Well, no, your poems are stupid. Poem by N.A. Nekrasov "Poet and Citizen". Analysis of the poem "The Poet and the Citizen" by Nekrasov

Citizen (enters) Alone again, stern again, Lies - and writes nothing. Poet Add: moping and barely breathing - And my portrait will be ready. Citizen Good portrait! No nobility, No beauty in it, believe me, But just vulgar foolishness. A wild beast knows how to lie down... P o e t So what? Citizen Yes, it's a shame to look. P o t Well, go away. Citizen Listen: shame on you! It's time to get up! You know yourself What time has come; In whom the sense of duty has not cooled down, Who has an incorruptible straight heart, In whom talent, strength, accuracy, That should not sleep now ... Let's suppose that I am such a rarity, But first you need to give a deed. Citizen Here is the news! You're dealing, You've only temporarily fallen asleep, Wake up: smash the vices boldly... P o et A! I know: "Look, where did you throw it!" But I'm a shelled bird. Too bad I don't feel like talking. (Takes up a book.) Savior Pushkin! - Here is the page: Read and stop reproaching! Citizen (reads) "Not for worldly excitement, Not for self-interest, not for battles, We were born for inspiration, For sweet sounds and prayers." Poet (with delight) Inimitable sounds! .. If I were a little smarter with my Muse, I swear I would not pick up a pen! Citizen Yes, wonderful sounds ... hurrah! So amazing is their strength, That even sleepy melancholy Jumped off the poet's soul. I rejoice sincerely - it's time! And I share your enthusiasm, But, I confess, I take your poems to heart. P o e t Don't talk nonsense! You are a zealous reader, but a wild critic. So, in your opinion, I am a great poet higher than Pushkin? Say please?!. Citizen Well, no! Your poems are stupid, Your elegies are not new, Satyrs are alien to beauty, Ignoble and insulting, Your verse is viscous. You are noticeable, But the stars are visible without the sun. In the night that we now live out timidly, When the beast roams free, And the man wanders timidly, - You firmly held your torch, But the sky was not pleased, So that it blazed under the storm, Illuminating the way for all people; Like a trembling spark in the dark, He burned a little, blinked, rushed about. Pray that he waited for the sun And drowned in its rays! No, you are not Pushkin. But for now, The sun is nowhere to be seen, It's a shame to sleep with your talent; Even more ashamed in the time of grief The beauty of the valleys, the skies and the sea And the sweet caress to sing... The storm is silent, with the bottomless wave The heavens argue in the radiance, And the gentle and sleepy wind Barely shakes the sails - The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously, And the heart of the travelers is calm, As if instead of a ship Under them is solid ground. But the thunder struck; the storm is groaning, And the tackle is tearing, and the mast is tilting, - It's not the time to play chess, It's not the time to sing songs! Here is a dog - and he knows the danger And barks furiously into the wind: He has no other business ... And what would you do, poet? Surely in a remote cabin You would become a lyre inspired Sloths ears to delight And storms to drown out the roar? Let you be faithful to your destination, But is it easier for your homeland, Where everyone is devoted to the worship of his One personality? Good hearts are counted, to whom the homeland is holy. God help them!.. And the rest? Their goal is small, their life is empty. Some are money-grubbers and thieves, Others are sweet singers, And still others... thirds are wise men: Their purpose is conversations. Protecting their person, They are inactive, repeating: "Our tribe is incorrigible, We do not want to die for nothing, We are waiting: maybe time will help, And we are proud that we do not harm!" Cunningly hides the haughty mind Selfish dreams, But ... my brother! Whoever you are, Do not believe this despicable logic! Be afraid to share their fate, The rich in word, the deed of the poor, And do not go to the camp of the harmless, When you can be useful! A son cannot look calmly On his mother's grief, There will be no citizen worthy To his homeland, his soul is cold, There is no bitterer reproach for him... Go into the fire for the honor of the homeland, For conviction, for love... Go, and die impeccably. You will not die in vain, the matter is solid, When blood flows under it... And you, poet! the chosen one of heaven, Herald of the truths of the ages, Do not believe that he who does not have bread is not worth your prophetic strings! Do not believe that people have fallen at all; God has not died in the soul of people, And the cry from the believing breast Will always be available to her! Be a citizen! serving art, Live for the good of your neighbor, Subordinating your genius to the feeling of All-Encompassing Love; And if you are rich in gifts, Do not bother to exhibit them: Their life-giving rays themselves will shine in your work. Take a look: a wretched worker crushes a hard stone into fragments, And flies from under the hammer And the flame splashes by itself! P o e t Have you finished? .. I almost fell asleep. Where are we to such views! You've gone too far. To teach others - a genius is needed, A strong soul is needed, And we, with our lazy soul, Proud and timid, We are not worth a copper penny. Hurrying to achieve fame, We are afraid to go astray And we go along the thorny path, And if we turn to the side - Gone, even run from the world! Where are you sorry, the role of the poet! Blessed is the silent citizen: He, alien to the Muses from the cradle, Master of His deeds, Leads them to a noble goal, And his work is successful, dispute ... Citizen Not a very flattering sentence. But is it yours? did you say? You could judge more correctly: You may not be a poet, But you must be a citizen. What is a citizen? Fatherland worthy son. Oh! we will have merchants, cadets, philistines, officials, nobles, Even poets are enough for us, But we need, we need citizens! But where are they? Who is not a senator, Not a writer, not a hero, Not a leader, not a planter, Who is a citizen of his native country? Where are you? respond? No answer. And even his mighty ideal is alien to the poet's soul! But if he is between us, With what tears he cries! A heavy lot fell to him, But he does not ask for a better share: He, like his own, wears on his body All the ulcers of his homeland. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... The storm roars and drives Liberty's wobbly boat to the abyss, The poet curses or at least groans, And the citizen is silent and bends his head under the yoke. When ... But I am silent. Even if it's not enough, And among us fate showed Worthy citizens... Do you know Their fate?.. Kneel down!.. Lazy! your dreams are ridiculous And frivolous pennies! Your comparison makes no sense. Here is a word of impartial truth: Blessed is the chattering poet, And pitiful is the voiceless citizen! Poet It is not surprising to finish off, Whom it is not necessary to finish off. You're right: it's easier for a poet to live free speech there is a consolation. But was I involved in it? Ah, in the years of my youth, Sad, disinterested, difficult, In short - very reckless, How zealous was my Pegasus! Not roses - I wove nettles In his sweeping mane And proudly left Parnassus. Without disgust, without fear, I went to prison and to the place of execution, I entered courts, hospitals. I will not repeat what I saw there ... I swear, I honestly hated it! I swear I truly loved! So what? I had to fold my hands humbly Or pay with my head ... What was to be done? Reckless Blaming people, blaming fate. Whenever I saw at least a struggle, I would fight, no matter how difficult, But ... perish, perish ... and when? I was twenty years old then! Slyly life beckoned forward, Like free streams of the sea, And tenderly love promised me its best blessings - My soul timidly retreated ... But no matter how there were reasons, I do not hide the bitter truth And timidly bow my head At the word "honest citizen". That fatal, vain flame still burns the chest, And I am glad if someone Throws a stone at me with contempt. Poor man! and from what did you trample down the sacred duty of man? What tribute did You take from life - the son of a sick, sick age?.. If only they knew my life, My love, my worries... Gloomy and full of anger, I stand at the door of the coffin... Ah! my farewell song That song was the first! The Muse bowed her sad face And, softly sobbing, she left. Since then, meetings have not been frequent: Furtively, pale, she will come And whisper fiery speeches, And sing proud songs. It calls either to the cities, or to the steppe, It is full of cherished intent, But the chains will suddenly rattle - And in an instant it will disappear. I didn't shun her at all, but how I was afraid! how afraid! When my neighbor was drowning In waves of essential grief - Now the thunder of heaven, then the fury of the sea I sang good-naturedly. Scourge of the little thieves For the pleasure of the big ones, I marveled at the audacity of the boys And was proud of their praise. Under the yoke of years, the soul bent, It cooled down to everything, And the Muse completely turned away, Full of bitter contempt. Now I call to her in vain - Alas! Hidden forever. Like a light, I myself do not know her And I will never know. O Muse, were you a random guest to my soul? Or did Fate destined her an extraordinary gift for songs? Alas! who knows? harsh rock hid everything in deep darkness. But there was one wreath of thorns To your gloomy beauty...

