Felix Krivin biography. Krivin Felix Davidovich

Felix Davydovich Krivin born on June 11, 1928 in Mariupol in the family of a military man.

In 1933, the family moved to Odessa. In 1945, after the evacuation, he came to Izmail, where he worked as an apprentice mechanic and then as a mechanic on the self-propelled barge “Edelweiss” of the Danube Shipping Company; night proofreader for the newspaper Pridunayskaya Pravda (his first poems were published here), radio journalist for the Izmail Regional Radio Committee, and graduated from evening high school. In 1951 he graduated from the Kiev Pedagogical Institute.

In 1951-1954 he worked as a teacher in Mariupol and got married there. In 1954-1955 - lived in Kyiv.

In 1955 he moved to Uzhgorod. Worked as editor of the Transcarpathian regional publishing house.

In 1962 he was admitted to the Writers' Union of Ukraine.

In 1998 he moved to Israel and lives in Beer Sheva.

In 1990 - laureate of the Republican Prize named after V. G. Korolenko.

In 2006 - laureate of the independent literary “Russian Prize” of Subcarpathian Ruthenia.

Excerpts from the autobiography from the book in the series “Anthology of Satire and Humor in 20th Century Russia”, supplemented by the author himself:

“I was born in the happy year of 1928, June 11th. If the sum of the two left digits is equal to the sum of the two right ones, the year is considered lucky. And in the death certificate issued to me at birth, death was crossed out, and instead it was written that I was born. It's unlikely you'll be so lucky again.

The place where I was born was also happy: the port of departure was really a port - Mariupol, Donetsk region.

After the death of my father, who did not swim out of the Black Sea, we moved to Odessa, and I kept hoping that my father would swim out. It was an unlucky year - 1933, many did not emerge from it, even on land.

In the next happy year (1+9+3+7) they said about my father that he got off happily. It turned out to be such a happy year.

The war found me in the Danube city of Izmail - the third port after Mariupol and Odessa. It also turned out to be a port of departure, but one that couldn’t be worse.

Evacuation is a departure into the unknown, about which all we know is that we are not expected there. But at the end of the journey we were able to stop, settle down, and I even went to school and graduated from the 6th grade.

Upon returning to Izmail in 1945, I finally used this port for its intended purpose: I set sail on the self-propelled barge “Edelweiss” as an apprentice and then as a motorman of the Danube Shipping Company.

The third happy year was the post-war year (1+9+4+6). Having gone ashore, I worked as a night proofreader for the newspaper Pridunayskaya Pravda. And a little later there, as a literary worker and even later as a radio journalist for the Izmail Regional Radio Committee. In the evenings I went to school, which was called evening school. At the very beginning of this year, my poems were published for the first time in the newspaper.

Then I studied at the Kiev Pedagogical Institute (Faculty of Language and Literature - Russian Department), and upon graduation in 1951 I was sent as a teacher to the starting port of Mariupol, together with another student, who became my wife. She was from Kiev and, of course, missed Kiev, but we were able to return there only after three years, having served the required period.

Kyiv didn't recognize me. He didn’t want to hire me anywhere. And in the year of the same innocent Horse, I found myself unemployed.

But after the Year of the Horse came the happy 1955. Year of the Happy Scapegoat from Kyiv to Uzhgorod for publishing work. There he worked as editor of the Transcarpathian regional publishing house from 1955 to 1964. During this time, he managed to become a member of the Writers' Union of Ukraine in 1962. When you have a job, you can look around, look around. I looked and saw a fabulous paradise. But, as happens in life, there were many things that were too early to write fairy tales, and I began to write half-fairy tales. The book “In the Land of Things” was published in Moscow, and “Pocket School” was published in Uzhgorod. About the next happy year, 1973, I can say that I got off happily - after the book “Imitation of the Theater” was put under the knife. At that time there was nothing wrong with this. In 1990 - laureate of the Republican Prize named after V.G. Korolenko - a year before the happy 1991, and this happens.

In 1998, he left for permanent residence in Israel. I live in Beer Sheva, earn a living from a pension and infrequent performances in front of audiences. Member of the Union of Russian-Speaking Writers of Israel.

And so I look back on my life. It was a good life, although not always suitable for life. A happy life is a barrel of ointment, into which a fly in the ointment must certainly be added for spice, but it happens that they are confused and a fly in the ointment is put in the ointment.

But one thing worries me - 1991 was the last happy year in the past century, and in the 21st there will be only three. There were nine in the 20th century - and it was not a honey century, and if there are only three happy years - how then can our descendants live?

It’s good that not everything depends on the sum of the numbers and the contents of the barrel and spoon. People will live, communicate, laugh, which means everything will be fine.”

Hey, what are you drawing in the sand? - I'm calculating. Did you know that if you find a fulcrum, you can turn the globe upside down? -Turn the globe over? Wow, there is something to this thought! From an ancient conversation Do not touch, do not touch his circles! Do not touch the circles of Archimedes!.. One of the visiting Roman enemies enters into a conversation with the scientist: - Why talk about such a trifle? - the legate asks with a smile. “You base your calculations on sand, on soil, especially unsteady.” He said - and heard the old man answer: - Soldier, excuse me. But wisdom is alive even in shifting sands, and stupidity is dead even in granite. “You, I see, are a master of beautiful words,” the legate concluded the conversation. “Old man, I will not touch your circles.” He said - and killed Archimedes. History is rushing at full speed, it has only worries: the Archimedes are already burning at the stake, ascending to the scaffold... They, the Archimedes, are laying bricks, conceding victory to others... And now, as before, it sounds over the world: DO NOT TOUCH THE CIRCLES OF ARCHIMEDES !

1-02. Carthage

As soon as Carthage arose, they began to talk that it should be destroyed. “We have run out of funds for construction, and no funds have been used for destruction,” they said in the Roman Senate. “Therefore, sadly, there is no other choice: Carthage must be destroyed.” The Romans agreed with regret and began to little by little destroy Carthage. The matter was complicated by the fact that the inhabitants of Carthage, little versed in the budgetary difficulties of the alien Roman Empire, greatly slowed down the destruction of their city. - Carthage must be destroyed! - they talked in the Roman Senate a year later. - Carthage must be destroyed! - they talked there three years later. The Roman budget was experiencing difficulties. And together with him, the inhabitants of the distant city of Carthage experienced difficulties.