Philosophical lyrics of Tyutchev. Philosophy in Tyutchev's work

Philosophical lyrics Tyutchev is one of the peaks of Russian philosophical poetry. In his work, high poetry is combined with a philosophical worldview. The depth and strength of his best works is comparable to Pushkin's poetry.

The "hero" of many of Tyutchev's works is the human mind, thirsty for knowledge.

Tyutchev was distinguished not only by a lively and faithful image of nature, but also by its deep philosophical comprehension. Nature interested him in its elemental and cosmic manifestations - in a thunderstorm, in a night, in a storm, in a spring influx and flowering, in formidable gusts of wind, in the light of the sun or in moonlight.

The symbol of purity and truth in Tyutchev's poems is the sky. Without this atmosphere of height and eternity, there is no Tyutchev poetry. He himself says this in the poem "Poetry":

Among thunders, among fires,

Among the seething passions,

In spontaneous, fiery discord,

She flies from heaven to us -

Heavenly to earthly sons...

The pictures of the world drawn by Tyutchev, as a rule, are devoid of strict and exact signs time and place of action. This is characteristic of philosophical poetry in general - it has a non-domestic character. So, Tyutchev's night is grandiose, majestic and tragic. It leaves a person alone with himself and with the terrible mysteries of the universe:

... And the abyss is naked to us With its fears and darkness,

And there are no barriers between her and us -

That's why we are afraid of the night!

The lyrical plot of the poem "Fountain" becomes the languor of the mind, striving for instant insight and realizing the limitations of its capabilities:

About the mortal thought of a water cannon,

O inexhaustible water cannon!

What law is incomprehensible

Does it aspire to you, does it bother you?

How greedily you are torn to the sky!

But the hand is invisibly fatal,

Your refracting stubborn beam,

Sparkles in the spray from a height.

Sometimes the poet seems to get tired of his own concentration on the depths of knowledge. In the poem “No, my addiction to you ...” Tyutchev is freed from the burden of thoughts, from a complex spiritual life and returns to earthly life with its simple joys:

Wander around idle and without purpose And inadvertently, on the fly,

Come across the fresh spirit of chenille

Or a bright dream...

Tyutchev is aware that the translation of philosophical ideas into the language of poetry is unusually difficult, because this is a transition to another dimension, where thought is subject to image, rhyme, rhythm. The poet speaks of this complexity in the poem "Silentium!":

… How can the heart express itself?

How can someone else understand you?

Will he understand how you live?

Thought spoken is a lie.

This poem is also about human disunity, about the impossibility to fully explain oneself even to a person close in spirit.

In his philosophical lyrics, Tyutchev does not just reflect. He pronounces his prophetic word in excitement and torment, makes discoveries, experiences ups and downs. The poet infects us with his feeling and his thought. And we feel the excitement of Tyutchev, the passion of his thoughts, comprehend the restless wisdom of his poems:

O my prophetic soul!

O heart full of anxiety,

Oh how you beat on the threshold

As if a double existence!..

When thinking about the classics and the classics, first of all, “many volumes” involuntarily come to mind. And behind one of the greatest classics of Russian poetry - Fedor Tyutchev - there is only a "small book". But this, in my opinion, only emphasizes the power of the spirit contained in it and the utmost poetic refinement.

Tyutchev began his creative way in that era, which is usually called "Pushkin". But this artist of the word created a completely different type of poetry. Without denying everything that was discovered by his brilliant predecessor, Tyutchev showed Russian literature one more way. If for Pushkin poetry is a way of knowing the world, then for Tyutchev it is an opportunity to listen to the unknowable through the knowledge of the world.
He continues the traditions of Russian philosophical poetry of the 18th century. But Tyutchev's sublime is the very content of life, its general pathos, and not the principles official faith that inspired the "old" poets.

Tyutchev, unlike many, did not perceive Space and Time as something natural, that is, simply unnoticed. He had a vivid sense of Infinity and Eternity as a reality, and not some abstract concepts:

Waking up I hear - and I can not
Imagine such a combination
And I hear the whistle of skids in the snow
And the swallows of spring chirping.

At the heart of this miniature of Tyutchev is a new image, completely uncharacteristic of the poetry of the 19th century, but mastered by the poetry of the 20th century. In this poem, two temporary layers were combined. We can say that the poet uses the technique that cinema now uses - the change of frames.

Tyutchev is the discoverer of new figurative worlds in poetry. The scale of his poetic associations is striking:

How the ocean embraces globe,
Earth life surrounded by dreams...
………………………………………..
The vault of heaven, burning with star glory,
Mysteriously looks from the depths, -
And we're sailing in the burning abyss
Surrounded on all sides.
"How the ocean embraces the globe of the earth...".

