Russian poets of the second half of the 19th century in art
Speaking about Russian art of the 19th century, experts often call it literary-centric. Indeed, Russian literature largely determined the themes and problems, the general dynamics of the development of both music and the fine arts of its time. Therefore, many paintings by Russian painters seem to be illustrations for novels and stories, and musical works are built on detailed literary programs.
This also affected the fact that all outstanding literary critics undertook to evaluate both musical and pictorial works, to formulate their requirements for them.
This, of course, primarily applies to prose, but the poetry of the 19th century also had a strong influence on the development of national art. Whether this is good or bad is another question, but for a full-fledged study of Russian poetry and its integration into the general context of Russian art, it is undoubtedly very convenient.
Thus, the main genres of Russian musical art of the 19th century were romance and opera - vocal works based on a poetic text.
Painting, in turn, most often depicted pictures of Russian nature at different times of the year, which directly corresponds to the natural lyrics of Russian poets of different directions. No less popular were everyday scenes "from the life of the people", just as clearly echoing the poetry of the democratic direction. However, this is so obvious that it does not need proof.
Therefore, the simplest move is to illustrate the studied poems by listening to romances on their words and demonstrating reproductions. At the same time, it is best if the poems of one poet accompany the romances of one composer and the paintings of one painter. This will allow, along with the study of the work of each poet, to get an additional idea of two more masters of Russian culture, which is impossible to do when using the illustrations of many authors. So, for the poetry of F. Glinka, you can pick up the graphics and paintings of F. Tolstoy and the romances of Verstovsky or Napravnik, in the poetry of Polonsky - choirs to his poems by S. Taneyev and landscape painting by Savrasov, etc.
Those who would like to understand the relationship between poetry and fine arts in more detail should refer to the books of V. Alfonsov "Words and Colors" (M.; L., 1966) and K. Pigarev "Russian Literature and Fine Arts" (M., 1972), articles in the collections Interaction and Synthesis of Arts (L., 1978), Literature and Painting (L., 1982).
It will be very good if the students themselves can be involved in the selection of music and reproductions: this will teach them to navigate the world of art on their own, to be creative in its interpretation. Even in cases where the choice of students does not seem quite successful to the teacher, it is worth bringing it to the judgment of the class team and jointly decide what is not entirely accurate in this choice and why. Thus, lessons and extracurricular activities in literature can become a genuine introduction to the national Russian culture as a whole.
One cannot ignore such an area of direct contact between the arts as the portrayal of poets by contemporary artists. It is the artistic images-versions that make it possible to capture the personality of the writers in their aesthetic, artistic incarnation, which is valuable in itself for real portrait painters. D. Merezhkovsky brilliantly demonstrates how a masterful portrait can become a starting point for understanding creativity in his article about Fofanov. Therefore, we can recommend the teacher to use in his work portraits of Russian poets reproduced in the volumes of the Poet's Library series: A. Koltsov by K. Gorbunov (1838), K. Pavlova and A. Khomyakov by E. Dmitriev-Mamonov, portraits by little-known graphic artists and painters, friendly caricatures of contemporaries.
Photo portraits of poets, illustrations for their works, autographs can become no less interesting and practically useful. These materials are usually reproduced to the extent necessary for the work in publications of the Poet's Library, collected works and editions of selected works of poets, a description of which is given at the end of this publication.
Below is an abbreviated article by V. Gusev on the Russian romance; We also recommend that you refer to the book by V. Vasina-Grossman “Music and the Poetic Word” (M., 1972), the collection of articles “Poetry and Music” (M., 1993) and the recent article by M. Petrovsky “Riding to the Island of Love”, or What is a Russian romance” (Questions of Literature. 1984. No. 5), as well as an invaluable practical reference book “Russian Poetry in Russian Music” (M., 1966), which lists almost all vocal works based on poems by Russian poets of the 19th century , grouped by the authors of the texts, indicating the corresponding musical editions.
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etc.) and dactylic rhymes. If earlier 3-syllables were used only in small genres, then Nekrasov and other poets also write large poems and poems with them (III,,,). 3-syllables become universal. If in the XVIII century. iambs made up more than 80% of all poetic lines, and 3-syllables less than 1%, if in the first quarter of the 19th century. - respectively 3/4 and about 4%, then in the period under consideration iambic - about 2/3, 3-syllables - 13% ( ). And Nekrasov has iambs - about 1/2, 3-syllables - about 1/3. 3-syllables are dominated by 3-foot (III, , , , , , ,), less often 4-foot (III, , ,) and alternation of different stops; 5-foot single (III, ).
Comparing the 3-foot anapaests of Nekrasov (III, , , , , ) given here, you can see how diverse they are rhythmically and intonationally - from song verse to colloquial verse.
In the 40s, dactylic rhymes were used even more often in comic verse, couplet or feuilleton, for example, in iambic 3-foot with cross alternation with masculine ones: A? bA? b (III,). From the middle of the century, dactylic rhymes become as universal as feminine ones (III, , , , , , , , , ). The only size they have not been grafted to is iambic 4-foot. In the form of a single experiment, they appear even in the Alexandrian verse, instead of female ones (III, ).
Experiences of imitation of folk verse become few - and only in small genres (III, , , ). From the second third of the XIX century. imitation of the Russian folk song in many ways begins to approach the gypsy romance (cf. II,,; III,). The poet, Nekrasov, who most organically assimilated the poetics of folklore, absorbed folk poetic vocabulary, syntax, imagery, but from the features of folk verse he perceived only dactylic rhymes - and made them the property of literary verse.
