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| Nikolai Nekrasov - Poet and Citizen (Poem): Verse. Quotes from the works of N.A. Nekrasov Theme and idea of the poem |
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POET AND CITIZEN Data: 2008-09-06 Time: 05:02:01 Quotes from the poem "Poet and Citizen", 1855 - 1856 June (author Nekrasov, Nikolai Alekseevich) * Listen: embarrassing! It's time to get up! You know yourself What time has come; In whom the sense of duty has not cooled down, Who is incorruptibly straight with his heart, In whom is the gift, strength, accuracy, Tom should not sleep now ... No, you are not Pushkin. But as long as Can't see the sun from nowhere It's a shame to sleep with your talent; Even more ashamed in a time of grief The beauty of valleys, skies and the sea And to sing sweet caress ... The thunderstorm is silent, with a bottomless wave The skies are arguing in the radiance And the wind is gentle and sleepy Barely shaking the sails, - The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously, And the hearts of travelers are calm As if instead of a ship Solid ground beneath them. But thunder struck; the storm groans And he tears the tackle, and tends the mast, - It's not time to play chess It's not time to sing a song! Here is a dog - and that danger knows And barks madly into the wind: He has no other business ... What would you do, poet? Really in a cabin distant You would become a lyre inspired To please the ears of sloths And drown out the roar of the storm? Even if you are faithful to your destination, But is it easier for your homeland, Where everyone is devoted to worship One of his own personality? Beat the good hearts, To whom the homeland is sacred. God help them! .. and the rest? Their goal is shallow, their life is empty. Some are money-grubbing and thieves, Others are sweet singers And still others ... still others are sages: Their purpose is to talk. Fencing 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! Slyly hides the haughty mind Self-loving dreams But ... my brother! whoever you are Do not believe this despicable logic! Be afraid to share their fate, Rich in word, in deed of the poor, And do not go to the camp of the harmless, When you can be useful! The son cannot look calmly On the mother's grief, There will be no worthy citizen Cold soul to the homeland, There is no bitter reproach to him ... Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland, For conviction, for love ... Go and perish blamelessly. You will not die for nothing, the matter is solid, When blood flows underneath ... And you, poet! the chosen one of the sky, Herald of age-old truths, Do not believe that he who does not have bread Not worth your prophetic strings! Do not believe that people will fall at all; God has not died in the soul of people, And a cry from a believing chest Will always be available to her! Be a citizen! serving art, Live for the good of your neighbor Submitting your genius to feeling All-embracing Love; And if you are rich in gifts, Do not bother to exhibit them: They will shine in your work Their life-giving rays. " * - Teaching others - it takes a genius, It takes a strong soul And we, with our lazy soul, Proud and timid We are not worth a copper penny. In a hurry to achieve fame, We are afraid to go astray And we follow the tornoy trail, And if we turn to the side - Lost, even flee from the light! Where are you pathetic, the role of a poet! Blessed is the silent citizen: He, alien to the Muses from the cradle, Master of your deeds, Leads them to a noble goal, And his work is successful, the dispute ... Not a very flattering verdict. But is he yours? Did it tell you? You could judge more correctly: You may not be a poet But you must be a citizen. And what is a citizen? A worthy son of the Fatherland. Oh! will be with us merchants, cadets, Bourgeois, officials, nobles, Even for us poets are enough, 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 the native citizen of the country? Where are you? respond? No answer. And even alien to the soul of the poet His mighty ideal! But if there is one between us, What tears he cries !!. A heavy lot has fallen to him, But he does not ask for a better share: He wears on his body like his own All the ulcers of their homeland. There is no sense in your comparison. Here is a word of impartial truth: Blessed is the chattering poet, And the mute citizen is pitiful! * It is not surprising to finish it off, Whom do not need to finish off. You're right: it's easier for a poet to live - There is joy in free speech. But was I involved in her? Ah, in the years of my youth, Sad, unselfish, difficult, In short - very reckless, Where was my Pegasus zealous! Not roses - I woven nettles Into his sweeping mane And proudly left Parnassus. No disgust, no fear I went to jail 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! I swear I truly loved! And what? .. hearing my sounds, Considered them black slander; I had to fold my hands humbly Or pay with your head ... What was to be done? Recklessly Blame people, blame fate. If I saw at least a fight I would fight, no matter how difficult it is, But ... perish, perish ... and when? I was twenty then! Slyly life beckoned ahead, Like seas free streams And affectionately love promised I have my best blessings - The soul retreated fearfully ... Quote Wiki. 2012 See also the interpretations, synonyms, meanings of the word and what a POET AND CITIZEN are in Russian in dictionaries, encyclopedias and reference books:
