That I live - day after day uselessly ruining;
That I, not torturing my strength on anything,
He condemned himself with a merciless judgment,
And, lazily repeating: I am worthless, I am weak!
Voluntarily all his life he groveled like a slave;
That, having lived somehow until the thirtieth spring,
I have not saved myself at least a rich treasury,
So that fools crawl at my feet,
Yes, and the wise guy could sometimes envy!
I deeply despise myself for this.
That I spent my life loving no one,
What I want to love ... what I love the whole world,
And I wander like a savage - homeless and sir,
And that the malice in me is both strong and wild,
And I grab the knife - my hand freezes!
More poems:
- Yes, yes... I despise nerves, Hysteria, reproaches, everything. Our world is wide, generous, true, Like heaven, like being. I despise tears, do you hear? I'm insensitive, you know! Tell what...
- I walk, inhaling deeply the fumes of Petrov's Swamps, And it's easy for me from hunger And fun from inspiration. [I'm walking like a breeze Through the flying garden.] It's wonderful to drown and sing....
- Oh, how little he knew himself, The crown of nature is man, Crushing miserable stones Into the dense primeval age! Oh, how little he knew himself, When, beautiful and great, He gave to Apollo ...
- The blue spaces do not see themselves, And, in the eternal cold, they are bright, pure, The snowy mountains do not see themselves, The flower does not see its beauty. And it's sweet to know if you're going through the forests, Are you going down...
- How to express yourself in love? Do not trust inviting looks. Don't call the familiar heart, beating next to you. Among people, in the flashing days, Ask yourself, who do you know? Ah, dead...
- More than once I question myself severely, And I look into my own soul; Many desires have already withered in her, And much has been ceded to fate. And I remember, wondering how in life ...
- Dear friend, I know, I know deeply, That my verse is powerless, pale and sick; I often suffer from his impotence, I often secretly cry in the silence of the night ... There is no torment in the world ...
- To live, even melting from myself, That I am exhausted, that I am by You, like music, tomima! To live out of place and somehow past, But rashly, at full speed, In defiance, in defiance, - And so, on ...
- No matter how glorified Oleg and Svyatoslav, the descendants did not leave their sovereign rights. And I think they don't need my notebook. So, now I make up my mind to refuse the Vikings. I'll tell you now...
- And I'm still hiding from myself, As they hide from the frost in winter. I'm looking for a house, where the walls are without cracks And so that the landscape in the window is more cheerful. I'm looking for, I'm looking for, me addresses, Marine ...
1 Published according to Art 1879, vol. I, p. 51, with the correction of the censorship distortion in Art. 16 by white autograph.
First published and included in the collected works: St. 1856, p. 162. Reprinted in the 1st part of all subsequent [lifetime editions of "Poems".
White autograph - GBL (Soldier notebook, sheets 7–7 rev.).
In St 1879 it is dated: "1847", with reference to the author's indication. The white autograph shows the date of writing - "1846". The latest date is correct (see below).
In lifetime editions it was printed with the subtitle "(From Larra)"; in a white autograph - "(From Spanish. From Larra)". M.-H. Larra (1809–1837) - Spanish publicist, satirist Nekrasov gave the poem as a translation from Larra in order to bypass censorship obstacles. Wed the testimony of one of Nekrasov's contemporaries: "On some of Nekrasov's lyrical poems there is an inscription:" From Larra ". Meanwhile, Larra did not publish poetry and is famous for his satire in prose. Nekrasov was asked: what does this mean? He explained with a grin that this was only a stratagem on his part and nothing more: “In the old days,” he said, “my other poems would not have passed if I had not given out their translation from some little-known language; and the name of Larra is so sonorous and poetic: it is easy to believe that he wrote poetry "(In M. From Larra. - BE, 1878, No. 5, p. 194). Shortly before his death, Nekrasov wrote on the margins of his book against the text of the commented poem: "Not true. . Attributed to Larra due to the strangeness of the content. sincere. Written during a visit to Herzen. Maybe it was inspired by the conversations of that time. At that time, there was a different spirit in the Moscow circle than in St. Petersburg, i.e. Moscow was moving more realistically than Petersburg (see Stankevich's book) "(corrected St. 1879 - IRLI, 21. 199, l. 11; published in St. 1879 with a censored note: instead of "Herzen" - "G."). The "book of Stankevich" mentioned by Nekrasov - Stankevich A. Timofey Nikolaevich Granovsky. (Biographical sketch). M, 1869. It, indeed, reported on the "realistic direction" advanced Moscow youth who were fond of natural sciences (p. 218), but this topic is not reflected in the poem.Referring to Stankevich's book, Nekrasov, apparently, wanted to indirectly indicate that the poems were written under the influence of Herzen's political sermon, sounded in his disputes with Granovsky ( in Stankevich's book they are described in some detail).