Nekrasov is the only poet of the 19th century who allowed 15 omissions of metric stress (tribrachs) in 3-syllables (III, , , ), which will develop half a century later. In Nekrasov, there are interruptions in meter, anticipating the achievements of the poets of the 20th century, in particular Mayakovsky. In several works, among the usual 3-syllables, he allows contractions, introducing separate dolnikov verses (III, , ); or highlights the ending by putting a dactyl instead of an anapaest (III, ); or adds an extra syllable, turning the dactyl into a tactician - at the same time, again, into a “dactylic” tactician instead of an anapaest (III,).
Few contemporaries appreciated these innovations. The editor of the first posthumous edition of Nekrasov corrected the imaginary mistakes of the poet. N. G. Chernyshevsky rightly wrote: “The usual reason for amendments gives him an “irregularity in size”; but in fact the meter of the verse he corrects is correct. The fact is that Nekrasov sometimes inserts a two-syllable foot into the verse of a play written in three-syllable feet; when this is done the way Nekrasov does, it does not constitute an irregularity. I will give one example. In The Wanderer's Song, Nekrasov wrote:
I'm already in the third: man! Why are you beating your grandmother?
In the Posthumous Edition, the verse is corrected:
... why are you hitting a woman?
Nekrasov, not through an oversight, but deliberately, made the last foot of the verse two-syllable: this gives special power to expression. The amendment corrupts the verse."
Tyutchev's metric interruptions are few, but extremely expressive, moreover, in the most traditional, and therefore the most conservative size - iambic 4-foot (III,,). The innovation of Nekrasov and Tyutchev was duly appreciated in our days, against the backdrop of Blok, Mayakovsky and Pasternak, when dolniks, tacticians, tribrachs, and metric interruptions have become familiar. Single examples of free verse (III, ) are a foreshadowing of the 20th century.
Rhyme. During this period, approximate rhyme begins to develop ( birch - tears); theoretically it was substantiated and often used in all genres by A. K. Tolstoy (III,,), but the main background remains the exact rhyme. Lyrics, folklore stylizations are satisfied with familiar rhymes, in dactylic rhymes the percentage of grammatical ones is especially high: consolation - salvation etc.
Composite rhymes are frequent in satire, with proper names, barbarisms (III,,,). D. D. Minaev was nicknamed the king of rhyme: his punning rhymes, like the compound rhymes of Nekrasov the feuilletonist, anticipate the achievements of Mayakovsky.
The sound instrumentation of the verse, in particular the inner rhyme (III, , , , , , , , ), begins to acquire greater significance than in the previous period.
strophic. The proportion of strophic works is increasing. If in the XVIII and the first quarter of the XIX century. their number was approximately one third of all poetic works, but now it noticeably exceeds half ( ). 4-verses predominate. Huge complex stanzas, like those of Derzhavin and Zhukovsky, come to naught. But Fet and some other poets virtuously vary 6-verses (III, , , , , ,), 8-verses (III, , ), odd stanzas are unusual (III, , , ), even 4-verses sound unusual (III , ). Of particular note are the stanzas with blank verses. There are two types. One is a 4-verse with only even verses rhymed haha (III,,), which became very popular from the middle of the century under the influence of translations from Heine. The other is individual stanzas. For the early Tyutchev, they were similar to Derzhavin's (III,,), for Fet they were peculiar (III,,).
Diverse stanzas continue to develop, first of all - 4-verses (III, , , , ). The extreme degree of contrasting diversity - rhyme-echo (III,) and the combination in the stanza of different meters (III,) - so far only in satire.
Examples of strophic free verse are becoming more frequent (III,,). The sonnet fades into the background; from other solid forms, a sextine suddenly appears - in L. A. Mey (III,), L. N. Trefolev. Unlike the canonical form, both of them are rhymed.
Unusual strophoids of white iambic 3-foot are created by Nekrasov in the poem “Who Lives Well in Russia” and in the poem “Green Noise” (III,), written simultaneously with the beginning of the poem. The alternation of dactylic and masculine clauses is not set by the stanza model, but depends on the syntactic structure. Within one sentence, which can cover from 2 to 7 verses in a poem (from 2 to 5 in a poem), all endings are dactylic; the end of a phrase is indicated by a masculine clause. This is just as individual a structure as, for example, Onegin's stanza, and if it occurs in someone, it sounds like a rhythmic quotation.
F. I. Tyutchev (1803–1873)
As the ocean embraces the globe,
Earthly life is surrounded by dreams;
Night will come - and sonorous waves
The element hits its shore.That is her voice; he urges us and asks...
Already in the pier the magic boat came to life;
The tide is rising and taking us fast
Into the immensity of dark waves.vault of heaven; burning with star glory,
Mysteriously looks from the depths, -
And we are sailing, a flaming abyss
Surrounded on all sides.
2. Two sisters
I saw both of you together -
And I recognized all of you in her ...
The same look of silence, the tenderness of the voice,
The same charm of the morning hour,
What blew from your head!And everything, as in a magic mirror,
Everything is redefined:
Past days of sadness and joy
Your lost youth
My lost love!
3. Madness
Where with the scorched earth
Merged like smoke, the vault of heaven, -
There in carefree fun? Loy
Madness miserable lives on.Under fiery rays
Buried in the fiery sands
It has glass eyes
Looking for something in the clouds.It suddenly springs up and, with a sensitive ear
Falling to the cracked earth
Hearing something with a greedy ear
With secret contentment on the forehead.And he thinks that he hears boiling jets,
What hears the current of underground waters,
And their lullaby singing
And a noisy exit from the earth! ..
