"Spring Day" Igor Severyanin

Dear K. M. Fofanov

Spring day is hot and golden, -
The whole city is blinded by the sun!
I am again - me: I am young again!
I'm happy and in love again!

The soul sings and rushes into the field,
I call all strangers on "you" ...
What space! What a will!
What songs and flowers!

Hurry up - in a cart over potholes!
Hurry - to the young meadows!
Look into the face of ruddy women,
Like a friend, kiss an enemy!

Make noise, spring oak forests!
Grow grass! Bloom, lilac!
There are no guilty: all people are right
On such a blessed day!

Analysis of Severyanin's poem "Spring Day"

In 1913, thanks to the Moscow publishing house Graf, the collection The Thundering Cup saw the light of day. He brought the young Severyanin all-Russian glory. It was after his release that the poet began to speak publicly with his poems and went on a tour of the country, accompanied by Sologub. “Spring Day” is a work created in April 1911 and included in the first section of the book “The Lilac of My Spring”. It reflected some of the key features of the Thundering Cup - the worship of love and the fascination with the spring rebirth of the human soul and nature.

The poem "Spring Day" is dedicated to Konstantin Mikhailovich Fofanov, a poet and publicist, a representative of the first Russian futurists and impressionists in literature. In addition, he is considered the forerunner of the Russian Symbolists. The northerner called himself a student of Fofanov and called him his king. There is indeed something in common in the lyrics of the poets. For example, in 1887, after the publication of the collection Poems, many critics accused Konstantin Mikhailovich of violating grammatical norms, a large number of negligence, and refusing to strictly select works. Similar claims were made to Severyanin after the release of the second book of Zlatolir. The poet was friends with Fofanov from 1907 to 1911. Friends saw each other very often. Before the death of Konstantin Mikhailovich, Severyanin was on duty at his bedside. After the death of Fofanov, he took an active part in organizing a worthy funeral.

“Spring Day” is an expression of the impulse of the soul, yearning for a harmonious and simple life. The poem is full of exclamatory sentences that convey the highest degree of delight, youthful, boundless. The lyrical hero of Severyanin's work is an urban man who knows little about nature and overly romanticizes, aestheticizes it. Therefore, in the landscapes of the poet, there are often images with a touch of philistine vulgar artistry: a trout river, a summer house called a chalet or a cottage, a woman likened to the Mother of God of the great Correggi. The impulse of the soul, expressed in the "Spring Day", unfortunately, will remain only an impulse. Most likely, the lyrical hero will not have enough strength, courage to break out of urban reality to freedom. It will only be necessary to transform the not too exotic Russian landscape in dreams, inventing incredible metaphors and epithets for it.

Thunder-boiling goblet

This book, like all my Creativity, is dedicated by me to Maria Volnyanskaya, my thirteenth and, like Thirteenth, my last.

Foreword:
I am against autoprefaces: my business is to sing, it is the business of the critics and the public to judge my singing. But I want to say once and for all that I, in my own way, treat my poems very strictly and print only those poems that I have not destroyed, that is, that are vital. I work on the verse a lot, guided only by intuition; I find it fatal for them to correct old poems, in accordance with the taste that is constantly improving: it is clear that in their time they completely satisfied me, if I did not burn them then. It is wrong to replace any unsuccessful, of that period, expression with "the sophistication of this day": this mortifies that which is secret, which is often the nerve of all poetry. The stillborn is burned by me, and if the living is sometimes not quite beautiful - I admit, even ugly - I cannot destroy it: it is brought to life by me, it is dear to me, finally, it is mine!