The work of N.A.Nekrasov is a bright and interesting page of Russian classical literature. Continuing and enriching the ideas and paths outlined by Pushkin and Lermontov, Nekrasov stepped far forward in the development of those democratic ideals, patriotic views and tendencies that were declared in the works of his great predecessors. Muse of Nikolai Alekseevich - "the muse of anger and sorrow", the sister of a peasant woman who is beaten with a whip on the Haymarket. All his life he wrote about the people and for the people, and "homespun" Russia - beggar, destitute and beautiful - rises before us from the pages of his poetry collections as if it were alive. History of creationThe analysis of the poem "The Poet and the Citizen", like any other, should start with a study of the history of its creation, with the socio-political situation that developed in the country at that time, and the biographical data of the author, if they are somehow connected with the work. The date of writing the text is 1855 - June 1856. It was first published in the author's collection, published in the same 56th. Prior to that, Chernyshevsky had announced Nekrasov's book, having published in the next issue of Sovremennik a short review and analysis of the poem The Poet and the Citizen and its text, as well as several more bright and Nekrasov-style biting works, including the bitter satire The Forgotten Village.
The publications caused a great resonance in the society and a sharp dissatisfaction with the authorities and official criticism. In The Poet and Citizen, the autocratic government saw (quite rightly, by the way) harsh criticism and subversive revolutionary appeals. The entire issue of Sovremennik, as well as the circulation of the book, were removed from free access and prohibited from reprinting. The magazine itself was threatened with closure. And over Nekrasov, who was at that time abroad, was threatened with arrest upon his return. Why was the reaction of the authorities and censorship so violent? An analysis of the poem "The Poet and the Citizen" will help to understand this. Literary traditions and continuityWhen rumors reached Nekrasov about the atrocities of the government in the field of culture, public opinion, literature, he replied that Russian writers saw "censorship storms and more terrible." And democratic values, civic consciousness and a sense of responsibility of a creative person before society, country, time and his own talent are adopted by Nekrasov from his older brothers in the pen - Pushkin (suffice it to recall his famous "Conversation of a bookseller with a poet") and Lermontov ("Journalist, reader and writer "). Analysis of the poem "The Poet and the Citizen" makes it possible to trace how much Alexei Nikolaevich developed and deepened the great poetic traditions. "Pure art" and the democratic line50-60s The 19th century is a very tense time for Russia. Despite the reaction, police oppression and autocratic censorship, dissatisfaction with the political climate is growing in the country, and the self-awareness of the progressive strata of the population is growing.
Serfdom is bursting at all seams, the ideas of national liberation, anger and revenge are in the air. At this time, intense debates are being held among representatives of the creative intelligentsia. "Poet and Citizen" - Nekrasov's verse - vividly reflects their essence. Representatives of the so-called "pure art" (on their behalf, the Poet leads the dispute in the work) believe that poetry, literature, as well as music, painting should talk about "eternal". That real art is above socio-political problems and As an example of such a position, Nekrasov cites a quote from Pushkin's work ("The Poet and the Citizen", the verse "We were born for inspiration / For sweet sounds and prayers ..."). An ardent opponent of this point of view and a defender in art is the Citizen in the poem. It is he who reflects the views and ideas of the author himself, democratic tendencies and aspirations. Theme and idea of the poemNekrasov never divided his poetry into purely lyrical, intimate, and civil. These two directions, it would seem, are completely different, harmoniously combined in his work into one common stream. "The Poet and the Citizen" (the analysis of the poem proves this statement) is a programmatic work in the sense that it reveals the most important concepts for the author, and touches on burning questions.