One of the main motifs of Tyutchev's poetry is the motif of fragility, the "illusion" of being. “Ghost” is Tyutchev’s usual epithet of the past: “The past, like the ghost of a friend, We want to press it to our chest”, “Oh poor ghost, weak and vague, Forgotten, mysterious happiness.”
The symbol of the illusiveness of life is a rainbow. She is beautiful, but this is only a "vision":

Look - it's already pale,
Another minute, two - and so what?
Gone, as it will go away entirely,
What do you breathe and live.

The feeling of the illusory nature of the world is sharply expressed in such a poem as “Day and Night”. In it all external world realized as a ghostly "veil thrown over the abyss":

But the day fades - the night has come;
Came, and from the fatal world
The fabric of the fertile cover
Tearing off, throwing away...
And the abyss is naked to us
With your fears and darkness
And there are no barriers between her and us -
That's why we are afraid of the night!

The connection between the images of night and chaos, the thought of the night side emphasizes the feeling of loneliness, isolation from the world, deep disbelief. The poet uses the antithesis technique: day - night. He speaks of the illusory nature of the daytime world and the power of the night. The lyrical hero is not able to comprehend the night, but he realizes that this incomprehensible world is nothing but a reflection of his own soul.

Tyutchev's poems are imbued with a philosophical and stoic attitude to life. The motive of loneliness sounds in the poet’s poems about a homeless wanderer, alien to the world (“Wanderer”, “Send, Lord, your joy ...”), about life in the past and the rejection of the present (“My soul is an Elysium of shadows”) and others.

Philosophical search led Tyutchev to the search for human ideals and happiness. These thoughts found expression in the poet's philosophical reflections, landscape-philosophical lyrics and, of course, in love.
Interestingly, the search motif can be traced throughout Tyutchev's work. At the same time, the poet does not give recipes for universal prosperity and happiness; often his philosophical generalizations look like reflections. However, this does not reduce the level of depth and accuracy of the poet's poems. Hence - a certain duality of Tyutchev's poetry as its characteristic feature.

The poet's philosophical idea of ​​the unknowability of the world, of man as a particle of the universe, is associated with another pair of concepts - "sleep - death":

There are twins - for terrestrial
The two gods are death and sleep,
Like a brother and sister wonderfully similar -
She is gloomier, he is milder ...

Tyutchev clearly understood that true life man is the life of his soul. This idea is closely intertwined with the "inexpressible" motif in the poem "Silentium". However, the poet could not help but believe in the harmony of the earthly and heavenly, in the union of the soul with the soul of his own, in his ability to express the inexpressible:

When sympathetic to our word
One soul responded
We do not need another retribution,
Enough with us, enough with us...

We can't predict

As our word will respond, -

And sympathy is given to us,

How do we get grace...

F. I. Tyutchev

Tyutchev's lyrics are one of the pinnacles of Russian philosophical poetry. In his work, high poetry is combined with a philosophical outlook. The depth and strength of his best works is comparable to Pushkin's poetry.

Already in the late 1820s - early 1830s, Tyutchev created poems, the main content of which is philosophical thought. The "hero" of these works is the human mind, thirsting for knowledge. The poem "The Last Cataclysm", it would seem, paints a picture of the death of the world:

When the last hour of nature strikes, The composition of earthly parts will collapse: All that is visible will again be covered by water, And the face of God will be depicted in them!

But the meaning of this work is not in a gloomy prophecy, but in the desire, therefore, to know the fundamental principle of all that exists, that is, God.

Tyutchev was distinguished not only by a lively and faithful image of nature, but also by its deep philosophical comprehension. Nature interested him in its elemental and cosmic manifestations - in a thunderstorm, in a night, in a storm, in a spring influx and bloom, in formidable gusts of wind, in the light of the sun or in moonlight.

The symbol of purity and truth in Tyutchev's poems is the sky. Without this atmosphere of height and eternity, there is no Tyutchev poetry. He himself speaks of this in the poem "Poetry":

Among the thunders, among the fires, Among the seething passions, In elemental, fiery discord, She flies from heaven to us - Heavenly to earthly sons ...

The pictures of the world drawn by Tyutchev, as a rule, are devoid of strict and precise signs of time and place of action. This is characteristic of philosophical poetry in general - it has an extra-ordinary character. So, Tyutchev's night is grandiose, majestic and tragic. It leaves a person alone with himself and with the terrible mysteries of the universe:

And the abyss is naked to us With its fears and darkness, And there are no barriers between it and us - That's why we are afraid of the night!

It is in this cosmic, tragic loneliness that man is given to know the world and himself:

In his soul, as in an abyss, he is immersed, And there is no support from the outside, no limit ... And it seems to him a long-gone dream, now everything is bright, alive ... And in the alien, unsolved, night He recognizes the heritage of the family.

The lyrical plot of the poem "Fountain" becomes the languor of the mind, striving for instant insight and realizing the limitations of its capabilities:

O water jet of mortal thought, O inexhaustible water jet! What incomprehensible law aspires you, crushes you? How greedily you are torn to the sky! But the hand is invisibly fatal, Refracting your stubborn beam, Sparkles in spray from a height.

