Read poems on this page "And the coffin is already lowered into the grave ..." Russian poet Fyodor Tyutcheva written in 1836 year.
And the coffin has already been lowered into the grave ...
And the coffin has already been lowered into the grave, And everything piled around ... They huddle, breathe through force, Spirits the chest with a pernicious spirit ... And over the open grave, At the head where the coffin stands, The learned pastor, dignitary, The funeral speech reads ... It broadcasts the human frailty, the Fall, the blood of Christ ... And the crowd is differently occupied with clever, decent speech ... And the sky is so imperishable, so infinitely above the earth ... And the birds soar loudly In the blue airy abyss ...
<1836>F.I. Tyutchev. Complete collection of poems.
Leningrad, "Soviet Writer", 1957.
Themes of the poem
Other poems by Fyodor Tyutchev
Select verses ... December 1, 1837 (So it is destined here ...) May 11, 1869 (All of us, gathered ...) April 12, 1865 (Everything is decided ...) 1856 (We stand blindly ... ) February 19, 1864 (And quiet ...) January 29, 1837 (From whose hand ...) Encyclica Mala aria Memento Silentium! To AF Hilferding Alps Skald harp Madness Insomnia Gemini Brother, who accompanied me for so many years ... In the village Silence in the stuffy air ... Clouds melt in the sky ... There is a high meaning in separation ... In a crowd of people, in immodest the noise of the day ... In the hours when it happens ... Vatican anniversary We are submissive to the highest orders ... The great day of Cyril's death ... Venice Spring waters Spring thunderstorm Spring All day she lay in oblivion ... Evening Vision I see your eyes again ... Wave and Duma The East was turning white. The rook was rolling ... From sea to sea ... I hear in my sleep - and I can't ... The executing god took everything from me ... Everything that I managed to save ... I am all-powerful and weak together ... I looked, standing over the Neva ... Gus at the stake Yes, you kept your word ... Two voices Two unity There are two forces - two fatal forces ... For two friends December morning The day is getting dark, the night is close ... Day and night Day of the Orthodox East ... To my friend Ya.P. Polonsky, my soul is the Elysium of shadows ... my soul would like to be a star ... The smoke of E. N. Annenkova of His Grace to Prince A. A. Suvorov There is in the initial autumn ... There is also in my suffering stagnation ... The sight of the earth is still sad ... I am still languishing with the longing of desires ... Here, where the vault of heaven is so sluggish ... Winter is not without reason angry ... And in God's world it happens ... And the coffin has already been lowered into the grave ... And there is no feeling in your eyes ... Play while over you ... From Goethe (Joy and sorrow ...) From edge to edge, from hail to hail ... From Michelangelo To a different inherited from nature ... So, oops I saw you ... Italian villa To Hanka How true is the common sense of the people ... How cheerful is the roar of summer storms ... Like a daughter to the slaughter ... Like a pillar of smoke brightens in the heights! .. Like sometimes summer ... Like over hot ash ... No matter how we are oppressed by parting ... How unexpected and bright ... Like an unsolved mystery ... No matter how infuriated the evil speech ... No matter how hot noon breathes ... No matter how hard the last hour is. .. As the ocean embraces the globe of the earth ... How he loved his family ate ... Like a bird, in the early dawn ... How sweetly the dark green garden slumbers ... How good you are, oh night sea ... Like this posthumous album ... What a wild gorge ... To Prince Gorchakov (you have a fateful vocation. ..) To Prince PA Vyazemsky When in the circle of murderous worries ... When decrepit forces ... When there is no God's consent ... When your eighteen years ... Columbus The feast is over, the choirs are silent ... Sea horse Whoever you are, but when you meet her ... Swan Summer evening Summer 1854 Leaves Dear papa! I love your eyes, my friend .. M.P. Pogodinu (My poems here ...) The East is dubiously silent ... The sea and the cliff Motive Heine (If death is night ...) N.I. Krol N.F. Shcherbina On the way back On the high tree of mankind ... On the anniversary of N.M. Karamzin Above the vineyards ... Above the old-time Russian Vilna ... Above