Notes: The poem opened the 1856 collection. It was printed in a special font and with separate pagination. All this testified to its programmatic nature. Notifying the readers of Sovremennik about the release of Nekrasov's book of poems, Chernyshevsky reprinted The Poet and the Citizen (together with the poems The Forgotten Village and Excerpts from the Travel Notes of Count Garansky). This caused a censorship storm. The poem was seen as subversive political content. Both the magazine and the collection were repressed. The orders of the Minister of Public Education A. S. Norov and the Minister of Internal Affairs S. S. Lansky prescribed that “that the book recently printed in Moscow under the title “Poems” by N. Nekrasov should not be allowed for a new edition and that no articles should be allowed to be printed, relating to the book, nor in particular extracts from it. The editorial staff of Sovremennik was warned that "the first such escapade would bring ... the magazine to a complete halt." Subsequently, Chernyshevsky recalled: "The trouble that I brought on Sovremennik by this reprint was very difficult and lengthy." Nekrasov, who was abroad, heard a rumor that when he returned to Russia, he would be arrested and imprisoned in the Peter and Paul Fortress. However, this did not frighten the poet ("... I am not a child; I knew what I was doing"; "... we have seen censorship storms and more terrible ..." - the poet wrote). The poem continues a great poetic tradition (“The conversation of a bookseller with a poet”

Citizen(included)
Alone again, harsh again
Lies - and does not write anything.