Nekrasov clearly and openly expressed his creative and socio-political credo: it does not matter who you are by profession and convictions. It is important that you are the son of your country, which means that you are a citizen who is obliged to fight for it, for a better life, prosperity, both economic and spiritual. Unfortunately, very few agree with him. Therefore, the Citizen exclaims with bitterness: "In the face of good hearts / To whom the homeland is sacred." In the "time of grief and sorrow" talented, honest, educated people have no right to sit on the sidelines, singing the "beauty of nature" and "sweet caress". Art workers, especially writers, are endowed with a special gift - to influence the minds and hearts of people, to lead them along - to a feat. To fulfill his duty, to give himself up to serve the Motherland and the people - this is what Nekrasov sees as the purpose of the creative personality. The "Poet and Citizen", which we are analyzing, is a manifesto poem, an appeal poem, openly calling on all fellow writers to take the side of the people: "There will not be a worthy citizen / Cold soul to the fatherland / He has no bitter reproach ..." ... The composition of the work and stylistic featuresSo, the theme of the poem is poet and poetry, their role in the socio-political movement of the country. The main idea and the main idea are expressed in the following lines: "Be a citizen ... / Live for the good of your neighbor ...". To express it more clearly and more clearly, to convey it to readers more clearly, Nekrasov chooses an original form for the lyrical
works - a dramatized dialogue, an ideological dispute. The replicas of the heroes are interspersed with passionate monologues of the Citizen, and are full of exclamations, making his speeches extremely emotional. At the same time, the Poet also introduces his large number of imperative verbs, social and political vocabulary, invocative intonations create in the readers the very active and effective mood that Nekrasov is striving for. "The Poet and the Citizen" is a poem, which he fully managed to prove to the masters of the word that their task is not "graceful literature" and delighting the ears of her lovers, not idle conversations, but serving the people. The work in question has not lost its relevance even today. * Green A. * Dobrolyubov N. * Dostoevsky F. * Yesenin S. * Ilf I. * Karamzin N. * Kataev V. * Kolchak A. * Krylov I. * Lermontov M. * N. Leskov - new author, quotes* Likhachev D. * Lomonosov M. * Mayakovsky V. * Nabokov V. * Nekrasov N. * Ostrovsky A. * Petrov E. * Prishvin M. * Pushkin A. - new quotes* Radishchev A. * Roerich N. * Saltykov-Shchedrin M. * Simonov K. * Stanislavsky K. * Stanyukovich K. * Stolypin P. * Sumarokov A. * Tolstoy A.K. * Tolstoy A.N. * Tolstoy L.N. * Turgenev I. * Tyutchev F. * Fonvizin D. * Chekhov A. * Schwartz E. * Eisenstein S. * Ehrenburg I. Russia, late XX - early XXI- Akunin B. * Altov S. * Vysotsky V. * Geraskina L. * Dementyev A. * Zadornov M. * Kunin V. * Melikhan K. * Okudzhava B. * Rozhdestvensky R. * Sakharov A. * Snegov S. * Solzhenitsyn A. * Suvorov V. * Talkov I. * Troepolsky G. * Uspensky E. * Filatov L. * Chernykh V. * Shenderovich V. * Shcherbakova G. Nekrasov Nikolay Alekseevich (1821-1877 / 1878) Quotes from the works of N.A. Nekrasov- sheet () 2 () () () () Quotes from N.A. Nekrasov's poem "Poet and Citizen" Listen: it's a shame! It's time to get up! You know yourself What time has come; In whom the sense of duty has not cooled down, Who is incorruptibly straight in heart, In whom the gift, strength, accuracy, Who should not sleep now ... [...] No, you are not Pushkin. But as long as the sun is not visible from anywhere, With your talent it is a shame to sleep; Even more ashamed in a time of grief The beauty of the valleys, the heavens and the sea And the sweet caress to sing ... The thunder is silent, with the bottomless wave In the radiance the heavens argue, And the gentle and sleepy wind Barely shakes the sails, - The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously, And the hearts of travelers are calm, As if instead of a ship, there is solid ground beneath them. But thunder struck; the storm groans, And tears the tackle, and tends to the mast, - Not the time to play chess, Not the time to sing a song! Here is a dog - and that danger knows And barks