this dark crowd ... On the eve of the anniversary of August 4, 1864 We cannot predict ... Napoleon Waste labor - no, you can't bring them to their senses ... Our century You did not serve God and not Russia ... Do not believe, do not believe the poet, virgin ... Not everything painful dreams of the soul ... Do not speak! He's just like before ... Don't give us the spirit of idle talk ... You don't know what flattering things are for human wisdom ... I don't know if grace will touch ... Do not argue, do not bother! .. Not what you think, nature ... The sky is pale blue ... No wonder the merciful God ... Neman Reluctantly and timidly ... There is no day when the soul does not ache ... No, my addiction to you ... The night sky is so gloomy ... Oh my prophetic soul! .. What are you howling, night wind? .. Oh, these days are fatal days ... Oh, how destructively we love ... Oh, do not disturb me ... Oh, this South, oh, this Nice! .. Wrapped in a slumber ... Loneliness He, dying, doubted ... She was sitting on the floor ... Again I stand over the Neva ... Late autumn sometimes ... Autumn evening From the life that raged here ... Answer to the address In memory of V.A.Zhukovsky (I saw your evening ...) In memory of E.P. Kovalevsky (And now in the ranks ...) In memory of M.K. The first leaf Free flowing sand down to the knees ... The flame burns, the flame blazes ... On the plain of azure waters ... Under the breath of bad weather ... Fires Midday The last cataclysm The last love The stream thickened and grows dim ... Send, Lord, your joy. .. Poetry Predestination His beautiful day in the West has disappeared ... When the New Testament was sent, Nature is a sphinx ... A glimpse of Prophecy Let the hearts of the Zoils whine with envy ... A kite has risen from the clearing ... A well-deserved punishment is being accomplished ... The holy night has risen to the sky. .. Today, friend, fifteen years have passed ... I am sitting thoughtfully and alone ... The sun is shining, the waters are shining ... To the Slavs (They are screaming, they are threatening ...) To the Slavs (Hello, sincere brothers ...) Tears human, oh human tears ... Look how the west flared up ... Look how the expanse of the river ... Look how the grove turns green ... Modern snowy mountains Dream at sea Means and ends The king's son dies in Nice ... So, there are moments in life ... The gray shadows are mixed ... Now you have no time for poetry ... It is quietly flowing in the lake ... On a quiet night, in late summer ... You will be behind the fog for a long time ... You, wave my sea ... Alas, that our ignorance ... A terrible dream weighed down over us ... The mind cannot understand Russia ... Calm down The business has calmed down ... Breathes easier ... Morning in the mountains Charon Fountain and Cicero Kachenovsky in Winter. .. Whatever life teaches us ... What you prayed with love ... Black Sea Your palace, savior, I see, is decorated ... What are you leaning over the waters ... These poor villages ... Yu.F .Abaze (Ta k - harmonic instruments ...) I met you - and all the past ... I knew her even then ... I Lutherans love divine services ... I knew eyes - oh, those eyes! .. I remember the golden time. .."And the coffin is already lowered into the grave ..." Fyodor Tyutchev
And the coffin is already lowered into the grave,
And all crowded around ...
Hustle, breathe through force,
A malignant spirit coils in my chest ...And over the grave open
At the head where the coffin stands,
The learned pastor, the dignitary,
The funeral speech reads ...Broadcasts human frailty,
The Fall, the blood of Christ ...
And smart, decent speech
The crowd is variously busy ...And the sky is so imperishable, pure,
So infinitely above the ground ...
And the birds are hooting loudly
In the airy abyss, blue ...
Analysis of Tyutchev's poem "And the coffin is already lowered into the grave ..."
The Lutheran theme that arises in Tyutchev's works is due to the details of the biography. Saying goodbye to university life, the young author embarks on a diplomatic career. The poet's foreign service lasted more than two decades, and most of the time Tyutchev, the official, spent in Germany, where he had the opportunity to get acquainted with the customs of the Protestant community. In the work "" the hero lists the virtues of a foreign faith: sincerity, severity and simplicity.