Let the pines and firs
All winter stick out
In the snow and blizzard
Wrapped up, they sleep.
Their skinny greens
Like hedgehog needles
Though it never turns yellow,
But never fresh.We are a light tribe
Bloom and shine
And a short time
We are guests on branches.
All red summer
We were beautiful
Played with rays
Bathed in dew!But the birds sang
The flowers have faded
The rays faded
The Zephyrs are gone.
So what do we get for free
Hang and turn yellow?
Isn't it better for them
And we'll fly away!O wild winds,
Hurry, hurry!
Rip us off
From boring branches!
Rip it off, rip it off
We don't want to wait
Fly, fly!
We fly with you!
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! ..
6. Spring calm
(From Uhland)Oh don't put me down
Into the damp ground
Hide, bury me
Into the thick grass!Let the breath of the breeze
move the grass,
The flute sings from afar,
Light and quiet clouds
Float over me!
7. Sleep on the sea
And the sea and the storm rocked our boat;
I, sleepy, was betrayed by every whim of the waves.
Two infinities were in me,
And they arbitrarily played with me.
Rocks sounded around me like cymbals,
The winds called and the billows sang.
I lay stunned in the chaos of sounds,
But my dream hovered over the chaos of sounds.
Painfully bright, magically mute,
It blew lightly over the thundering darkness.
In the rays of the flame, he developed his world -
The earth turned green, the ether glowed,
Lavirinth gardens, halls, pillars,
And hosts seethed silent crowd.
I learned a lot of unknown faces,
Ripe creatures magical, mysterious birds,
On the heights of creation, like a god, I walked,
And the world under me motionless shone.
But all dreams through and through, like a wizard's howl,
I heard the roar of the deep sea,
And into the quiet realm of visions and dreams
The foam of roaring shafts burst in.
My soul is Elysium of shadows,
Shadows silent, bright and beautiful,
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 past, better days
And this insensitive crowd? ..
10. Day and night
On the world of the mysterious spirit?
Above this nameless abyss,
The cover is thrown over with gold-woven
High will of the gods.
Day - this brilliant cover -
Day, earthly revival,
Souls of the aching healing,
Friend of men and gods!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!
11. Russian woman
Far from the sun and nature
Far from light and art
Far away from life and love
Your younger years will flash,
Feelings that are alive will die,
Your dreams will shatter...And your life will pass unseen
In a land deserted, nameless,
On unseen land,
How the cloud of smoke disappears
In the sky dim and misty,
In the autumn endless haze ...
Like a pillar of smoke brightens in the sky! -
How the shadow below glides elusively! ..
“This is our life,” you said to me,
Not light smoke, shining in the moonlight,
And this shadow running from the smoke ... "
Human tears, oh human tears,
You pour early and late sometimes ...
Flow unknown, flow invisible,
Inexhaustible, innumerable, -
Pour like rain streams pour
In autumn, deaf, sometimes at night.
14. Poetry
Among thunders, among fires,
Among the seething passions,
In spontaneous, fiery discord,
She flies from heaven to us -
Heavenly to earthly sons,
With azure clarity in your eyes -
And on the stormy sea
Pours conciliatory oil.
I don't know if grace will touch
Of my painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to rise and rise,
Will spiritual fainting go away?But if the soul could
Here on earth find peace
You would be a blessing to me -
You, you, my earthly providence! ..
16. Last love
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously ...
Shine, shine, parting light
Last love, evening dawn!Half the sky was engulfed by a shadow,
Only there, in the west, radiance wanders,
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last, charm.Let the blood run thin in the veins,
But tenderness does not fail in the heart ...
Oh, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.Between 1852 and 1854
Is in the autumn of the original
Short but wonderful time -
The whole day stands as if crystal,
And radiant evenings ...Where a peppy sickle walked and an ear fell,
Now everything is empty - space is everywhere, -
Only cobwebs of thin hair
Shines on an idle furrow.The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But far from the first winter storms -
And pure and warm azure pours
On the resting field…
Nature is a sphinx. And the more she returns
With his temptation, he destroys a person,
What, perhaps, no from the century
There is no riddle, and there was none.
I. S. Turgenev (1818–1883)
19. (On the road)
Foggy morning, gray morning
Fields sad, covered with snow,
Reluctantly remember the time of the past,
Remember faces long forgotten.Remember abundant passionate speeches,
Looks, so greedily, so timidly caught,
First meetings, last meetings,
Quiet voice favorite sounds.Remember separation with a strange smile,
You will remember a lot of distant native,
Listening to the unceasing murmur of the wheels,
Looking thoughtfully at the wide sky.
With missing eyes
I see an invisible light
By missing ears
I will hear the chorus of silent planets.
With missing hands
I will paint a portrait without paints.
missing teeth
Eat an immaterial pate,
And I will talk about
Non-existent mind.
Green Noise is coming,
Green Noise, spring noise!
Playfully disperse
Suddenly the wind is riding:
Shakes alder bushes,
Raise flower dust
Like a cloud, everything is green:
Both air and water!
Green Noise is coming,
Green Noise, spring noise!
My hostess is humble
Natalya Patrikeevna,
Water will not stir!
Yes, she got in trouble.
As a summer I lived in St. Petersburg ...
She said, stupid
Pip on her tongue!