Sometimes the poet seems to get tired of his own concentration on the depths of knowledge. In the poem “No, my addiction to you ...” Tyutchev is freed from the burden of thoughts, from a complex spiritual life and returns to earthly life with its simple joys:

Wander around idle and without a goal And inadvertently, on the fly, Come across a fresh spirit of chenille Or a bright dream ...

In the poem “There is melodiousness in the waves of the sea...” there is a protest of a person who is unable to come to terms with his fate as a mortal speck of dust, opposed to the Universe: material from the site

An imperturbable order in everything, Full consonance in nature, - Only in our illusory freedom Do we recognize discord with it.

Tyutchev is aware that the translation of philosophical ideas into the language of poetry is extremely difficult, because this is a transition to another dimension, where thought is subject to image, rhyme, rhythm. The poet speaks of this complexity in the poem "Silentium":

How can the heart express itself? How can someone else understand you? Will he understand how you live? Thought spoken is a lie.

This poem is also about human disunity, about the impossibility to fully explain oneself even to a person close in spirit.

In his philosophical lyrics, Tyutchev does not just reflect. He pronounces his prophetic word in excitement and torment, makes discoveries, experiences ups and downs. The poet infects us with his feeling and his thought. And we feel the excitement of Tyutchev, the passion of his thoughts, comprehend the restless wisdom of his poems:

O my prophetic soul! O heart full of anxiety, O how you beat on the threshold of a double existence, as it were!..

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On this page, material on the topics:

• an essay on the theme of Tyutchev's philosophical lyrics
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• Tyutchev imperturbable system in everything
• Tyutchev's philosophical verse
• Tyutchev philosophical lyrics

A special place in Tyutchev's poetry is occupied by philosophical reflections on man in the world. The poet brought into Russian poetry a fresh theme of the fusion of personality with the circulation in nature, with the confrontation in it of darkness and light. Man in Tyutchev's view is a particle of nature, he is "inscribed in it", dissolved in it and absorbs it into himself. If, for example, in Lermontov’s poem “I go out on the road alone ...”, the personality is shown as infinitely lonely and existing on its own, while nature, space, stars live on their own (“a star speaks to a star”), then Tyutchev, these worlds turn out to be spliced ​​and inseparable. The wondrous world with its diversity “lies, developed” before man, “the whole earth is opened to him”, “he sees everything and praises God”, because he is merged with this natural world inseparably ("Wanderer"). Many of Tyutchev's poems are constructed in such a way that a landscape sketch imperceptibly turns into thoughts about a person, and the image of a person is given in connection with the reconstruction of a landscape or natural phenomena.

This is the poem Yesterday, in the dreams of the enchanted ...» (1836). It would seem that the poet intends here to trace the gradual change of evening at night, and the last - early dawn. The late beam of the month casts an earthly dream, frowning shadows smoothly turn into night darkness, and the darkness is gradually dissipated by quiet streams of morning radiance. In order to more clearly reveal this process of transition from darkness to darkness and the subsequent dawn, the poet successfully uses tautology (“the shadow frowned darker”), complex adjectives (“darkly illuminated”), rare compound adverbs (“smoky-light”, “hazy-lily ”), conveying transitional states and mixtures of darkness and light; an abundance of verb forms (“ran”, “grasping”, “writhing”, “climbed up”), revealing the dynamics of the appearance of rays and light reflexes; frequent repetitions of the words "here" (they begin five verses) and "suddenly" (this anaphora opens two lines) and, finally, introduces indefinite pronoun"something", which becomes the expression of a mysterious animate subject of action. However, this whole process and all these artistic means given in connection with the image of a sleeping woman. It is on her that the last ray of the month falls, around her “silence subsided”, her sleepy curl is vaguely seen in the darkness; it was her blanket that a mysterious “something” grabbed and then began to wriggle on her bed. Finally, a sunbeam touches the face and chest with a “life-giving radiance” and reveals the wonderful silk of the eyelashes. Thus, a person finds himself in the center of all the named natural phenomena, which are of interest to the poet insofar as they reveal the beauty, youth and refreshed forces of an awakening woman. Here, the pictorial and plastic image, achieved by the artist of the word, was combined with a reflection on the place of man in the animate God's world.

But the man himself, as Tyutchev portrays him, combines striking contradictions: he is a slave and a master, strong and weak, rebellious and patient, powerful and fragile, humble and full of anxiety. To convey these polar principles (antinomies), the poet uses Pascal’s well-known formula “thinking reed” as applied to the personality, shows how “a mighty whirlwind sweeps people” or “Fate, like a whirlwind, sweeps people” (“From edge to edge, from hail to hail...”), conveys the tragic existence of man in front of the night abyss:

And a man, like a homeless orphan,

It stands now and is weak and naked,

Face to face before the dark abyss.