In the poem, which is believed to date from 1835, the scene of the divine service is presented in a different light. It symbolizes the frailty of human life, acting as a component of the opposition of the earthly and heavenly.
The conception is dictated by elegiac motives: the death of an unknown character is interpreted as a fait accompli. Describing the farewell scene, the author seeks to destroy the initial impression. He introduces the lexeme “push” into the text, whose everyday context conflicts with the high semantics of grief. The ironic intonation intensifies towards the ending of the initial quatrain, which includes the epithet "pernicious", which has negative connotations.
The content of the next two quatrains, devoted to the details of the sad scene, is perceived by the reader in a satirical manner. The figure of the pastor comes to the fore - a serious and stern minister who makes a mournful speech appropriate to the occasion. A crowd participating in the funeral is seen against the background of the speaker. It cannot be said that the important, correct words about the eternal deeply touched everyone present: the variety of response is indicated by the adverb of the mode of action "different." In this fragment, the author's sarcasm reaches its climax.
The example of earthly decay is opposed by a landscape sketch that symbolizes eternal nature. The latter is presented in the fourth stanza. The unconditional dominant of the episode is the image of the sky. To characterize it, two epithets and a paraphrase based on a metaphor are used. With the help of artistic means, the purity and boundlessness of heavenly space is emphasized. The harmonious picture is complemented by the vociferous singing of birds. The rapid movement of birds, their sonorous cries are important details that affect the overall impression of the landscape. They rid the image of the sky from emblematic, give it a dynamic, lively character.
And the coffin is already lowered into the grave,
And all crowded around ...
Hustle, breathe through force,
A malignant spirit coils in my chest ...
And over the grave open
At the head where the coffin stands,
The learned pastor, the dignitary,
The funeral speech reads ...
Broadcasts human frailty,
The Fall, the blood of Christ ...
And smart, decent speech
The crowd is variously busy ...
And the sky is so imperishable, pure,
So infinitely above the ground ...
And the birds are hooting loudly
In the airy abyss, blue ...
Other editions and variants
46 The learned dignitary shepherd
Modern 1854. T. XLIV. S. 11, et seq. ed.
COMMENTS:
Autograph - RGALI. F. 505. Op. 1. Unit xp. 20. L. 3–3 rev.
First publication - Sovr... 1836.Vol. IV. P. 36, under the general title "Poems Sent from Germany", No. XIX, with a general signature - "FT". Then - Sovr... 1854. T. XLIV. S. 10-11; Ed. 1854... P. 18; Ed. 1868... P. 21; Ed. SPb., 1886... P. 120; Ed. 1900... P. 105.
Printed by autograph.
In the group of poems numbered in the autograph (see. comment... to the verse. "There is silence in the stuffy air ..." P. 401), indicated by number 4. Written on small sheets of paper, like all these poems: two stanzas per page. Ellipsis are made up of four, five or even six dots. Artistic emotion is not interrupted, and dots-pauses open a perspective into the unsaid, which concerns both the external circumstances of human and natural life (lines 2, 12, 14, 16), and internal - spiritual life (lines 4, 8, 10- i), although, of course, external and internal are not strictly separated.
Dated to the 1830s; sent by I.S. Tyutchev Gagarin at the beginning of May 1836.
V Drying. notebooks(p. 14-15) and in Muran. album(pp. 15-16) - lists. The numbering of autograph poems is not respected here. The poem is preceded by "With what numb, with what melancholy in love ...", and the next is "Italian Villa". V Sovr... 1854 and in the following lifetime editions, as well as in Ed. SPb., 1886 in the 7th line - "learned shepherd", but in the first ed. and in Ed. 1900 and in the following - "learned pastor."