Foreword by Fyodor Sologub:
One of the sweetest consolations of life is free poetry, an easy, joyful gift from heaven. The appearance of a poet pleases, and when a new poet appears, the soul is excited, just as it is excited by the arrival of spring.
I love poems by Igor Severyanin. Let me be told that this or that in them is wrong with the rules of piitika, annoying and teasing - what do I care about that! Poems can be better or worse, but the most important thing is that I like them. I love them for their light, smiling, inspirational origins. I love them because they were born in the bowels of the daring, fiery will of the intoxicated soul of the poet. He wants, he dares, not because he has set himself the literary task of wanting and daring, but only because he wants and dares. The will to free creativity is an involuntary and inalienable element of his soul, and therefore his manifestation is truly an unexpected joy in the gray haze of the northern day. His verses, so capricious, light, sparkling and ringing, flow because the loud-boiling goblet is overflowing in the light hands of the windy Hebe, who inadvertently tilted it, a laughing and generous celestial. She stared at Zeves' eagle, which she fed, and boiling jets poured from the goblet, and laughed frisky, nonchalantly listening to how "the first spring thunder, as if frolicking and playing, rumbles in the blue sky." (Fyodor Sologub)

Lilac of my spring

Spring day

Spring day is hot and golden, -
The whole city is blinded by the sun!
I am again - me: I am young again!
I'm happy and in love again!
The soul sings and rushes into the field.
I call all strangers on "you" ...
What space! what a will!
What songs and flowers!
Hurry up - in a cart over potholes!
Hurry - to the young meadows!
Look in the face of ruddy women!
Like a friend, kiss an enemy!
Make noise, spring oak forests!
Grow grass! blossom, lilac!
There are no guilty: all people are right
On such a blessed day!

To the eyes of your soul

To the eyes of your soul - prayers and sorrows,
My illness, my fear, the crying of my conscience,
And everything that is here at the end, and everything that is here at the beginning -
To the eyes of your soul...

To the eyes of your soul - lilac ecstasy
And the liturgy is a hymn to jasmine nights;
Everything - everything that is expensive, that awakens inspiration, -
Souls to your eyes!

Your soul's eyes - visions of terrible clergy ...
Execute me! try! torture! strangle! -
But you must accept! .. And the crying, and the laughter of the lyre -
To the eyes of your soul!..

sun and sea

The sea loves the sun, the sun loves the sea...
The waves caress the clear star
And, loving, drown, like a dream in an amphora;
When you wake up in the morning, the sun is shining!

The sun will justify, the sun will not condemn,
The loving sea will believe in him again...
It's been forever, it'll be forever
Only the sea cannot measure the power of the sun!

In sin - oblivion

You are a woman and you are right about that.
Valery Bryusov

All joy is in the past, in such a distant and irrevocable,
And in the present - well-being and hopelessness.
The heart is tired and vaguely thirsty, in the sunset fire,
Love and passion; - he is captivated by imprudence ...

The heart is tired of the narrow framework of well-being,
It is in despondency, it is in chains, it is in languor ...
Desperate to cut, desperate to believe, in dumb beamlessness,
It trembles with such grief, all in a cast of laziness...

And life enchants and seduces, and change
The whole way of family everyday life attracts somewhere!
In a confused heart: it is afraid of its betrayal
Disrupt your well-being at sunset.

Loyalty to a friend and motherhood are subject to him,
It is afraid to leave loved ones like miserable orphans...
But its beating is lonely, and there is no unity ...
And life passes, and the cold crypt, perhaps dug ...

Oh heart! a heart! your salvation is in your madness!
Burn and fight while you can - burn and fight!
Sin bolder! - let virtue be the lot of mummies:
In sin - oblivion! and there - at least a bullet, and there - at least rails!

After all, you are loved, sick heart! because you are loved!
Love back! love hello! love mindlessly!
And be calm: live, you are right! doubt, pass!
Rejoice, heart: you are still young! And be noisy!

In a birch cottage

On the northern trout river
You live in a birch cottage.
Like Bogomat of the great Correggi,
You are blessed. In a silver wig
Shakes the dust from the reliefs of the tapestry
Your butler. Are you dreaming, Madeleine,
With an ostrich fan in hand.
Your fragile son of eleven
Drinking milk on the marble terrace;
He painted his nose in strawberries;
How did you get on! You wrap yourself in a blanket
And, with disgust, frowning black-browed,
Irritated, losing my cool
Suddenly you see a diamond bracelet,
Like a marriage chain hanging on a brush
His hand: you will soon ... many years,
You are married, you are a mother ... All joy is in the past,
And the future seems vulgar to you...
What to expect? But morphine - or a shot? ..
Salvation - in madness! light up
Love me who gives the past
Wife and mother! If you are a needle,
Wake up to love! Be bolder in your whim!
Sinless sin - shaking hands
To the one who will give both youth and bliss ...
My footprints to you alone in the snow
On the banks of the trout river!