(“Holy night ascended into the sky ...”, 1848-1850)

A person is tragic in his isolation from his own kind, the power of passions over him, the short duration of his existence. frailty human life the poet contrasts the eternity and infinity of the world (“And the coffin has already been lowered into the grave ...”). The grave is opened, the remains of a person are lowered into it, a speech about the fall into sin sounds:

And the sky is so imperishable and pure,

So infinitely above the earth.

The philosophical thought about the drama of the existence of the individual is also contained in the poem "Silentium» (1830). The first and third stanzas of this three-part composition compare the spiritual life of a person, his feelings and dreams, his “mysteriously magical” thoughts with the outside world, with its outside noise, deceptive daytime rays and the starry night, genuine in its truth. The enduring wisdom of these extreme stanzas corresponds to their instructive, instructive and imperious intonation: while maintaining your isolation from others, admire the beauty of the universe, listen to the singing of daytime rays and the radiance of night stars. This will establish the necessary and desired connection with the outside world. The second, middle stanza is confessional in nature.

How can the heart express itself?

How can someone else understand you?

Will he understand how you live?

This is a complaint of a person about his isolation from others, about his loneliness in the human community, where "the thought uttered is a lie", where the word cannot unite people, a complaint about isolation spiritual world, by virtue of which the personality is doomed to its dumbness. The bitterness of the lyrical hero takes the form of questions that follow one after another, and then the form of a mournful aphorism. But in the same stanza, there is also a powerful thought about the intensity and richness of a person’s spiritual life, a wealth equal to the whole world, which must not be lost. It is important not to crush your innermost thoughts, not to “disturb”, as you can stir up the natural springs gushing out of the ground. The poet's reflections are warmed by his excitement, which is especially felt in the insistent repetition of the imperative "keep quiet" (each stanza ends with it) and in the fifth verse, where the iambic four-foot suddenly breaks and turns into a three-foot amphibrach. The poet develops the "inexpressible" motif inherent in Zhukovsky and brings it to a prelogical conclusion, to a demanding instruction. To give special weight and scale to this composition, the poet gives it an unusual, borrowed from medieval didactics Latin name, reinforcing it with the exclamation: Silentium!

“A thought that feels and is alive” (I. S. Aksakov) also pulsates in another philosophical poem of the poet - “ Fountain» (1836). This poem of the mid-30s was sent from Munich to a friend of the poet - I. S. Gagarin and seemed to be addressed to him. It starts with the word "look". Such an invitation to look, consider and admire here is not accidental: the beginning of the poem is devoted to the description of the fountain seen by the poet in one of the cities of Europe. This description is unusual for Tyutchev: it is based not on an instant impression, but on a long-term peering into the phenomenon, on its contemplation. The poet follows the change of lighting, coloring, the peculiarities of the movement of the water jet. Tyutchev's observations are very apt, and this is reflected in the word: the fountain resembles a living cloud. This is followed by a new assimilation of "wet smoke". The sun penetrates this cloud, and therefore it becomes "fiery" and suddenly begins to look like a bright ray. But at the same time, the poet invites not only to look, to contemplate, but also to reflect.

Rising to the sky with a beam, he

Touched the cherished height -

And again with fire-colored dust

To fall to the ground is condemned.

It contains a deep thought, philosophical motif, conveyed by the last of the above lines: "to fall ... condemned." So, we are talking not only about the beauty of the fountain, but also about some laws that govern it. At the same time, another, hidden, but possible meaning of the lines is revealed - a reflection on a person striving somewhere, ascending - either to a career, or to wealth, or to power, and tragically forgetting that behind his feverish activity, efforts, fuss there is something waiting for him fatally. Therefore, he must always remember not only the vain, but also the great, so as not to miss life itself. However, there may be aspiration upwards of another kind - to the creative achievements of a talent soaring "a beam to the sky", and it is sad when he reaches the "cherished height", but at that moment his path is tragically cut short. So it was with Pushkin, Lermontov, Belinsky, Venevitinov...

The thought of death is, as it were, picked up by the first significant word of the second stanza: “About the mortal thought of a water cannon ...” But the word “fountain” is replaced by its synonym “water cannon”. This is a sign that we are talking about the same thing and at the same time about something different. The life of the fountain is compared with the beating of human thought.

And although at the beginning of the second stanza there are no words typical for comparison such as “as if”, “like”, “like”, but parallelism unobtrusively arises. The water jet correlates with the greatness of the mind, tireless knowledge, rebellious human thought. Like a fountain, this thought also greedily reaches for the sky. The sublime theme brings to life the “high” words, of which there are so many in this stanza: “strives”, “water cannon”, “crumples”, “hand”, “refracting”, “overthrows”. And next to it are several book expressions: “inexhaustible”, “incomprehensible”, “invisibly fatal”. There is an internal roll call of the verb "mute" and the root - "met" - in the word "water cannon", which convey this aspiration of thought upwards. However, another motive also arises: for thought there is an "invisibly fatal hand." There is a limit to human knowledge of the world, its fatal limitations, its obvious constraint and weakness. This skeptical idea is sharp and bold, it echoes Kant's judgment about the boundaries human mind deprived of the opportunity to penetrate into the essence of phenomena, to know "things in themselves". It turns out that not only the word (" silentium ”), but thought also suffers from its “inexpressibility”. Perhaps there is another consideration here: philosophical thought should not be too divorced from life, from the beginning of the earth, otherwise it will become an empty game of the mind. So, in any case, these lines of Tyutchev are read today.