In the hut he is a friend with a deceiver
Winter has locked us up
Into my eyes are harsh
Looks - the wife is silent.
I am silent ... but the thought is fierce
Does not give rest:
Kill ... so sorry heart!
Endure - there is no strength!
And here the winter is shaggy
Roars day and night:
"Kill, kill the traitor!
Get the villain out!
Not that you will miss the whole century,
Neither day nor long night
You won't find peace.
Into your shameless eyes
Neighbors spit! .. "
To the song-blizzard winter
The fierce thought got stronger -
I have a sharp knife in store ...
Yes, suddenly spring crept up ...
Green Noise is coming,
Green Noise, spring noise!
Like drenched in milk
There are cherry orchards,
Quietly noisy;
Warmed by the warm sun
The merry ones make noise
Pine forests;
And next to the new greenery
Babbling a new song
And the pale-leaved linden,
And white birch
With a green braid!
A small reed makes noise,
Noisy high maple ...
They make new noise
In a new way, spring ...
Green Noise is coming,
Green Noise, spring noise!
The fierce thought is weakening,
Knife falls out of hand
And all I hear is a song
One - in the forest, in the meadow:
"Love as long as you love,
Endure as long as you endure
Goodbye while goodbye
And God be your judge!
62. About the weather. Epiphany frosts
(Excerpt)
“My lord! where are you running?"
- “To the office; what's question?
I don't know you! - Rub it, rub it
Hurry, for God's sake, your nose!
Turned white! - "BUT! very grateful!”
- "Well, what about mine?" - "Yes, yours is radiant!"
- “That's it! - I took measures ... "-" What-with?
- "Nothing. Drink vodka in cold weather -
Save your nose
Roses will appear on the cheeks!
63. Recently
(Excerpt)
Harmless, peaceful themes!
They won't get angry, they won't quarrel...
We all have personal interests
Do more in those days.
However, we had Russophiles
(Those who saw the Germans as enemies),
Slavophiles came to us,
Their secular type then was as follows:
Petersburg champagne with kvass
Drinking from ancient ladles
And in Moscow they praised with ecstasy
pre-Petrine order of things,
But, living abroad, owned
Very bad native language
And they didn't understand
About his Slavic vocation.
I laughed my ass off once,
Hearing Prince NN say:
"I, my soul, am a Slavophile."
- "And your religion?" - "Catholic".
Honest fell silent, valiantly fallen,
Their lonely voices were silent,
Crying out for the unfortunate people,
But cruel passions are unbridled.A whirlwind of malice and rage rushes
Above you, unrequited country.
All living things, all good things squint ...
Heard only, O dawnless night!In the midst of the darkness you poured
Like enemies, triumphant, collide,
Like the corpse of a slain giant
Bloodthirsty birds flock
Poisonous bastards crawl ...Between 1872 and 1874
M. L. Mikhailov (1829–1865)
<Из Гейне>
How it trembles, reflecting
In the splashing sea, the moon;
And she walks across the sky
And calm and clear, -
So you go, calmly
And clear, in its own way;
But your bright image trembles
In my trembling heart.
They say spring has come
Bright days and warm nights;
The green meadow is full of flowers,
The nightingales sing in the woods.
I walk among the meadows -
I'm looking for your traces;
In more often I listen to the forest,
Your voice will not be heard.Where is spring and where are the flowers?
You don't go to pick them up.
Where is the song of the nightingale?
I can't hear your speech...
Spring has not yet come.
The day is gloomy, the night is cold.
A field of hoarfrost is being forged,
The birds cry, they don't sing.
67. Epigrams
MISUNDERSTANDINGWe talked a lot in the magazines about the free press.RECOVERY
The public understood this: rot us freely under the press!Even penal servitude and execution are called decrees penalty:
You are exacted (so understand!) by royal mercy.
V. S. Kurochkin (1831–1875)
I'm not a poet - and unbound by bonds
with the muses
I am not deceived by either false or right
Glory.
Devoted to the motherland with unknown love,
honest,
Without singing with jury singers
Important
Evil and good, with equal chances,
stanzas,
I put my feeling filial
Everything is in her.But I can't cry for joy
With nastiness
Or look for beauty in ugliness
Asia,
Or smoke in the direction given
incense,
That is - to flirt with evil and adversity
Odami.Climbing with rhymes special happiness
To power I
I don't find it - whatever it is
Arrived.
My rhymes walk with firm steps,
Proud
Settling down in rich couples -
Barami!Well, they won't give me for them at the Academy
Prizes
They will not be given in examples of piitiki
Critics:
“There is nothing, they say, for “reading the people”
good,
No uplifting soaring
genius,
There is no warlike, brave and in old age,
Rage
And not one for Petrushka and Vasenka
Fables".Well? Mother nature left me
Rules,
Giving a simple feeling equally
Anyone.
If they find a book with different songs
Idle
Good people worthy of attention -
What else?
If I rhyme free and bold
I will do
In addition, the well-known impression
honest -
In it, and poetry will be plentiful,
strong
The fact that it is not even connected with the muses
By bonds.
D. D. Minaev (1835–1889)
(Excerpt)
From the German poet
Genius can't take over
Can our poets
Take the size of his creations.Let it rhyme through the line
Modern Russian Heine,
And in the water of such songs
You can swim like in a pool.I'm bad at poetry
But - I swear here before everyone -
I will write in that size
Every evening a poemEvery evening a poem
Without hard work
Where intertwined through the line
Along with the rhymes of wit.
