Great ones about poetry:
Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.
Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.
Humboldt V.
Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - the poet makes our thoughts sing within us. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
– Don’t write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "The Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.
Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"
I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.
The poem “I am still languishing with the longing of desires...” is dedicated to the memory of Eleanor Tyutcheva, the poet’s wife. What phrases and phrases characterize the poet’s inner world, his experiences?
The poet’s inner world is full of the deepest experiences, for the expression of which he finds words and phrases that excite the reader’s heart. The very psychological process of returning to the image of the beloved woman is indicated by a series of verbs, arranged in increasing order - I languish, I strive, I catch. State lyrical hero convey metaphorical images: longing desires, in the darkness of memories.
Do you think, judging by this poem, is it only in the poet’s memories that the image of the addressee of these poems lives? How is the author’s attitude towards the “cute image” expressed?
A sweet image always remains alive for the poet. First of all, this impression is created by directly addressing the beloved woman as the addressee of the poem. On the one hand, the “sweet image” is unforgettable, it is always before the gaze of the lyrical hero, on the other hand, it is inaccessible, unattainable. To express this seemingly contradictory image (unattainable and “in front of me everywhere, always”), a very vivid comparison was found that absorbs these two principles, “like a star in the sky at night.”
What do you see as the emotional meaning of the poem “She was sitting on the floor...”? Why do you think the poet uses a comparison of the look at letters with the look of souls “at the body they abandoned”? What other epithets and metaphors particularly caught your attention when reading the poem and why?
In the letters, the woman tells the story of life and love, but “the love and joy of murder.” Hence, the emotional impact exerted through the visible picture of her communication with her dear letters is very strong. We become familiar with both the heroine’s joyful feelings and her deep sadness, we comprehend her sadness and melancholy. This feeling is also strengthened by understanding the mood of the lyrical hero, so filled with reverent sympathy for her, terrible sadness and ready to “fall... on his knees.” The comparison of letters with ashes symbolizes farewell to love and hopes (remember Pushkin’s “Burnt Letter”; only here the burning occurs mentally). However, Tyutchev finds an even more striking comparison to show how, in returning to old letters, both joyful (“Oh, how much life was here, irrevocably experienced”) and sorrowful feelings surged at the same time. These are lines.
Fedor Tyutchev
I am still tormented by the longing of desires...
Don’t believe, don’t believe the poet, maiden...
I met you - and everything is gone
In an obsolete heart came to life...
One look at these lines and the motif of a romance immediately rings in your head. Easily, from memory, we continue:
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...
It seems that we have known these poems all our lives, and the story told in them seems quite simple: once upon a time the poet loved a woman, and suddenly he meets her, most likely by chance, after a long separation.
The story is really simple. Youthful love, separation, chance meeting. And the separation is really long - almost a quarter of a century, and the meeting is accidental. And everything is resurrected: charm, love, “spiritual fullness,” and life itself is filled with meaning. And it’s hard to imagine that the poet is already 67 years old, and his beloved is 61. And one can only admire such strength and purity of feelings, such an ability to love, such admiration for a woman.
This was Clotilde Botmer - the younger sister of Eleanor, the first wife of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev; her initials are included in the title of the poem. Between two meetings with this woman, the poet experienced youthful love, the family happiness of her husband and father, fatal passion, and the bitter loss of loved ones. The love story of Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is full of drama, crazy passion, fatal mistakes, mental anguish, disappointment and repentance. The poet in his poems does not name the names of his beloved women, they become for him the center of being, the axis on which the whole world rests; and every time love interest turns not only into a merger of kindred souls, but also into a fatal duel:
Love, love - says the legend -
Union of the soul with the dear soul -
Their union, combination,
And their fatal merger,
And... the fatal duel...
First love came to Fyodor Tyutchev in Munich, where he served as a freelance official at the Russian diplomatic mission. The “young fairy” - Amalia Maximilianovna Lerchenfeld (later married - Baroness Krudener) - was only 14 years old, and the poet was 18. They walked around the city, made trips through its ancient suburbs, to the Danube, exchanged chains for pectoral crosses (“I remember golden time..."). However, the “golden time” of romantic walks and childlike relationships did not last long. The marriage proposal was rejected by the relatives of the young lover: a more successful match was preferred to an untitled Russian diplomat, who was in Germany on a freelance basis, who was not rich and was still too young. Tyutchev’s experiences - resentment, bitterness, disappointment - are reflected in a sad, heart-aching message:
Your sweet gaze, full of innocent passion,
Golden dawn of your heavenly feelings
I couldn’t - alas! - appease them -
He serves them as a silent reproach.
These hearts in which there is no truth,
They, oh friend, run away like a sentence,
Your love with a baby's gaze.