furiously into the wind: He has no other business ... And what would you do, poet? Could it be that in a distant cabin You would become an inspired lyre of Sloths to delight the ears And drown out the roar of the storm? Even if you are faithful to your destination, But is it easier for your homeland, Where everyone is devoted to the worship of his One personality? To count the good hearts, to which the homeland is sacred. God help them! .. and the rest? Their goal is shallow, their life is empty. Some are money-grubbing and thieves, Others are sweet singers, And still others ... still others are wise men: Their purpose is to talk. Fencing their own 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 proud that we do not harm!" Slyly hides the haughty mind Self-loving dreams, But ... my brother! whoever you are, Do not believe this despicable logic! Fear to share their fate, Rich in word, deed of the poor, And do not go to the camp of the harmless, When you can be useful! The son cannot look calmly On the grief of the dear mother, There will be no worthy citizen To the fatherland cold in soul, He has no bitter reproach ... Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland, For conviction, for love ... Go and perish perfectly. You will not die for nothing, the matter is strong, When blood flows under it ... And you, poet! the chosen one of heaven, Herald of age-old truths, Do not believe that he who does not have bread Is not worth your prophetic strings! Do not believe that people will fall at all; God has not died in the soul of people, And a cry from a believing breast Will always be available to her! Be a citizen! serving art, For the good of your neighbor, live, subordinating your genius to the feeling of All-embracing Love; And if you are rich in gifts, do not bother to exhibit them: Their life-giving rays themselves will shine in your labor. (Citizen to the poet) Teaching others - it takes a genius, You need a strong soul, And we, with our souls lazy, Selfish and fearful, Do not cost a copper penny. In a hurry to achieve fame, We are afraid we will get lost from the road And we are walking along the torno path, And if we turn to the side - Gone, at least run out of the light! Where are you pathetic, the role of a poet! Blessed is the silent citizen: He, alien from the cradle to the Muses, Master of His actions, Leads them to a noble goal, And his work is successful, a dispute ... - (Poet)- Not a very flattering verdict. But is he yours? Did it tell you? You could judge more correctly: You may not be a poet, But you must be a citizen. And what is a citizen? A worthy son of the Fatherland. Oh! will be with us merchants, cadets, bourgeoisie, officials, nobles, Even we have enough 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 a 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, What tears he cries !!. To him a heavy lot fell, But he does not ask for a better share: He, like his own, wears all the ulcers of his homeland on his body. [...] There is no sense in your comparison. Here is the word of impartial truth: Blessed is the chattering poet, And the mute citizen is miserable! (Citizen) ("The Poet and the Citizen", 1855 - June 1856) 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 - There is joy in free speech. But was I involved in her? Ah, in the years of my youth, Sad, disinterested, difficult, In short - very reckless, Where was my Pegasus zealous! Not roses - I woven nettles Into his sweeping mane And proudly left Parnassus. Without disgust, without fear, I went to prison and to the place of execution, I entered the courts, hospitals. I won't repeat what I saw there ... I swear I honestly hated! I swear I truly loved! And what? .. having heard my sounds, Considered them black slander; I had to humbly fold my hands Or pay with my head ... What was to be done? It's reckless to blame people, blame fate. If I had seen at least a struggle, I would have fought, no matter how difficult it is, But ... perish, perish ... and when? I was twenty then! Slyly life beckoned ahead, Like free streams of seas, And affectionately love promised me its best blessings - The soul shyly retreated ... (Poet to citizen) ("The Poet and the Citizen", 1855 - June 1856) GRADANIN (enters) Again alone, again stern, Lies down - and does not write anything. P about e t Add: moping and barely