The dating of the poem is specified in connection with Nekrasov's note: "Written during a visit to Herzen." K. I. Chukovsky, who believed that Nekrasov was visiting Herzen in Sokolov, near Moscow, only once, in the summer of 1845, attributed the poem to 1845 (PSS, vol. I, pp. 519-520). But it has recently been established that Nekrasov also visited Herzen in Sokolov in the summer of 1846: just at that time, Herzen's disputes with Granovsky acquired a pronounced political character; therefore, the poem must be attributed to the summer of 1846 (see: Blinchevskaya M. "Written during a visit to Herzen." - VL, 1971, No. 8, pp. 253–256).
Even before publication, the poem was circulating in manuscript form. A list with discrepancies and with the date "1851" is in the album of Ya. P. Polonsky (IRLI, 11 697, sheet 31).
That he spent his life, not loving anyone ... - Cf. from A. V. Koltsov ("Calculation with life", 1840): "I lived for almost a century, loving no one" (see: Skatov N. Poetry of Alexei Koltsov. L., 1977, p. 65).
Set to music (V. D. Kozlyaninova, 1875; G. P. Bazilevsky, 1905).
Read poetry on this page "I deeply despise myself for that..." Russian poet Nikolai Nekrasov written in 1845 year.
I deeply despise myself for that, That I live - day after day uselessly ruining; That I, not testing my strength on anything, Condemned myself with a merciless judgment, And, lazily repeating: I am worthless, I am weak! Voluntarily all his life he groveled like a slave; That, having lived somehow until the thirtieth spring, I didn’t accumulate even a rich treasury for myself, So that the fools would crawl at my feet, Yes, and the wise guy could sometimes envy! I deeply despise myself for wasting my life, not loving anyone, That I want to love ... that I love the whole world, And I wander like a savage - homeless and orphan, And that anger in me is both strong and wild, And I clutch for a knife - the hand freezes!
N.A. Nekrasov. Works in three volumes. Moscow: State publishing house of fiction, 1959.
Other poems by Nikolai Nekrasov
What does the old woman think when she can't sleep
In the late night, over the tired village, an unbreakable dream reigns, Only a hundred-year-old, ancient woman He did not visit.- He does not sleep, ...
"Whatever the year - the strength decreases ...
Whatever the year - the strength decreases, The mind is lazier, the blood is colder ... Motherland! I will reach the grave without waiting for your freedom!...
"What are you, my heart was breaking apart? ..
What are you, my heart was breaking apart?.. Be ashamed! It’s not the first time that a snowball has passed about us - Slander has swept through Russia through our native ....
"A little to say...
Almost without saying: "You are a real insignificance!", The printed judge of my poems Advises great caution In the use of the letter "I" ....
" Schoolboy
- Well, go, for God's sake! Sky, spruce and sand - A sad road ... Hey! sit down with me, my friend!
» Elegy (Let him tell us...)
Let the fickle fashion tell us That the theme is the old "suffering of the people" And that poetry should forget it. Don't believe me guys! she doesn't age...