Poet
Add: moping and barely breathing -
And my portrait will be ready.

Citizen
Nice portrait! No nobility
There is no beauty in it, believe me,
It's just plain stupidity.
A wild beast can lie down...

Poet
So what?

Citizen
Yes, it's embarrassing to look at.

Poet
Well, then go away.

Citizen
Listen: shame on you!
It's time to get up! You know yourself
What time has come;
In whom the sense of duty has not cooled down,
Who has an incorruptible heart,
In whom is talent, strength, accuracy,
Tom shouldn't sleep now...

Poet
Let's say I'm such a rarity
But first you have to give.

Citizen
Here's the news! You're dealing
You just fell asleep for a while
Wake up: smash the vices boldly ...

Poet
A! I know: “Look, where did you throw it!”
But I'm a shelled bird.
Too bad I don't feel like talking.
(Picks up book)
Savior Pushkin! - Here is the page:
Read - and stop reproaching!

Citizen(is reading)
"Not for worldly excitement,
Not for self-interest, not for battles,
We are born to inspire
For sweet sounds and prayers.

Poet(with delight)
Incredible sounds!
Whenever with my Muse
I was a little smarter
I swear I wouldn't pick up a pen!

Citizen
Yes, the sounds are wonderful ... hooray!
Their power is so amazing
That even sleepy blues
Jumped from the soul of the poet.
I rejoice sincerely - it's time!
And I share your enthusiasm
But, I confess, your poems
I take it to heart.

Poet
Don't talk nonsense!
You are a zealous reader, but a wild critic.
So you think I'm great
Is a poet taller than Pushkin?
Say please?!.

Citizen
Oh no!
Your poems are stupid
Your elegies are not new
Satyrs are alien to beauty,
Disgraceful and offensive
Your verse is poignant. You are noticeable
But without the sun, the stars are visible.
In the night that is now
We live fearfully
When the beast roams free
And the man wanders timidly, -
You firmly held your light,
But the sky didn't like it
So that he blazed under the storm,
Illuminating the way nationwide;
Trembling spark in the dark
He was a little on fire, blinking, rushing about.
Pray that he waits for the sun
And drowned in its rays!
No, you are not Pushkin. But as long as
The sun is nowhere to be seen
It's a shame to sleep with your talent;
Even more ashamed in the hour of grief
The beauty of valleys, skies and seas
And sing sweet affection ...
The storm is silent, with a bottomless wave
The skies are arguing in the radiance,
And the wind is gentle and sleepy
Barely shakes the sails, -
The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously,
And the heart of travelers is calm,
As if instead of a ship
Below them is solid ground.
But the thunder struck; the storm is moaning
And the tackle is tearing, and the mast is tilting, -
No time to play chess
It's not time to sing songs!
Here is a dog - and he knows the danger
And barks furiously into the wind:
He has nothing else to do...
What would you do, poet?
Is it in a cabin remote
You would become an inspirational lyre
Delight sloths ears
And drown out the roar of the storm?
May you be faithful to the appointment
But is it easier for your homeland,
Where everyone is devoted to worship
Your single personality?
In front of good hearts,
To whom the homeland is holy.
God help them!.. And the rest?
Their goal is small, their life is empty.
Some are money-grubbers and thieves,
Others are sweet singers
And the third ... the third - the wise men:
Their purpose is conversation.
Protecting your person
They do nothing, saying:
"Our tribe is incorrigible,
We don't want to die for nothing
We are waiting: maybe time will help,
And we are proud that we do not harm!
Cunningly hides the haughty mind
Selfish dreams
But... my brother! whoever you are
Do not believe this despicable logic!
Be afraid to share their fate,
Rich in word, poor in deed,
And do not go into the camp of the harmless,
When can you be useful?
The son cannot look calmly
On the mother's mountain,
There will be no worthy citizen
To the fatherland is cold in soul,
He has no bitterer reproach ...
Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland,
For faith, for love...
Go and die flawlessly.
You will not die in vain: the matter is solid,
When blood flows under him ...
And you, the poet! heaven's chosen one,
Herald of the truths of the ages,
Do not believe that he who does not have bread
Not worth your prophetic strings!
Do not believe that people have fallen at all;
God did not die in the soul of people,
And a cry from a believing chest
She will always be available!
Be a citizen! serving the art
Live for the good of your neighbor
Subordinating your genius to feeling
All-embracing Love;
And if you are rich in gifts,
Do not bother to expose them:
In your work they will shine themselves
Their life-giving rays.
Take a look: in the fragments of a hard stone
The wretched worker crushes,
And flies from under the hammer
And the flame splatters by itself!