70. Epigrams
I ate soup while sitting in a restaurant,
The soup was sweet like a subsidy
I sleep and think about
We tempt with a round sum.Can't trust hope
She lies terribly often:
He gave hope before
Now he gives denunciations.I'm not fit, of course, to be a judge,IN FINLAND
But not embarrassed by your question.
Let Tamberlik take do breast
And you, my friend, take do - with your nose.The area of rhymes is my element,OUR PEOPLE
And I write poetry easily;
Without hesitation, without delay
I run to line from line
Even to the Finnish brown rocks
Handling a pun.A thief will not say about another and aside:TO OFFICIAL GERMANS
"Crow!.."
Eyes, it is known, will not gouge out a crow
Crow.In Russia, everyone is German,AFTER THE BENEFIT
Chinov suffering from thirst,
For them five times
Let us crucify.
For this reason
Before you, ross,
He turns up his nose
With the order, with the rank:
For a German, after all, ranks
Tastier than ham.“Whose play was on today?”B. M<АРКЕВИ>BC
- Alexandrova. - "Was
Played with chic, without chic?
- "With chic, with chic: they hissed loudly."The other day, dragging with him two huge portacocks,IN THE ALBUM TO KRUPP JUNIOR, WHO COMED TO PETERSBURG
He dragged himself to the station; sweat dripped from his face...
"Don't tell him!" - all around regretted the people,
And just some bully
Said, "Don't worry - bring!.. "Do I eat semolina soup
Or I see horse croup -
Krupp comes to mind
And behind him - a large mass,
A pile of "cannon fodder" ...
Oh, let it not be thorny
The path of such a person:
He is a great humanitarian
Nineteenth century!
71. Rhymes and puns
(From the notebook of a mad poet) IGrooms, do not weigh your noses,II
Coming to his bride.Value gold by weightIII
And for pranks - hang.Don't go like everyone's openIV
Without a gift you to Rosina,
But, making visits to her,
Every time you bring a bouquet.Me, meeting with Isabella,V
I cherish a gentle look,
As a reward, and, for the white
Taking her hand, I tremble.Beautiful features, I prayVI
Depict me, painting them,
And I am written in pastel
I'll hang the portrait above the bed.With her I went to the garden,IX
And my annoyance is gone
And now I'm all over
Remembering the dark alley.You sadly exclaim: “Am I the one?XIII
My waist is a hundred centimeters ... "
Indeed, I will become
I won't give praise.In the midday heat on the SeineXIV
I searched in vain for the canopy,
Remembering the Volga, where, in the hay
Lying, listening to Senya's song:
“Oh, you, my canopy, my canopy! ..”At a picnic, under the shade of spruce
We drank more than we ate
And, knowing a lot about wine and ale,
Barely returned home.
L. N. Trefolev (1839–1905)
72. Song about the Kamarinsky peasant
(Excerpt)
Like on Varvarinskaya street
Sleeping Kasyan, peasant Kamarinsky.
His beard is tousled
And cheaply soaked;
Scarlet streams of fresh blood
Cover sunken cheeks.Oh, you dear friend, my dear Kasyan!
It's your birthday today, which means you're drunk.
There are twenty nine days in February
On the last day, the Kasyans sleep on the ground.
On this day for them green wine
Especially drunk, drunk, drunk.February twenty-ninth
A whole damask of damned wine
Kasyan poured into the sinful womb,
I forgot my dear wife
And my dear children,
Two twins, youngsters.Having famously twisted his hat on one side,
He went to his cousin's hut.
There the godfather baked his rolls;
Baba is kind, blush and white,
I baked him a hot bun
And respected ... more, more, more.
73. Cones fall on poor Makar
(Excerpt)
Makaram is not going well. Over poor Makars
Fate-villain amuses herself with cruel blows.
Our peasant, poor Makarushka,
There is no money for a rainy day, no woman, no lady.
In truth, there is money: a copper penny strums,
And there is a woman: she lies, withered and pale.
Help her, how can you help? Not affordable for the road
All doctors and healers, our dashing enemies ...
K. K. Sluchevsky (1837–1904)
74. At the cemetery
I lie on my tombstone,
I watch the clouds go high
How quickly the swallows fly under them
And in the sun their wings shine brightly.
I look like in the clear sky above me
Hugs green maple with pine,
How to draw on the haze of clouds
Movable pattern of fancy sheets.
I watch the long shadows grow
How quietly the twilight floats across the sky,
How beetles fly, bumping their foreheads,
Spiders spread their webs in the leaves...I hear, as if under a tombstone.
Someone shudders, turns the earth,
I hear how the stone is sharpened and scraped
And they call me in a barely audible voice:
“Listen, dear, I have long been tired of lying!
Let me breathe spring air
Give me, my dear, to look at the white light,
Let me straighten my crushed chest.
In the realm of the dead, only silence and darkness,
Tenacious roots, yes rot, yes sputum,
Sunken eyes are covered with sand,
My bare skull is worm-eaten,
I'm tired of silent relatives.
Will you lie down, my dear, for me?I was silent and only listened: under the stove
He pounded his bone head for a long time.
For a long time the dead man gnawed the roots and scraped the earth,
He fumbled and quieted down at last.
I lay myself on a tombstone,
I watched the clouds rush in the air,
Like a ruddy day burned out in the sky,
As a pale moon floated up into the sky,
How they flew, bumping their foreheads, beetles,
How fireflies crawled out on the grass ...
75. Winter landscape
Yes, amazing, right, light jokes
There is in the winter landscape, dear to us!