The line “what an incomprehensible law” reveals another hidden plan of the poem. The poet also reflects on the general laws of life. Such a theme was characteristic of Tyutchev's predecessor, Pushkin. I recall “Again I visited ...”, “Elegy”, his early “Cart of Life”, thoughts about the fate of the land and people in the poem “To the Sea”. It is clear that we are talking not so much about the physical structure of the water cannon, but about the vital laws that govern everything on earth, about progress, its boundaries and contradictions. It is no coincidence that the literary critic N. Ya. Berkovsky wrote that the theme of “Faust” was raised in this poem, which means we are talking about the knowledge of the world, about a beautiful moment stopped, about the limits of civilization, bourgeois culture. So Tyutchev came to the themes of global sound.

Thinking about the world around man, Tyutchev often refers to the topic of time, interpreting this concept in an extremely diverse way. The poet is convinced that "the flow of time runs inexorably". He only connects people for a moment, then to separate them forever (“We are tired on the way ...”). Tyutchev thinks a lot about the past and the present, about the memory that connects these categories of time. But the images of day and night and reflections on these phenomena are especially stable in the poet's lyrics.

In the poem " Day and night”(1839) the day is interpreted as a “brilliant cover”, bright and golden-woven, hiding the nameless abyss of the world. He brings a certain revival to those born on earth, even healing aching soul, but this is only a shell enveloping a gaping gap. On the contrary, the night is notable for the fact that it casts off the “fabric of the fertile cover”, and then the hidden abyss “with its fears and darkness” opens up until the time. The sharp opposition of these forms of time is reflected in the two-part composition of the poem, its two stanzas connected by an adversarial “but”. In philosophical meditation (contemplation) " dreams» (« As the ocean surrounds the globe...”) (1830) speaks with all certainty about the night as a clear and frank manifestation of the dark elements, which, like waves, hit their shore. People's knowledge of the world is expanding: they see the cosmos, "the vault of heaven, burning with the glory of the stars", they feel the mighty chaos and keenly feel the flaming abyss, being surrounded by it from all sides. Using the ancient and classic image of the "chariot of the universe", Tyutchev in a laconic, eight-line poem " Vision"(1829), drawing the night time, standing between man and world chaos, characterizes it as a manifestation of both unconsciousness and universal silence, but at the same time as a time of revelations and creative insights. For such an interpretation, the author needed ancient images of the powerful Atlas (Atlanta), the Muse, responding to the poet's enthusiasm, and the Hellenic gods. As a result, the miniature resurrects the spirit of antiquity and, in philosophical language, speaks of the readiness of poetry (the Muse) to meet and capture the amazing phenomena of space and chaos.

* * *

Don't argue, don't bother!
Madness seeks, stupidity judges;
Treat daytime wounds with sleep,
And tomorrow to be something, it will be.

Living, be able to survive everything:
Sorrow, and joy, and anxiety.
What to wish? What to worry about?
The day survived - and thank God!

1850?

Silentium! *

Be silent, hide and conceal
And your feelings and dreams -
Let in the depths of the soul
They get up and come in
Silently, like stars in the night,
Admire them - and be silent.

How can the heart express itself?
How can someone else understand you?
Will he understand how you live?
Thought spoken is a lie.
Exploding, disturb the keys, -
Eat them - and be silent.

Only know how to live in yourself -
There is a whole world in your soul
Mysterious magical thoughts;
Outside noise will deafen them
Daytime rays will disperse, -
Listen to their singing - and be silent! ..

* Silence! (lat.).
<1829>, early 1830s

Twins

There are twins - for terrestrial
Two deities, then Death and Sleep,
Like a brother and sister wonderfully similar -
She is gloomier, he is meeker ...

But there are other two twins -
And in the world there is no more beautiful couple,
And there is no worse charm
Her betraying heart...

Their union is blood, not accidental,
And only on fateful days
With its unsolvable secret
They are beguiling us.

And who is in excess of sensations,
When the blood boils and freezes,
I did not know your temptations -
Suicide and Love!

<1852>

* * *

So, in life there are moments -
They are hard to convey
They are self-forgetfulness
Earthly grace.

Woody tops rustle
High above me
And the birds are only heavenly
They talk to me.

Everything is vulgar and false
Gone so far
All the cute-impossible
So close and easy.

And I love it, and it's sweet for me,
And peace in my chest
I am wrapped in drowsiness -
Oh time, wait!