Poet
Have you finished? .. I almost fell asleep.
Where are we to such views!
You've gone too far.
It takes a genius to teach others
It takes a strong soul
And we, with our lazy soul,
Selfish and shy
We are not worth a penny.
Rushing to fame
We are afraid to go astray
And we walk along the thorny path,
And if we turn to the side -
Gone, even run from the world!
Where are you sorry, the role of the poet!
Blessed is the silent citizen:
He, alien to the Muses from the cradle,
Lord of his deeds
Leads them to a grateful goal,
And his work is successful, dispute ...

Citizen
Not a very flattering sentence.
But is it yours? did you say?
You could better judge
You may not be a poet
But you have to be a citizen.
What is a citizen?
Fatherland worthy son.
Oh! will be with us merchants, cadets,
Philistines, officials, nobles,
Enough even for us poets,
But we need, we need citizens!
But where are they? Who is not a senator
Not a writer, not a hero,
Not a leader, not a planter,
Who is a citizen of his native country?
Where are you? respond! No answer.
And even alien to the poet's soul
His mighty ideal!
But if there is one between us,
With what tears he cries!!.
A heavy lot fell to him,
But he does not ask for a better share:
He, like his own, wears on his body
All the ulcers of their homeland.
__________________
The storm roars and drives to the abyss
Freedom is a shaky boat,
The poet curses or at least groans,
And the citizen is silent and tends
Under the yoke of his head.
When ... But I am silent. Though a little
And among us fate showed
Worthy citizens... You know
Their fate?.. Kneel down!..
Lazy person! your dreams are funny
And frivolous pennies!
Your comparison makes no sense.
Here is the word of impartial truth:
Blessed is the chattering poet,
And what a pitiful citizen the voiceless!

Poet
It's not smart to get it
Who doesn't need to be beaten.
You're right: it's easier for a poet to live -
There is joy in free speech.
But was I involved in it?
Ah, in my youth,
Sad, disinterested, difficult,
In short - very reckless, -
Where was my Pegasus zealous!
Not roses - I wove nettles
In his sweeping mane
And proudly left Parnassus.
No disgust, no fear
I went to prison and to the place of execution,
I went to courts and hospitals.
I will not repeat what I saw there ...
I swear I honestly hated it!
I swear I truly loved!
And what? .. hearing my sounds,
They considered them black slander;
I had to fold my hands
Or pay with your head ...
What was to be done? recklessly
Blame people, blame fate.
Whenever I see a fight
I would fight, no matter how hard
But... perish, perish... and when?
I was twenty years old then!
Cunningly life beckoned forward,
Like free streams of the sea,
And affectionately promised love
I have my best blessings -
The soul retreated fearfully ...
But no matter how many reasons
I do not hide the bitter truth
And timidly bow my head
At the word "honest citizen".
That fatal, vain flame
Until now, it burns the chest,
And I'm glad if someone
He will throw a stone at me with contempt.
Poor man! and what did you get out of
Are you the duty of a sacred man?
What a tribute from life took
Are you the son of a sick sick century? ..
When you know my life
My love, my anxiety...
Gloomy and full of bitterness,
I'm standing at the door of the coffin...
Ah, my farewell song
That song was the first!
Muse bowed her sad face
And, quietly sobbing, she left.
Since then, meetings have not been frequent:
Furtively, pale, will come
And whispers fiery words,
And he sings proud songs.
He calls either to the cities, or to the steppe,
Full of cherished intent
But the chains will suddenly rattle -
And she disappears instantly.
I didn't completely shy away from her.
But how afraid! how afraid!
When my neighbor drowned
In the waves of essential grief -
Either the thunder of heaven, or the fury of the sea
I sang good-naturedly.
Scourge of little thieves
For the pleasure of the big ones,
I divil the audacity of the boys
And he was proud of their praise.
Under the yoke of years the soul bent,
She cooled down to everything
And the Muse completely turned away,
Full of bitter contempt.
Now in vain I call to her -
Alas! hidden forever.
Like a light, I don't know her myself
And I will never know.
Oh Muse, a random guest
Have you appeared to my soul?
Ile song is an extraordinary gift
Did fate destined her?
Alas! who knows? rock harsh
He hid everything in deep darkness.
But there was one wreath of thorns
To your gloomy beauty...

Analysis of the poem "The Poet and the Citizen" by Nekrasov

Most of Nekrasov's works are written in the genre civil lyrics. Moreover, in many, he directly expressed his beliefs about the role of the poet in society, about his civic duty. These views are set forth in most detail in the poem "The Poet and the Citizen" (1855).

The poem is a dialogue between a poet and a citizen, which is a reflection of the author's thoughts.