The first printed review of the poem - N.A. Nekrasov; he highlighted the verse. "And the coffin is already lowered into the grave ..." Nekrasov... S. 213-215). The critic concluded the examination with the words: "The poetic dignity of the poems cited by us is undoubted: it has not been lost in over ten years - this is the best praise for them." But the reviewer from Otech. zap... (p. 61), in contrast to Nekrasov, who pointed to the ironic shade, there is a different angle of perception of the text: "The very thought of death does not disturb the clarity of the gaze and allows harmony." The critical aspect of perception from a reviewer from Pantheon... Refusing a general assessment, he only pointed to the stylistic, as it seems to him, failure: "It is broadcasting human frailty" ( Pantheon... P. 6). L.N. Tolstoy marked this poem with the letters "T.K." (Tyutchev. Beauty) ( THOSE... P. 145). IN AND. Alekseev recalled Tolstoy's addiction to this poem, highlighted in Tyutchev's collection of works: "He especially praised and often recited two of them -" And the coffin is already lowered into the grave ... "and" Silentium! " ( Tolstoy... T. 1.P. 229). S.L. Frank commented on the poem: "Imperishable-clear sky", which is in verse. "And the coffin is already lowered into the grave ..." is opposed to both mortal life, and equally mortal clever speeches about religion, there is too nature, and precisely the purest nature. By virtue of this unity, the heavenly, upper element, remote from the earth and opposite to it, is nevertheless not some beginning isolated from being, but an element that organically permeates all being, and therefore, accessible also on earth» ( Franc... P. 24). The poem is considered in connection with "Above the vineyards ..." (see.
And the coffin is already lowered into the grave,
And all crowded around ...
Hustle, breathe through force,
A malignant spirit coils in my chest ...
And over the open grave,
At the head where the coffin stands,
The learned pastor, the dignitary,
The funeral speech reads ...
Broadcasts human frailty,
The Fall, the blood of Christ ...
And smart, decent speech
The crowd is variously busy ...
And the sky is so imperishable, pure,
So infinitely above the ground ...
And the birds are hooting loudly
In the airy abyss, blue ...
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More poems:
- Go into the crowd with a friendly speech And hypocrite. Experience the whole human soul To the bottom, measure. It is narrow, dark and unfree, Like a dark crypt, And the one who spent an hour in ...
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- Having learned from the traveler the description of this grave Under the curtain of fog, Under the sky of storms, among the steppes, Ossian's grave stands In the mountains of my Scotland. My spirit, lulled by the Mother's wind, flies to her to breathe ...
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Great about poetry:
Poetry is like painting: another work will captivate you more if you look at it up close, and another if you go further away.
Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creak of greasy wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which fell through.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is the most tempted to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen sparkles.
Humboldt W.
Poems work well if they are created with spiritual clarity.
Writing poetry is closer to worship than is commonly believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish poetry grows without knowing shame ... Like a dandelion by the fence, Like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not in verses alone: it is spilled everywhere, it is around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life blows from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a mental growth disease.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn along the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - our thoughts make the poet sing within us. As he tells us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens our love and our sorrow in our souls. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful verses flow, there is no room for quibbling.
Murasaki Shikibu
I am turning to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in Russian. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags a stone behind it. Because of the feeling, art certainly peeps out. 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 yourself?
- Monstrous! Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! - asked the visitor pleadingly.
- I promise and I swear! - Ivan said solemnly ...
Mikhail Afanasevich Bulgakov. "The Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write them in words.
John Fowles. "The mistress of the French lieutenant"
Every poem is a blanket stretched out over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Poets of antiquity, 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, the whole Universe is invariably hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for the one who inadvertently wakes up the dozing lines.
Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"
One of my clumsy hippopotamuses-poems, I attached such a paradise tail: ...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not worry, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not the 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 - chase critics. They are just pitiful slips of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Do not let his vulgar palpating hands go there. Let the poems seem to him an absurd hum, a chaotic heap of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from boring reason, a glorious song that sounds on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "Thousand Lives"
Poems are a thrill of the heart, excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.