1855 (?)

* * *

Not everything painful dreams of the soul:
Spring has come - and the sky will clear up.

* * *

We can't predict
How our word will respond, -
And sympathy is given to us,
How do we get grace...

* * *

There are two forces - two fatal forces,
All our lives we are at their fingertips,
From lullaby days to the grave, -
One is Death, the other is the Human Judgment.

And she and he are equally irresistible,
And both are irresponsible
No mercy, protests are intolerable
Their verdict closes everyone's mouth...

But Death is more honest - alien to personalities,
Not touched by anything, not embarrassed
Humble il grumbling brother -
With her scythe she equals everyone.

And woe to her - alas, double grief -
That proud strength, proudly young,
Entering with determination in her eyes,
With a smile on his lips - in an unequal battle.

When she, with a fatal consciousness
All their rights, with the courage of beauty,
Fearlessly, in some kind of charm
She goes towards slander herself,

The face does not cover the brow,
And does not allow the chela to stoop,
And from young curls, like dust, shines
Threats, abuse and passionate blasphemy, -

Yes, woe to her - and the more simple-hearted,
That makes her seem more guilty...
Such is the light: it is more inhuman there,
Where is human-sincere guilt.

March 1869

* * *

What a wild gorge!
The key runs towards me -
He is in a hurry for a housewarming ...
I climb up where the spruce stands.

<1836>

* * *

You do not know what is more flattering for human wisdom:
Or the Babylonian pillar of German unity,
Or French outrage
Republican cunning system.

1848

glimpse

Have you heard in the deep twilight
Air harp light ringing,
When midnight, inadvertently,
Dormant strings will be disturbed by a dream? ..

Those amazing sounds
That freezing suddenly ...
Like the last murmur of flour,
Responding to them, went out!

Breath every Zephyr
Sorrow explodes in her strings...
You say: angelic lyre
Sad, in the dust, in the sky!

Oh, how then from the earthly circle
We fly with our soul to the immortal!
The past is like the ghost of a friend
We want to press to our chest.

As we believe with living faith,
How joyful, how light!
Like an ethereal stream
The sky has flowed through my veins!

But, ah! it was not for us that he was judged;
We will soon get tired in the sky, -
And not given insignificant dust
Breathe divine fire.

Barely by the effort of a minute
Let's break for an hour magical dream
And with a quivering and vague look,
Rising up, let's look at the sky, -

And with a heavy head,
Blinded by one beam
Again we fall not to rest,
But in tedious dreams.

<1825>

Insomnia

Hours of monotonous fight,
A tormenting night story!
The language is foreign to everyone
And intelligible to everyone, like conscience!

Who without longing listened from us,
In the middle of the world's silence
Silent groans of time
A prophetic farewell voice?

We imagine: the world is an orphan
Irresistible Rock overtook -
And we, in the struggle, the whole nature
Abandoned on ourselves.

And our life is before us
Like a ghost at the end of the earth
And with our age and friends
Fading in the gloomy distance...

And a new, young tribe
Meanwhile, the sun bloomed
And us, friends, and our time
It has long been forgotten!

Only occasionally, the rite is sad
Coming in the midnight hour
Metal voice funeral
Sometimes mourns us!

<1829>

The last cataclysm

When the last hour of nature strikes,
The composition of the parts will collapse earthly:
Everything visible will again be covered by water,
And God's face will be depicted in them!

<1829>

* * *

Not what you think, nature:
Not a cast, not a soulless face -
It has a soul, it has freedom,
It has love, it has a language...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You see a leaf and color on a tree:
Or did the gardener glue them on?
Or the fruit ripens in the womb
The play of external, alien forces? ..

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They don't see or hear
They live in this world, as in the dark,
For them, the suns, to know, do not breathe,
And there is no life in the sea waves.

The rays did not descend into their souls,
Spring did not bloom in their chest,
With them, the forests did not speak
And there was no night in the stars!

And with unearthly tongues,
Thrilling rivers and forests
At night I did not consult with them
In a friendly conversation, a thunderstorm!

Not their fault: understand, if you can,
The body is the life of a deaf-mute!
Soul it, ah! won't alarm
And the voice of the mother herself! ..

<1836>

* * *

My soul is Elysium of shadows,
Silent, bright and beautiful shadows,
Nor the thoughts of this violent year,
Not involved in joys or sorrows.

My soul, Elysium of shadows,
What is common between life and you!
Between you, ghosts of the past, better days,
And this insensitive crowd? ..

<1836>

* * *

When in the circle of murderous worries
Everything freezes us - and life is like a pile of stones,
Lies on us - suddenly, God knows where,
We breathe comfort into our souls,

The past will wrap around and hug us
And a terrible load will instantly lift.
So sometimes autumn sometimes,
When the fields are already empty, the groves are bare,

Pale sky, cloudy valleys,
Suddenly the wind will blow, warm and damp,
A fallen leaf will drive before him
And it will pour over our souls, as if in spring ...