The work begins with the citizen's reproaches to the poet, who is idly spending his time. The poet justifies his inaction by the fact that he is aware of his insignificance before the genius of Pushkin and believes that he will never reach the same heights in creativity. The citizen confirms this, but says that when the sun sets (Pushkin), the stars flash in the sky and hold back the darkness until the next dawn. No matter how imperfect the poet's verses are, he is still obliged to create them, because he keeps a particle of divine fire in his soul. The poet, as the “chosen one of heaven”, must first of all take care of his country and its people.

In response to this lofty speech, the poet declares that his goal is to achieve fame. All the deeds and deeds of the poet are subordinated to this goal. The fulfillment of civic duty would lead to a deviation from the intended path. The citizen's objection is the central phrase of the work, which has become catchy - "You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen." He declares that a person's social position and status mean nothing if he is indifferent to the fate of his country. He bitterly admits that there are no such people among his contemporaries. And those who see the plight are afraid to speak the words of truth.

The poet, touched by these words, tells his story. In his youth, he was not afraid of anything and freely branded social vices in his poems. In this case, he was accompanied by the Muse. But instead of human gratitude, he experienced ridicule and persecution. Nobody wanted his truth. The fear of public condemnation led to the fact that the poet began to avoid sensitive topics, singing about insignificant deeds and deeds. This provided a livelihood and a peaceful life. But the poet lost the favor of the Muse, who left him forever. Only over the years did he understand that the Muse does not tolerate false jewelry. Her beauty is most emphasized by the “wreath of thorns”.

The poem "Poet and Citizen" is very important for understanding central idea Nekrasov. Serving "pure art" is not only useless, but also harmful. The poet must be aware of his civic responsibility. Only this will help him develop and strengthen his creative talent.

Citizen (included)

Alone again, harsh again

Lies - and does not write anything.

Add: moping and barely breathing -

And my portrait will be ready.

Citizen

A wild beast can lie down...

Listen, shame on you!

It's time to get up! You know yourself

What time has come;

In whom the sense of duty has not cooled down,

Who has an incorruptible heart,

In whom is talent, strength, accuracy,

Tom shouldn't sleep now.

Citizen calls

The poet wake up and smash the vices boldly.

The poet refers to Pushkin, who wrote:

"We were born for inspiration, for sweet sounds and prayers."

The citizen agrees that these are “wonderful sounds”,

their strength is amazing, but the verses

He takes the poet "more alive to his heart", although in terms of beauty and power of verse, he can in no way be compared with the great Pushkin.

Citizen

... No, you are not Pushkin. But as long as

The sun is nowhere to be seen

It's a shame to sleep with your talent;

Even more ashamed in the hour of grief Beauty of heaven, valleys and sea

And sing sweet affection ...

The storm is silent, with a bottomless wave

The skies are arguing in the radiance,

And the gentle and sleepy wind barely shakes the sails, -

The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously,

And the heart of travelers is calm,

As if instead of a ship Under them is solid ground.

But the thunder struck: the storm groans

And the tackle is tearing, and the mast is tilting, - It's not the time to play chess,

It's not time to sing songs!

Here is a dog - and he knows the danger And barks furiously at the wind:

He has nothing else to do...

What would you do, poet?

Is it in a cabin remote

You would become an inspirational lyre

Delight sloths ears

And drown out the roar of the storm?

May you be faithful to the appointment

But is it easier for your homeland,

Where everyone is devoted to worship

Your single personality?

In front of good hearts,

To whom the homeland is holy.

God help them! …and the rest?

Their goal is small, their life is empty.

Some are money-grubbers and thieves,

Others are sweet singers.

And the third, the third are the wise men:

Their purpose is conversation.

Protecting your person

They are inactive, repeating: "Our tribe is incorrigible,

We don't want to die for nothing

We are waiting: maybe time will help,

And we are proud that we do not harm!

Cunningly hides the haughty mind Selfish dreams,

But ... my brother! Whoever you are

Do not believe this despicable logic!

Be afraid to share their fate,

Rich in word, poor in deed,

And do not go into the camp of the harmless,

When can you be useful?

The son cannot look calmly

On the mother's mountain,

There will be no worthy citizen

To the fatherland is cold in soul,

He has no bitterer reproach ...

Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland,

For faith, for love...

Go and die flawlessly.

You will not die in vain: the matter is solid,

When blood flows under him ...

And you, the poet! Heaven's Chosen One,

Herald of the truths of the ages,

Do not believe that the one who does not have bread

Not worth your prophetic strings!

Do not believe that people fell at all;

God did not die in the soul of people,

And a cry from a believing chest

She will always be available!

Be a citizen! Serving art

Live for the good of your neighbor

Subordinating your genius to feeling

All-embracing Love;

And if you are rich in gifts,

Do not bother to expose them:

In your work they will shine themselves

Their life-giving rays.

Take a look: in the fragments of a hard stone

The wretched worker crushes,

And flies from under the hammer

And the flame splatters by itself!

