaet, obrazy potri͡asai͡ut voploshcheniem.

This collection consists of poems by Marina Tsvetaeva, mostly written in exile. The second and third sections mainly include works from the last lifetime collection of 1940, which she failed to print. And in the first one, the reader will find poems that have long become famous songs: "I like that you are not sick of me", "Under the caress of a plush blanket", "Yesterday I looked into my eyes" and others. Probably none of the poets of the Silver Age wrote about themselves, about life, about creativity and about love so piercingly and frankly, with such emotional accuracy as M. Tsvetaeva. Her poetic lines delight with the virtuosity of creation, the syllable is mesmerizing, the images are stunning in their embodiment.