So sometimes the plain, covered with a veil of snow,
Richly reddened by the sunbeam,
Some kind of senile freshness shines.
A fast river that flows through the plain
And, in rings, twisting in bends,
Does not freeze in deep winter, -
Enters into a color connection with the sky!
Skies green bright coloring
She is absolutely incredibly green;
On the white snow she, green, runs,
Green like emerald, like duckweed...And so it seems then that in front of us
Earth and sky are joking, exchanging colors:
The sky shines, passing its blush to the snow,
The color of the green fields - it is accepted by heaven,
And, as if in memory of the past, like a trace of a trace,
Runs on white snow green water.
O! if it were possible for you, sky plains,
Taking in all the colors of summer and spring,
Take our sorrows, doubts, the need for bread -
Giving back a little of your silence
And your peace ... we need them!
A. N. Apukhtin (1840–1893)
When you will be, children, students,
Don't break your head over the moments
Over the Hamlets, Lyres, Kents,
Over kings and presidents
Over the seas and over the continents
Don't mess around with your opponents
Be smart with your competitors.
And how do you finish the course with eminents
And you will go to the service with patents -
Do not look at the service of assistant professors
And do not hesitate, children, with presents!
Surround yourself with partners
Always say compliments
Be clients for bosses
Comfort their wives with instruments,
Treat old women with peppermints -
They will pay you for these with interest:
They will sew your uniform with braids,
The chest will be decorated with stars and ribbons! ..
And when doctors with ornaments
They will call you, alas, patients
And they will kill you with medicines ...
The bishop will sing for you and the regents.
Bury will be carried with assistants,
Provide your children with rent
(So that they can be subscribers at the opera)
And they will cover your ashes with monuments.
M. N. Soymonov (1831–1888)
77. Woman's business
On the strip, I sting
Knitted sheaves of gold -
Young;
Tired, frustrated...
That's our woman's business -
Bad share!
It's heavy, - yes, it would be fine,
When there is no sweetness in the heart
Yes anxiety;
And with the sweetheart ... little sense! ..
On the sheaves I dozed off
By the road.
Darling, how did it happen here,
Smiled, leaned over
Started caressing
Kiss ... but the strip
So it remained, unfinished,
crumble…
The husband and mother-in-law waited a long time:
“The whole wedge, tea, - they reasoned -
Masha will survive.
And the night grew dark over Masha...
That's our woman's business -
Our stupidity!
Chernyshevsky N. G. Full coll. op. T. 1. M., 1939, p. 751.
So people call the awakening of nature in the spring. (Author's note).
In the second half of the 19th century, there was a surge of Russian lyric poetry. Only a listing of the most famous names of poets says a lot - Apollon Nikolaevich Maikov (1821-1897), Apollon Alexandrovich Grigoriev (1882-1864), Yakov Petrovich Polonsky (1819-1898), Ivan Savich Nikitin (1824-1861), Alexei Nikolaevich Apukhtin ( 1840-1893), Konstantin Konstantinovich Sluchevsky (1837-1904), Semyon Yakovlevich Nadson (1862-1887), Konstantin Mikhailovich Fofanov (1862-1911), Fedor Ivanovich Tyutchev (1803-1873), Alexei Konstantinovich Tolstoy (1817-1875), Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet (1820-1892), Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov (1821-1877/78).
Unfortunately, the triumph of poetry was short-lived. In Russian literature, prose is developing, especially large epic forms. The triumph of prose turned out to be more durable and is associated with the names of I. Turgenev, F. Dostoevsky, L. Tolstoy. And yet the poetry of the second half
XIX century had a huge role in the development of Russian literature and culture in general. Poetry was a multifaceted system in which there were various forms of manifestation of the lyrical "I". To understand this "I", and the reader must have an open heart and soul. N.V. Gogol noted: “Reading a lyrical work properly is not a trifle at all.”It is important to remember that poetry developed in two directions - Pushkin's and Gogol's. Romantics of the 19th century (especially A.S. Pushkin) proclaimed its independence from the authorities and the people, considered the poet a creator who was inspired by God. The program for them was a poem by A.S. Pushkin "The Poet and the Crowd". The slogan is the final words "Not for worldly excitement, / Not for self-interest, not for battles, / We were born for inspiration, / For sweet sounds and prayers." The ideas of the Romantics of the beginning of the century were picked up by the Romantics of the second half of the 19th century and substantiated the theory of "pure art". The main provisions of "pure art" can be formulated as follows: art should not depict reality, play a social role. The purpose of art is to create beautiful, i.e. poetic world. Art should exist for the elite.
The opposite point of view on the art of the civil direction was substantiated by N.V. Gogol in the poem "Dead Souls" (the beginning of the seventh chapter). He compared the creator of "art for art's sake" and the writer-denunciator. The principles of the “civilian” direction in the poetry of the second half of the 19th century are most consistently and vividly implemented in the poetry of N.A. Nekrasov.
Gogol proclaimed and embodied the idea that poetry should serve the people. Nekrasov made the peasant the main character of poetry, and the struggle for his happiness - the pathos of his work. The ideas of "pure art" are the basis of the worldview and artistic system of A.A. Feta. From the point of view of the history of poetry, the Pushkin and Gogol trends enriched the literature, culture, poetry of the 19th century and prepared many phenomena of the cultural life of Russia.