... To teach others - a genius is needed,

It takes a strong soul.

And we, with our lazy soul,

Selfish and shy

We are not worth a penny.

Blessed is the silent citizen:

He, alien to the Muses from the cradle,

Lord of his deeds

Leads them to a noble goal,

And his work is successful, dispute ...

Citizen

Not a very flattering sentence.

But is it yours? Did you say?

You could better judge

You may not be a poet

But you have to be a citizen.

What is a citizen?

Fatherland worthy son.

But if there is one between us,

With what tears he cries!

A heavy lot fell to him,

But he does not ask for a better share:

He, like his own, wears on his body

All the ulcers of their homeland.

Your comparison makes no sense

Here is the word of impartial truth:

Blessed is the chattering poet,

And what a pitiful citizen the voiceless!

Ah, in the years of my youth Sad, disinterested, difficult,

In short - very reckless -

Where was my Pegasus zealous!

Not roses - I wove nettles

In his sweeping mane

And proudly left Parnassus.

No disgust, no fear

I went to prison and to the place of execution,

I entered the courts, hospitals ...

I swear I honestly hated it!

I swear I truly loved!

And what? .. Hearing my sounds,

They considered them black slander;

I had to fold my hands

Or pay with your head ..

What was to be done? Reckless Blaming people, blaming fate.

If I saw at least a struggle, I would fight, no matter how hard it is,

But... perish, perish... and when?

I was twenty years old then! Cunningly life beckoned me,

Like free streams of the sea,

And tenderly love promised me its best blessings -

The soul retreated fearfully ...

But no matter how many reasons

I bitterly do not hide the truth

And timidly bow my head

In a word: an honest citizen.

Oh! My farewell song

That song was the first!

Muse bowed her sad face

And, quietly sobbing, she left.

Since then, meetings have not been frequent:

Furtively, pale, will come

And whispers fiery words,

And he sings proud songs:

He calls either to the cities, or to the steppe,

Full of cherished intent

But the chains will suddenly rattle,

And she disappears instantly.

I didn't completely avoid him.

But how afraid! how afraid!

When my neighbor drowned

In the waves of essential grief -

Either the thunder of heaven, or the fury of the sea

I sang good-naturedly.

Scourge of little thieves

For the pleasure of the big ones,

I divil the audacity of the boys

And he was proud of their praise.

Under the yoke of years the soul bent,

She cooled down to everything

And the Muse completely turned away,

Full of bitter contempt.

Now in vain I call to her -

Alas! Hidden forever.

Like a light, I don't know her myself

And I will never know.