Berceuse autumn

Alosis Day. lemon leaf forest
Draprite trunks in a misty tunic.
I'm going into the wilderness, under the autumn berceuse,
I take mushrooms and bitter cranberries.

Who told me that I have a husband
And a thrice-flecked child? ..
After all, this is nonsense! because it's just nonsense!
I lie down in the grass, losing five combs ...

The soul sings, under the autumn berceuse,
Reliably waiting and sweetly painfully believes
That he will come, my gallant excess,
He will take me and brutalize me virginally.

And, having quenched my hungry instinct,
Take me back to my aimless reality
Leaving me an invisible hyacinth,
Holier than the willows and the cunning chrysanthemum...

I go, I go, under the autumn berceuse,
Not finding a place anywhere from a dream,
I want to disappear, to disappear
The house where I am a married bride! ..
..............................................................................
Copyright: Igor Severyanin poet's poems

Igor Severyanin signed the poem "Spring Day" as follows: "To dear K.M. Fofanov." Such a verbal expression of gratitude is only a small fraction of what the poet experienced in relation to his teacher and friend. Konstantin Mikhailovich Fofanov, a Russian poet, one of the forerunners of symbolism, welcomed the appearance of Severyanin in literature, supported him throughout his creative life, and, one might even say, was a colleague in the creative world.

The work "Spring Day" was written in April 1911 and published in the author's first published collection "The Thundering Cup". From that moment on, Severyanin, together with Fofanov, went on a tour of large Russian cities to read their works to the general public.

Nature theme at all times excited poets and writers. This is natural, because a person all his life feels the power and influence of a powerful environment on him. Nature is an inexhaustible source of inspiration for the poet. Literature gives him the opportunity to know this wonderful world, and express himself through it.

The spring city in the golden colors of a sunny day appears to the reader from the first lines of the poem: "The whole city is blinded by the sun!" The author rejoices at the beauty he sees, feels young, in love, cheerful. But his "soul sings and rushes into the field" - this is where you can get real pleasure from the charm of the awakened world. The poet tremblingly describes his desire to ride "in a cart on potholes" "in the young meadows". And, of course, he does not forget to mention the ruddy women - Severyanin in many of his poems uses a description of the greatness of his native nature, combined with the beauty of Russian women.

The poem repeats several times the attitude of the author to the people around him: he calls all strangers to "you", is ready to kiss the enemy as a friend, and declares that all people are right and "not guilty". Such a burst of generosity is inspired by the simplicity and harmony of the universe.

The lyricism of the hero in the work is expressed by the state of love, youth, spiritual impulse to love and forgive everyone. It is felt that he mentally escaped from city life in order to plunge into the expanse of fields and meadows. And a feeling of love and admiration rises to the pedestal of life.

The author used such figurative and artistic means of language as expressive epithets - "hot and golden" spring day face "ruddy women", metaphors – "the soul sings and breaks", "the city is blinded by the sun", comparisons – "like a friend, kiss an enemy".

When writing a verse used two-syllable iambic size, and the rhyme in versification is applied cross: gold-blinded-young-in love.

The poem "Spring Day" refers to landscape lyrics. It reflects the focus of poetry on the perception and understanding of the natural world. The landscape is transformed under the author's pen, conveys his mood, feelings and thoughts. Nature in its cycle creates the artist himself, so the author in his work is as complex and polyphonic as she is.

Native nature is familiar to us, but not everyone is able to see its beauty. And people of art see the new, unusual, beautiful in the familiar. Igor Severyanin's poem "Spring Day" once again demonstrated this to us. Landscape lyrics enabled the poet, through the description of nature, feelings, to show the originality of his vision of the world, to convey to the reader his own, non-standard idea of ​​​​the connection between the worldview and the work of the artist of the word.