He is scary to them, like the memory of childhood.
But for me this look is a blessing;
Like the key to life, in the depths of your soul
Your gaze lives and will live in me:
She needs him like heaven and breath.
Such is the grief of the spirits, the blessed light;
Only in the heavens does he shine, heavenly;
In the night of sin, at the bottom of a terrible abyss,
This pure fire burns like hellish fire.
But there was another meeting many years later. Amalia, no longer stopping at the standards of decency, came to the dying Tyutchev without an invitation and returned the kiss promised during the exchange of baptismal neck chains.
In Munich, Tyutchev met his new love, Eleanor Peterson (née von Bothmer). She was the widow of a Russian diplomat, three years older than Tyutchev, and had four sons from her first marriage. Extraordinarily beautiful, feminine, sensitive, she idolized her husband and gave him several happy years and three daughters: Anna (1829), Daria (1834) and Ekaterina (1835). In January 1833, Tyutchev’s life was like a stone thrown from a mountain - thrown by whom - by the all-powerful Fate or by blind Chance? - a new great love burst in, entailing trials and problems...
Having rolled down the mountain, the stone lay in the valley.
How did he fall? Nobody knows now -
Did he fall from the top by himself,
Or was he overthrown by the will of someone else?
Century after century flew by:
No one has yet resolved the issue.
An all-consuming mad passion for the young and lovely Ernestine von Dörnberg (née von Pfeffel), combined with official duties and a sense of family duty evoke in the poet languor, irritation, and desperate melancholy. However, these trials and problems were destined to end in real tragedy: as a result of an accident, Eleanor died in severe torment. The poet retained a tender memory of her throughout his life, and on the 10th anniversary of Eleanor’s death he wrote:
I am still tormented by the anguish of desires.
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...
So six years after they met and had crazy passion, Ernestine became the poet’s second wife.
I love your eyes, my friend,
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly lift them up
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick look around the whole circle...
But there is a stronger charm:
Eyes downcast,
In moments of passionate kissing,
And through lowered eyelashes
A gloomy, dim fire of desire.
This woman inspired Tyutchev to create such masterpieces of love lyrics as “With what bliss, with what melancholy in love...”, “Yesterday, in enchanted dreams”, “I don’t know if grace will touch...”, “December 1, 1837”, “ She was sitting on the floor...” She bore him three children: Maria (1840), Dmitry (1841) and Ivan (1846). In September 1844, under the influence of life circumstances, Tyutchev decided to return to St. Petersburg. The second, Russian, life of Fyodor Ivanovich began. Tyutchev is 41 years old.
Life in Russia turned out to be difficult for the family: constant financial difficulties, an unusual climate, an unsettled way of life compared to European ones; and most importantly - children, our own, tiny ones, with childhood illnesses and almost adult stepdaughters with new adult problems. Ernestina Fedorovna never got used to St. Petersburg, nor was she captivated by her successes in the “fashionable world”; willingly letting her husband shine in aristocratic living rooms, she happily took care of the children, the house, read a lot and seriously, and later lived for a long time on the Tyutchev family estate in the Oryol province. Fyodor Ivanovich began to languish, get bored, rush out of the house... He felt cramped within the family circle.
Like a pillar of smoke
brightening in the sky! -
As the shadow below slides,
elusive!..
“This is our life,”
you told me, -
Not light smoke
shining under the moon,
And this shadow running from the smoke..."
It was in this state of soul and heart that Tyutchev met Elena Deniseva. Elena Alexandrovna was a beautiful, brave, temperamental woman; the romance with her developed rapidly and passionately. A scandal and public condemnation followed.
What did you pray with love,
What, how did you take care of a shrine,
Fate for human idleness
She betrayed me to reproach.
The crowd came in, the crowd broke in
In the sanctuary of your soul,
And you involuntarily felt ashamed
And the secrets and sacrifices available to her.
Oh, if only there were living wings
Souls hovering above the crowd
She was saved from violence
Immortal human vulgarity!
A proud young woman who challenged secular society, accomplished a feat in the name of love and died in a desperate struggle for her happiness - such is the heroine of Denisyev’s cycle of poems. Tyutchev understood how fatal their love turned out to be for her.
Oh, how murderously we love,
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!
…..
Fate's terrible sentence
Your love was for her
And undeserved shame
She laid down her life!
The poet's soul was torn between his two beloved women. Both Ernestina and Elena were, as it were, the centers of his two different lives, two at the same time existing worlds. Experiencing a deep grateful feeling for his wife, he nevertheless could not put an end to his relationship with Elena, which in one of the poems of 1859, addressed to Ernestina Feodorovna, he called “spiritual fainting”:
I don’t know if grace will touch
My painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to resurrect and rebel?