Notes

Published according to Art 1873, vol. I, part 2, p. 85-101, with errata corrected in Art. 51 ("Unnoble" instead of "But noble") and in Art. 198 (“When, but I am silent.” instead of “When, but I am silent ...”) according to Art 1856 (for the rationale for these amendments, see: Bukhshtab B. Ya. Notes on the texts of Nekrasov's poems. - In the book: Edition of classical literature. From the experience of the Poet's Library. M., 1963, p. 242-257) and the elimination of censorship distortions in Art. 56-57 (according to the GBL autograph), 126-127, 187-192 (according to St 1856) following a number of Soviet publications by Nekrasov (for example, PSS, vol. II). It has recently been suggested that the replacement of present tense by past tense in v. 56-57 ("prowled" instead of "prowl" and "wandered" instead of "wanders") was made by Nekrasov as a stylistic correction (Gruzdev A. From observations on the text of the poem by N. A. Nekrasov "The Poet and the Citizen". - RL, 1960, N 2, p. 198-200). However, from the point of view of stylistic verse, this replacement did not benefit, since the past tense here does not agree with the words "now" and "we are living out"; meanwhile, the assignment of the action to the past tense led to a clear weakening of the political sound of poetry; therefore, we join the opinion of K.I. Chukovsky, who believed that the replacement was made in the order of autocensorship, and introduce the reading of the autograph into the main text. First published and included in the collected works: St. 1856, p. V-XVI. It was reprinted in the 2nd part of all subsequent lifetime editions of "Poems" and in R. B-ke. The autograph of the entire poem has not been found. Autograph Art. 52 (starting with the words "You are noticeable" - 65 as a separate text in the "Notes" cycle (under N 1) with the title "To Myself" (the original, crossed out version of the title: " To the modern poet") - GBL (Zap. Tetr. N 2, l. 42); facsimile reproduced in the publication: Nekrasov N. A. Soch., Vol. 1. M., 1954, between p. 160 and 161; published by Nekrasov without a title as part of "Notes on journals for February 1856": C, 1856, N 3 (restricted cuts - February 29 and March 3, 1856), dep. V, p. 79. Autograph Art. 136-147 - TsGALI (Zap. Tetr., sheet 4, as part of the poem "V. G. Belinsky"). These stanzas were included in the poem "To the Russian Writer" (C, 1855, N 6 (censored cut - May 31, 1855), p. 219, signed: "N. Nekrasov"). See: Other editions and variants, p. 265. Rough drafts relating to Art. 191-197, 204-207, - GBL (Zap. Tetr. N 1, inside back cover). In Ex. ed. GBL Nekrasov filled in censored notes by hand in Art. 227-229, 267. Ex. ed. GPB Nekrasov, eliminating censorship distortions, in Art. 211 crossed out "truthful" and inscribed "free", and also filled in the censored note in Art. 227-229. In the proofreading of St. 1856, N. X. Ketcher entered by hand two additional quatrains (after st. 131 and after st. 135), which were not included in the printed text (Cor. Ketcher, fol. 58v., 59). In lifetime editions of "Poems" (beginning with St. 1861) dated: "1856". However, some fragments of the Citizen's monologues were created earlier. Art. 136-147, written in the spring of 1855, as already mentioned, were originally published as part of the poem "To the Russian Writer". Somewhat later, Art. 52-65: their autograph mentioned above dates (according to the position in Zap. Tetr. N 2) to the end of 1855 or the beginning of 1856. Nekrasov completed work on The Poet and the Citizen only in the summer of 1856, while at a dacha near Oranienbaum. “I’m writing long poems and I’m tired,” he told I.S. Turgenev on June 27, 1856. Nekrasov was in a hurry to finish The Poet and the Citizen in order to introduce it (as a preface) into the St 1856 edition, which had already passed through censorship (restricted. cut - May 14, 1856). In St 1856 "The Poet and the Citizen" was printed in larger type and with special pagination (Roman numerals). The last circumstance, perhaps, is explained by the fact that these pages were attached to an already laid out book. When the collection St 1856 went out of print (October 19, 1856), Nekrasov was abroad. On November 5, 1856, Chernyshevsky informed him of the huge success of the book among advanced readers: "Universal delight. Hardly Pushkin's first poems, hardly The Inspector General or" Dead Souls"were as successful as your book" (Chernyshevsky, vol. XIV, p. 321). In N 11 of Sovremennik for 1856, in Chernyshevsky's review of St. 1856, three poems were completely reprinted: "The Poet and the Citizen", "Excerpts from the travel notes of Count Garansky" and "The Forgotten Village". The reprint was noticed in high society circles, and Alexander II was reported about Nekrasov's "seditious" book (Chernyshevsky, vol. I, p. 752; Kolokol, 1857, Aug. 1, l. 2, p. 14-15). A high-profile censorship case arose, and the poem “The Poet and the Citizen” provoked the most violent attacks, “... here we are talking,” Comrade Minister of Public Education P. A. Vyazemsky pointed out in a draft order for the censorship department, “not about moral struggle, but about political<...>here it is not about the sacrifices that every citizen is obliged to bring to the fatherland, but about those sacrifices and dangers that threaten a citizen when he rebels against the existing order and is ready to shed his blood in internecine struggle or under the punishment of the law "(LN, vol. 53-54, pp. 215-216.) In the order of the Minister of Public Education A. S. Norov dated November 30, 1856, it was said that in the poem, “of course, not explicitly and not literally, unfavorable opinions and sympathies are expressed. Throughout the course of the poem and in some individual expressions, one cannot but admit that it is possible to give this poem the most perverse sense and meaning. (Lemke M. Essays on the history of Russian censorship and journalism of the 19th century. SPb., 1904, p. 312); here were written out from the "Poet and Citizen" art. 54-61, 123-127, and the words "So that he blazed under the storm, Illuminating the way for all people..." and "... the case is strong, When blood flows under it..." were underlined as the most "indecent and inappropriate" (ibid., pp. 312-313). The same order prescribed "that henceforth no new edition of N. Nekrasov's Poems be allowed, and that neither articles about this book nor extracts from it be printed"; The editors of Sovremennik announced that "the first such trick will expose<...>magazine to a complete cessation "(ibid., p. 313). Nekrasov managed to release a new edition of Poems only after much trouble, in 1861. When reprinted in St. 1861, many poems were severely distorted by censorship. The Poet and Citizen was especially affected. With further reprints, Nekrasov restored a number of bright lines in this poem, but individual distortions remained in the text of all subsequent lifetime editions (see: Other editions and variants, pp. 267-268).Simplistically interpreting the poem, E. A. Lyatsky wrote that it reproduces, "no doubt, one of the most typical conversations between Chernyshevsky and Nekrasov" ( Modern world, 1911, N 10, p. 170). Of course, the monologues of the Citizen embody the views on the purpose of art that Chernyshevsky propagated at that time (in "The Aesthetic Relations of Art to Reality" and in other works). But the same Citizen's monologues also include Art. 136-147, which in the draft of the poem "V. G. Belinsky" were put into the mouth of Belinsky, as well as Art. 52-65, designed in manuscript as Nekrasov's auto-confession and entitled "To Myself". It is obvious that the views of Chernyshevsky, Belinsky, Nekrasov and other revolutionary democrats are reflected in Grazhdanin's monologues. In the image of the Poet, apparently, there are some traits of Nekrasov's character, but there is undoubtedly a sharp difference in the creative attitudes of the author and the hero; see especially Art. 208-294, where the Poet says that his "soul timidly retreated", frightened of the struggle ("But ... perish, perish ... and when? I was twenty years old then!"), And he moved away from big social topics, began to "good-naturedly" sing of the beauty of nature, etc. The Citizen and the Poet are images that have a generalized character. Since in Nekrasov's lifetime editions the text of "The Poet and the Citizen" was printed with censorship distortions and cuts, readers restored the pre-censored versions in their copies of Nekrasov's book (sometimes with discrepancies) - see Ex. Vasilkovsky, Ex. GBL, Ex. Gerbel, Ex. Evgeniev-Maksimova, Ex. Efremova 1859, Ex. IRLI b, Ex. Lazarevsky, Ex. Museum N., Ex. Chukovsky. Some uncensored versions were also restored in the Modzalevsky List and in foreign counterfeiting - St 1862. Calling on his friend M.I. Shemanovsky to "internal work on himself" (that is, to cultivate steadfast revolutionary convictions), N.A. Dobrolyubov, in a letter to him dated August 6, 1859, quoted "The Poet and the Citizen"; he wrote: "With the loss of the external opportunity for such activity, we will die - but we will still not die in vain ... Remember: A son cannot look calmly On the mountain of his mother ... etc. Read ten verses, and at the end of them you will see more clearly what I want to say" (Dobrolyubov, vol. IX, p. 378). In the last phrase, Dobrolyubov drew his friend's attention to the lines that were considered especially "seditious" at that time: Go into the fire for the honor of your homeland, For persuasion, for love... Go and die impeccably. You won't die in vain: a thing is solid, When blood flows under it...