The poets of the second half of the 19th century turned out to be receptive to life, to the spiritual atmosphere of Russian society. They continued and developed the traditions of the Russian poetic school of the 18th - early 19th centuries. At the same time, poets were looking for a new poetic language, original forms of its expression. They were concerned about issues of national identity; ratio of good and evil; death and immortality; spiritual generosity of people. A feature of Russian poetry of the 19th century is the magic of sound and word. I. Nikitin conveys the subtlest shades of color, form and sound. Landscape lyrics are intensively developing (A. Maikov, "Landscape"; I. Koltsov, "South and North"; K. Sluchevsky, "Oh, do not scold me for the fact that I lived aimlessly ...", etc.).
Song character, folklore, Russian antiquity, the beauties of domestic nature, the originality of the Russian national character became the source of Russian poetry. Alexander Blok called A. Grigoriev's poem "The Gypsy Hungarian" "the only pearls of its kind in Russian poetry." The "guitar" nature of the poem, set to music, made it a popular romance. Many poems by Y. Polonsky, "The Song of a Gypsy" (set to music by P.I. Tchaikovsky) became romances and folk songs. Famous romances were poems by A. Apukhtin, set to music, "A Pair of Bays", "Crazy Nights, Sleepless Nights ..."; S.Ya. Nadson "In the shadow of a pensive garden...".
In the second half of the 19th century, Russian poetry gradually moved towards modernism. Such was the movement in world literature, especially in French poetry. Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine - the French symbolists were contemporaries of N. Nekrasov, late A.A. Fet, V. Solovyov. The harbingers of modernism in Russia were primarily F.I. Tyutchev, A.A. Fet.
As the researcher V.S. Babaevsky: “Russian poetry of the 19th century, as a whole, with all its structural and chronological diversity, a manifestation of the spirit of the people, does not fit strictly into the boundaries of the century. The last decade, the 1890s, already belongs in its essence to modernism. We can say that for Russian poetry the 20th century began in 1892. Poetry K.M. Fofanova and S.Ya. Nadson connected two centuries of Russian poetry “golden” and “silver”.
Creative, social and artistic interest in literature as a field of art and education originated at the dawn of the 19th century, which is called the golden age in Russian classical literature. This literary era was marked by the flourishing of Russian literature. Literature was perceived not only as an area of artistic and folk art, filled with brightness of images, airy eloquence and richness of words, it served as a wise and pure source for cultural and spiritual development, improvement and enrichment of the inner world of people. It shed the light of truth on the existing reality, it was the most powerful engine for the development of society, the introduction of advanced ideas of struggle for the great future of Russia. The terrible storm of historical events (the abolition of serfdom, bourgeois reforms, the formation of capitalism, difficult wars), which befell the long-suffering Russia during this period, was reflected in the creative works of Russian poets and writers. The justice of their ideas and views largely determined the public consciousness of the population of Russia at that time, which is why they gained authority among the common people. The rich heritage of classical literary art was passed down from generation to generation, creating the prerequisites for the further development and promotion of Russian literature. The golden peak of Russian poetry in the second half of the 19th century was the work of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov (1821-1878). The pressing problem of his poetic works was the hardships of the working people. With the saturation of images, the strength, richness and artistry of the word, Nekrasov sought to convey to the educated, materially wealthy reader the meaning and depth of grief, the poverty of the people oppressed by social inequality, to raise the simple Russian peasant to the majestic pedestal of justice. It was this idea that formed the basis of the poem "To whom in Russia it is good to live." The poetic activity of N.A. Nekrasov was not only a profession, it acquired a shade of patriotism, the sacredness of civic duty and vocation to his country. Along with poetic activity, N.A. Nekrasov was engaged in his own publishing activities. Under his leadership, a greater number of periodicals were published, among which the magazines Sovremennik and Otechestvenny Zapiski were especially popular. Literary articles and works of many subsequently famous Russian poets, writers and critics were published on the pages of these magazines for the first time. Thus, the lyrics of the second half of the 19th century are distinguished by a variety of topics, literary trends and a large number of gifted poets.
Let's start with a few quotes.
"In poetry and poetic prose, in music, in painting, in sculpture, in architecture - poetry is all that in them is not art, not effort, that is, thought, feeling, ideal."
“The poet creates with the word, and this creative word, caused by inspiration from an idea that powerfully possessed the soul of the poet, rapidly passing into another soul, produces the same inspiration in it and just as powerfully embraces it; this action is neither intellectual nor moral - it is simply power, which we cannot repel either by the power of will or by the power of reason. Poetry, acting on the soul, does not give it anything definite: it is neither the acquisition of some new, logically processed idea, nor the excitation of moral feeling, nor its affirmation by a positive rule; No! - this is a secret, all-encompassing, deep action of frank beauty, which embraces the whole soul and leaves indelible traces in it, beneficent or destructive, depending on the property of the work of art, or, rather, according to the spirit of the artist himself.
If this is the action of poetry, then the power to produce it, given to the poet, must be nothing but a call from God, it is, so to speak, a call from the Creator to enter into the fellowship of creation with Him. The Creator put his spirit into creation: the poet, his messenger, seeks, finds and reveals to others the ubiquitous presence of the spirit of God. This is the true meaning of his vocation, his great gift, which at the same time is a terrible temptation, for in this strength for a high flight lies the danger of a deep fall.