Sea and cliff

And rebels, and bubbles,
Whistling, whistling, and roaring,
And wants to reach the stars
To unshakable heights...
Is it hell, is it infernal power
Under the roaring cauldron
The fire of Gehenna laid out -
And turned up the abyss
And put it upside down?
Waves of violent surf
Continuous shaft marine
With a roar, a whistle, a squeal, a howl
Beats in the coastal cliff, -
But, calm and arrogant,
I'm not overwhelmed by the foolishness of the waves,
motionless, unchanging,
The universe is modern,
You stand, our giant!
And, embittered by the battle,
As if on a fatal attack,
Again the waves climb with a howl
On your huge granite.
But, O unchanging stone
Breaking the stormy pressure
Shaft spattered crushed,
And swirling with muddy foam
Relentless impulse...
Stay, you mighty rock!
Just wait an hour or two
Tired of the thundering wave
Fight with your heel...
Tired of evil fun,
She will calm down again -
And without a howl, and without a fight
Under the giant heel
The wave will rise again...

1848

* * *

The holy night has risen into the sky,
And a pleasant day, a kind day,
Like a golden veil, she twisted,
A veil thrown over the abyss.

And, like a vision, the outside world is gone...
And a man, like a homeless orphan,
It stands now and is weak and naked,
Face to face before the dark abyss.

He will leave for himself -
The mind is abolished, and the thought is orphaned -
In his soul, as in the abyss, he is immersed,
And there is no outside support, no limit ...

And it feels like a long gone dream
He is now all bright, alive ...
And in the alien, unsolved night
He recognizes the heritage of the family.

* * *

Like hot ashes
The scroll smokes and burns
And the fire is hidden and deaf
Devours words and lines -

So sadly my life is smoldering
And every day the smoke goes away
So gradually I go out
In unbearable monotony! ..

Oh heaven, if only once
This flame developed at will -
And, without languishing, without tormenting the share,
I would shine - and went out!

<1829>, early 1830s

Loneliness

(From A. Lamartine)

How often, casting a glance from a rocky top,
I sit down thoughtful in the shade of thick trees,
And develop before me
Various evening pictures!

Through the dark green of the trees
The last ray of dawn is still perceptibly wandering,
The moon slowly rises from midnight
On a chariot of clouds

And from the lonely bell tower
The blagovest lingered and deaf;
The passer-by listens, and the bell is far away
With the last noise of the day merges his voice.

Beautiful world! But admiration
There is no place in a dry heart!
In a land alien to me I wander like an orphan shadow,
And the light of the sun is powerless to warm the dead.

From hill to hill my sad gaze glides
And it goes out slowly in a terrible emptiness;
But, oh, where will I meet something that would stop my eyes?
And there is no happiness, with all the beauty of nature! ..

And you, my fields, and groves, and valleys,
You are dead! And the spirit of life has flown away from you!
And what do I need in you now, soulless pictures! ..
There is not one in the world - and the whole world is empty.

Does the day rise, do the shadows of the night fall, -
Both darkness and light are disgusting to me...
My destiny knows no change -
And eternal sorrow in the depths of the soul!

But how long will the wanderer languish in confinement.
When on better world I will leave the dust
That world where there are no orphans, where faith is fulfilled,
Where are the suns true in the incorruptible skies?..

How brightly the hosts of stars are burning above me,
Living thoughts of the Divine!
What night has fallen upon the earth,
And how the earth, in view of heaven, is dead! ..

A thunderstorm rises, and a whirlwind, and a desert leaf twist!
And me, and me, like a dead leaf,
It's time to leave the valley of life -
Dash away, stormy ones, drive away the orphan!..

Between 1820 and the first half of March 1822;<1823>

In the village

What desperate cries
And din, and flutter of wings?
Who is this hubbub insanely wild
So inappropriately aroused?

Flock of hand geese and ducks
Suddenly wild and flying.
It flies - where, without knowing itself,
And how crazy she sounds.

What sudden anxiety
All these voices!
Not a dog, but a four-legged demon,
Bes turned into a dog

In a fit of rage, for fun,
Self-confident bastard
Confused by their majestic peace
And they opened, dispersed!

And as if he himself, following them,
To complete the grievances
With your nerves of steel
Soaring into the air, it will fly!

What is the meaning of this movement?
Why all this waste of energy?
Why fear such a flight
Geese and ducks inspired?

Yes, there is a purpose! In the lazy herd
A terrible stagnation was noticed,
And I needed it, for the sake of progress,
The sudden onslaught is fatal.

And here is a good providence
The tomboy was let loose from the chain,
To cover your destiny
Don't forget them completely.

So modern manifestations
The meaning is sometimes stupid, -
But the same modern genius
Always ready to find out.

Another, you say, just barks,
And he accomplishes the highest duty -
He, contemplating, develops
Duck and goose sense.