"Look, where did you throw it!" - a hidden quotation from Gogol (in The Inspector General, d. 2, yavl. 8: "Ek, where did you throw it!").

"Not for worldly excitement..."- a quote from Pushkin's poem "The Poet and the Crowd" (1828).

And you, the poet! heaven's chosen one... - Nekrasov uses Pushkin's characterization of the Poet (from the same poem): "heaven's chosen one."

Be a citizen! serving the art... - Initially (as part of the poem "Russian Writer"), this line had a different edition: "Serve not glory, not art," and caused the remark of I. S. Turgenev, who wrote to I. I. Panaev on July 10, 1855: "I wished I wish I knew - Nekrasov's verse (in the poem "To the Russian Writer"): Serve not glory, Not art - probably a typo instead of: But art? "(Turgenev, Letters, vol. II, p. 298). Nekrasov did not accept the amendment proposed by Turgenev, but redid the line so that it could not be seen as a dismissive attitude towards art.

You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen. - Nekrasov paraphrases the formula of K. F. Ryleev (from the dedication to the poem "Voinarovsky", 1823-1825): "I am not a poet, but a citizen." This formula (without naming Ryleev because of censorship) was given by N. G. Chernyshevsky in the 4th article from the cycle "Essays on the Gogol Period of Russian Literature" (C, 1856, No. 4). It is possible that this article, well known to Nekrasov (he was busy about publishing it before the censor V. N. Beketov), ​​reminded him of the Ryleyev formula (see: Harkavy A. M. Chernyshevsky and Nekrasov's poem "The Poet and the Citizen". - In the book: N. G. Chernyshevsky. Articles, Research and Materials, vol. 5. Saratov, 1968, p. 54-57). Cadets- Pupils of noble military educational institutions.

leader- provincial or district leader of the nobility, elected administrative posts.

Planter - here: a landowner living on his estate.

Though not enough, And among us fate showed Worthy citizens ... - Against these lines (printed with the option: instead of "among us" - "in our days") in Ex. ed. The GPB scribe made a note: "Here they saw a hint of the fate of the Decembrists." However, it must be assumed that Nekrasov had in mind not only the Decembrists, but also the Petrashevites and other revolutionaries who were repressed by the tsarist government.

I swear I honestly hated it! I swear I truly loved!- N. G. Chernyshevsky, who saw Nekrasov’s auto-confession in these verses, wrote to him on November 5, 1856: “... You are not talking about love for a woman, but about love for people - but here you have even less right to lose heart for yourself "I swear, I honestly hated! I swear, I sincerely loved! - wouldn't it be more correct to tell you about myself: ... I honestly hate! ... I sincerely love!" (Chernyshevsky, vol. XIV, p. 324).