Will the spiritual fainting pass?
But if the soul could
Find peace here on earth,
You would be a blessing to me -
You, you, my earthly providence!..
However, affection, a sense of duty and gratitude to his wife could not displace such a dramatic but tender love for Elena Denisyeva from the poet’s soul.
Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
I still languish with the longing of desires,
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...
Eleonora Tyutcheva
In February 1826, Tyutchev, while serving in Munich, met a young widow, mother of four sons, Eleanor Peterson. According to contemporaries, the 26-year-old countess was “infinitely charming”, spoke two languages well - French and German, and was distinguished by her fragile beauty. She fell in love with the Russian poet literally at first sight. A few months after they met, the couple secretly got married. For two years, many representatives of high society in Munich knew nothing about this wedding. Officially, Tyutchev married Peterson only in 1829. Their relationship, which lasted about twelve years, was mostly happy. Eleanor turned out to be a good wife, loving Fyodor Ivanovich dearly, a devoted friend who knows how to provide support in difficult times, a zealous housewife, capable of faithfully managing even her husband’s very modest income. In 1833, the poet met Ernestina Dernberg, a famous Munich beauty, his future wife. Naturally, falling in love with her negatively affected his marriage with Eleanor. In August 1838, illness and nervous shock finally brought down Tyutchev’s first wife. She passed away, experiencing incredible suffering. Her death made a strong impression on Fyodor Ivanovich. According to the memoirs of contemporaries, during the night spent at Eleanor’s coffin, the poet turned completely gray.
In 1848, ten years after the death of his first wife, Tyutchev dedicated to her the heartfelt poem “I am still languishing with the longing of desires...”. In it, the lyrical hero yearns for the beloved who left him. The text does not directly talk about death, although between the lines this motif is quite easy to read. As in many other intimate poems by Fyodor Ivanovich, love here is directly related to suffering. In the text under consideration, the word “yet” is repeated four times. Thanks to the anaphora used by the poet, the reader understands that some time has passed since the loss of his beloved, but the pain in the hero’s soul has not subsided, his grief has not diminished. Her image, characterized by the epithets “sweet”, “unforgettable”, “unattainable”, “unchangeable”, remained forever imprinted in memory. He is compared to a star in the sky, which the lyrical hero is never destined to reach, just as he is not destined in this world to meet at least once again with his beloved, taken away by merciless death.
The poem “I am still languishing with the longing of desires...” is dedicated to the memory of Eleanor Tyutcheva, the poet’s wife. What phrases and phrases characterize the poet’s inner world, his experiences? The poet’s inner world is full of the deepest experiences, for the expression of which he finds words and phrases that excite the reader’s heart. The very psychological process of returning to the image of the beloved woman is indicated by a series of verbs, arranged in increasing order - I languish, I strive, I catch. The state of the lyrical hero is conveyed by metaphorical images: the anguish of desires, in the darkness of memories. Do you think, judging by this poem, is it only in the poet’s memories that the image of the addressee of these poems lives? How is the author’s attitude towards the “cute image” expressed? A sweet image always remains alive for the poet. First of all, this impression is created by directly addressing the beloved woman as the addressee of the poem. On the one hand, the “sweet image” is unforgettable, it is always before the gaze of the lyrical hero, on the other hand, it is inaccessible, unattainable. To express this seemingly contradictory image (unattainable and “in front of me everywhere, always”), a very vivid comparison was found that absorbs these two principles, “like a star in the sky at night.” What do you see as the emotional meaning of the poem “She was sitting on the floor...”? Why do you think the poet uses a comparison of the look at letters with the look of souls “at the body they abandoned”? What other epithets and metaphors particularly caught your attention when reading the poem and why? In the letters, the woman tells the story of life and love, but “the love and joy of murder.” Hence, the emotional impact exerted through the visible picture of her communication with her dear letters is very strong. We become familiar with both the heroine’s joyful feelings and her deep sadness, we comprehend her sadness and melancholy. This feeling is also strengthened by understanding the mood of the lyrical hero, so filled with reverent sympathy for her, terrible sadness and ready to “fall... on his knees.” The comparison of letters with ashes symbolizes farewell to love and hopes (remember Pushkin’s “Burnt Letter”; only here the burning occurs mentally). However, Tyutchev finds an even more striking comparison to show how, in returning to old letters, both joyful (“Oh, how much life was here, irrevocably experienced”) and sorrowful feelings surged at the same time. These are the lines: She took familiar sheets of paper and looked at them wonderfully, like souls looking from above at the body they abandoned.