* * *
Est in arundineis modulatio musica ripis*

There is melodiousness in the waves of the sea,
Harmony in natural disputes,
And a slender Musiki rustle
It flows in unsteady reeds.

An imperturbable system in everything,
Consonance is complete in nature, -
Only in our ghostly freedom
We are aware of our discord.

Where, how did the discord arise?
And why in the general choir
The soul does not sing like the sea,
And the thinking reed grumbles?

* There is a musical harmony
in coastal reeds (lat.)
May 11, 1865

When decrepit forces
We are starting to change
And we must, as old-timers,
Give newcomers a place, -

Save us then good genius,
From cowardly reproaches,
From slander, from anger
On a life-changing;

From a feeling of hidden anger
To a world that is renewing
Where new guests sit down
For the feast prepared for them;

From the bile of bitter consciousness,
That the stream no longer carries us
And that others have vocations,
Others are called ahead;

From everything that is more fervent,
The deeper it winged for a long time, -
And senile love is more disgraceful
Grumpy old age.

Early September 1866

1856

We stand blindly before Fate,
It's not for us to tear off the cover from her ...
I won't reveal mine to you
But the delirium of the prophetic spirits...

We are still far from the goal
The storm is roaring, the storm is growing,
And now - in an iron cradle,
New Year will be born in the thunders...

His features are terribly strict,
Blood on hands and forehead...
But not only wars of anxiety
He brought it to people on earth.

Not only will he be a warrior,
But the performer of God's punishments -
He will do, like a late avenger,
Long overdue blow...

For battles he was sent and reprisals,
He brought with him two swords:
One - bloody sword battles,
The other is the executioner's axe.

But for whom?
Is the whole people doomed?
Fatal words are unclear
And the sepulchral dream is confused...

So heavy on my chest
And the heart languishes
And darkness is just ahead;
Without strength and without movement
We're so downcast
What even consolation
Friends are not funny to us, -
Suddenly a ray of sunshine
Will stealthily come to us
And sprinkles fiery
I jet along the walls;
And with a supportive firmament,
From azure heights
Suddenly the air is fragrant
The window smells on us...
Lessons and tips
They don't bring us
And from the fate of slander
They won't save us.
But we feel their strength,
We hear them grace
And we grieve less
And it's easier for us to breathe ...
So sweet, thank you
Airy and light
my soul a hundredfold
Your love was

[FROM MICELANGELO]

Shut up, please don't you dare wake me up.
Oh, in this age of crime and shame
Not to live, not to feel - an enviable lot ...
It is gratifying to sleep, it is more gratifying to be a stone.

From the life that raged here
From the blood that flowed like a river here,
What has survived, what has come down to us?
Two or three mounds, visible lift ...
Yes, two or three oaks grew on them,
Stretched out and wide and bold.
They show off, make noise, - and they don’t care,
Whose ashes, whose memory their roots dig.
Nature does not know about the past,
Our ghostly years are alien to her,
And in front of her we are vaguely aware
Ourselves - only a dream of nature.
All your children in turn
Performing their feat useless,
She welcomes her
An all-consuming and peaceful abyss.

I am omnipotent and weak at the same time,
I am the ruler and at the same time the slave,
I do good or evil - I don’t argue about that,
I give a lot but receive little
And in my name I command myself,
And if I want to beat someone,
Then I beat myself.

1810s

Like a bird, early dawn
The world has woken up...
Ah, just one chapter of mine
The blessed dream did not touch!
Though the freshness of the morning blows
In my tousled hair,
On me, I feel, gravitates
Yesterday's heat, yesterday's dust!
Oh how piercing and wild
How hateful to me
This noise, movement, talk, screams
Young, fiery day! ..
Oh, how crimson its rays,
How they burn my eyes!
Oh night, night, where are your veils,
Your quiet dusk and dew! ..
The wreckage of the old generations,
You who have outlived your age!
Like your complaints, your penalties
Wrong righteous reproach! ..
How sad half asleep shadow
With exhaustion in the bones
Towards the sun and movement
Follow the new tribe! ..

Submissive to the command of the highest,
At the thought standing on the clock,
We were not very fervent,
Even with a gun in hand.
We owned it reluctantly,
Rarely threatened - and sooner
Not prisoner, but honorary
They kept a guard with her.

I sit thoughtful and alone
On a dying fireplace
I look through my tears...
I mournfully think about the past
And words in my despondency
I don't find it.
The past - was there when?
What is now - will it always be? ..
It will pass
It will pass, as it all went,
And sink into the dark muzzle
Year after year.
Year after year, century after century...
Why is the person angry?
This cereal of the earth! ..
He quickly, quickly withers - so,
But with a new summer, a new cereal
And a different sheet.
And everything that is will be again
And the roses will bloom again
And thorns too...
But you, my poor, pale color,
You don't have a rebirth
Don't bloom!
You were torn off by my hand
With what bliss and longing,
That God knows!
Stay on my chest
Until love froze in her
Last breath.