“In order to write poems, a person talented in literature only needs to accustom himself to being able to use, in place of each, one real, necessary word, depending on the requirement of rhyme or meter, ten more approximately the same meaning words and then accustom every phrase , which, in order to be clear, has only one proper placement of words, to be able to say, with all possible movements of words, so that it looks like some sense; to learn more, guided by words that come across for rhyme, to come up with semblances of thoughts, feelings or pictures for these words, and then such a person can no longer stop making poems, depending on the need, short or long, religious, love or civil.
“Excuse me, isn’t it crazy to rack your brains for days on end in order to squeeze living, natural human speech at all costs into measured, rhymed lines. It’s the same as if someone would suddenly think of walking only along a spread rope, and without fail squatting at every step.
The first two quotations belong to Pushkin's contemporaries and friends, the poets Kuchelbecker and Zhukovsky; the second two - to his far from the worst followers, the prose writers Leo Tolstoy and Shchedrin. As you can see, the attitude towards poetry expressed in these quotations is exactly the opposite: instead of admiration and admiration, there is humiliation and contempt for poets and their “products”.
Why did this monstrous discord in thoughts arise? It would be easiest to answer this question this way: the Pushkin era was a high, golden age of Russian poetry, then it was replaced by the age of prose, and poetry first faded into the background, and then completely ceased to exist. However, Russian critics also wrote about this, starting with Polevoy and Belinsky; Leo Tolstoy also stated the same with his characteristic peremptoryness: “In Russian poetry<…>after Pushkin, Lermontov (Tyutchev is usually forgotten), poetic fame passes first to the very dubious poets Maikov, Polonsky, Fet, then to Nekrasov, completely devoid of poetic gift, then to the artificial and prosaic poet Alexei Tolstoy, then to the monotonous and weak Nadson, then to completely mediocre Apukhtin, and then everything gets in the way, and there are poets, their name is legion, who do not even know what poetry is and what it means what they write and why they write.
Maybe the seasoned human being is right here, and Russian poetry after Pushkin and Lermontov should be forgotten and erased from our memory? It seems, however, that something is not quite right here. At least, if we recall the poems of Tyutchev and Fet, Nekrasov and Maikov, Polonsky and Pleshcheev, familiar to everyone from childhood ...
Indeed, from the late 1830s, magazines began to publish poetry less and less often. They are replaced by young Russian prose and sharp-toothed literary criticism, which undertook to defend its interests from the very first steps. And she, this criticism, was extremely partisan, that is, she openly defended on the pages of the magazine the interests of certain political forces that originated in Russia at that time and entered into a battle that has not stopped to this day. It is clear that poetry, addressed to the human soul, to the eternal, was this criticism - regardless of its political interests - simply to nothing. But with prose, especially also party prose, it’s much simpler: after all, it describes understandable, earthly events and explains in clear text who is to blame, what to do, when the real day comes ... But poetry needs to be dealt with, interpreted, and for this it is better to understand either just not notice it, or ridicule parodist clickers.
Prose writers attacked the poetry of the middle of the century no less furiously than the critics. No, they agreed to consider their close friends real poets, they constantly admired their creations (especially in private correspondence), but put them next to Pushkin ...
Therefore, Pushkin's anniversary turned, first of all, into a celebration, in the words of Vyazemsky, prose writers. Even Shchedrin was perplexed about this: “Apparently, the clever Turgenev and the insane Dostoevsky managed to steal the holiday from Pushkin in their favor.” Other prose writers turned him to their own, that is, prosaic benefit: it is enough to open newspapers and magazines of those years or anniversary collections to find that modern poets were simply not allowed to participate in the celebrations.
Of course, in the foreground of the politicized Russian prose writers were, as always, the interests of the party. But no less frankly expressed by all of them, in this case, regardless of political preferences, the general idea: Pushkin is a great poet of the past, today there are no poets and cannot be.
Of course, not without the pressure of these ideas, books, for example, Fet did not diverge for many years, as, indeed, in their time, the poems of Alexander Pushkin. But the “folk vitias” preferred not to talk about this out loud ...
Thus, a kind of conspiracy against Russian poetry developed - a conspiracy in which politicians, critics, and prose writers took part. The poets continued to create, not paying attention to the fact that the circle of their readers was getting narrower - despite the unconditional achievements. Poets made their way to the public in a different way - primarily through the increasingly popular romance, through simple poems addressed to children.
Indeed, after Pushkin, Russian poetry becomes much simpler and more accessible, it almost refuses to appeal to ancient and European traditions, consciously focuses on the folk song, speaks of simple things that are necessary for everyone: nature and love, the delights of youth and the experiences of old age. In it, the high civil pathos of the Pushkin era sounds less and less, more and more often - the sincere voice of a loved one. Poetry of the second half of the 19th century is more intimate than its more successful predecessor.
At the same time, it does not depart from the defense of the highest human values at all - on the contrary, it consistently defends them in contrast to the prose addressed to the actual modernity. This is especially evident in cases where the same writer writes both in verse and in prose. For example, Turgenev is the author of Fathers and Sons and Gray Morning. Today, the novel about nihilists needs to be explained in detail, and the classic romance does not need any comments ...
Contemporaries, absorbed by everyday storms, were incomprehensible and wild Fet's words, written about the publication of Tyutchev's collection of poems, almost unnoticed by critics: “All living things consist of opposites; the moment of their harmonious union is elusive, and lyricism, this color and pinnacle of life, in its essence, will forever remain a mystery. Lyrical activity also requires extremely opposite qualities, such as, for example, insane, blind courage and the greatest caution (the finest sense of proportion). Who is not able to throw himself from the seventh floor upside down, with an unshakable belief that he will soar through the air, he is not a lyricist.