breathing - And my portrait will be ready. GR d and n Good portrait! No nobility, No beauty in him, believe me, But just vulgar foolishness. A wild beast knows how to lie ... P o e t So what? GRADANIN Yes, it's a shame to look. P o e t Well, then go away. Gr d and n Listen: it's a shame! It's time to get up! You know yourself What time has come; In whom the sense of duty has not cooled down, Who is incorruptibly straight in heart, In whom the gift, strength, accuracy, Who should not sleep now ... P about e t Let’s put, I’m such a rarity, But you need to give a case first. GRADANIN Here's the news! You are dealing, You just fell asleep temporarily, Wake up: smash the vices boldly ... P o e t A! I know: "See where you threw it!" But I am a shelled bird. It's a pity, there is no desire to talk. (She takes the book.) Savior Pushkin! - Here is the page: Read it and stop reproaching! Grazhdanin (reads) "Not for everyday excitement, Not for self-interest, not for battles, We were born for inspiration, For sweet sounds and prayers." P about e t (with delight) Inimitable sounds! .. If I were a little smarter with my Muse, I swear, I would not take a pen in my hands! GRADANIN Yes, the sounds are wonderful ... hurray! So amazing is their strength, That even the sleepy blues From the soul of the poet jumped off. I am sincerely happy - it's time! And I share your delight, But, I confess, your poems Lively take to my heart. P about e t Don't talk nonsense! You are a zealous reader, but a wild critic. So, in your opinion, am I a great poet, Higher than Pushkin? Tell me please?!. GRADANIN Well, no! Your poems are stupid, Your elegies are not new, Satyrs are alien to beauty, Unnoble and insulting, Your verse is viscous. You are noticeable, But the stars are visible without the sun. In the night that We now live fearfully, When the beast roams freely, And the man walks fearfully, - You firmly held your torch, But the sky was displeased, So that it blazed under the storm, Illuminating the Way publicly; With a trembling spark in the dark, He burned a little, blinked, tossed about. Pray that he wait for the sun And drown in its rays! No, you are not Pushkin. But as long as the sun is not visible from anywhere, With your talent it is a shame to sleep; Even more ashamed in a time of grief The beauty of the valleys, the sky and the sea And the sweet caress to sing ... The thunder is silent, with the bottomless wave In the radiance the heavens argue, And the gentle and sleepy wind Barely shakes the sails, - The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously, And the hearts of travelers are calm, As if instead of a ship, there is solid ground beneath them. But thunder struck; the storm groans, And tears the tackle, and tends to the mast, - This is not the time to play chess, It is not the time to sing a song! Here is a dog - and that danger knows And barks furiously into the wind: He has no other business ... And what would you do, poet? Could it be that in a distant cabin You would become an inspired lyre of Sloths to delight the ears And drown out the roar of the storm? Even if you are faithful to your destination, But is it easier for your homeland, Where everyone is devoted to the worship of his One personality? To count the good hearts, to which the homeland is sacred. God help them! .. and the rest? Their goal is shallow, their life is empty. Some are money-grubbing and thieves, Others are sweet singers, And still others ... still others are wise men: Their purpose is to talk. Fencing their own 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 proud that we do not harm!" Slyly hides the haughty mind Self-loving dreams, But ... my brother! whoever you are, Do not believe this despicable logic! Fear to share their fate, Rich in word, deed of the poor, And do not go to the camp of the harmless, When you can be useful! The son cannot look calmly On the grief of the dear mother, There will be no worthy citizen To the fatherland cold in soul, He has no bitter reproach ... Go into the fire for the honor of the fatherland, For conviction, for love ... Go and perish perfectly. You will not die for nothing, the matter is strong, When blood flows under it ... And you, poet! the chosen one of heaven, Herald of age-old truths, Do not believe that he who does not have bread Is not worth your prophetic strings! Do not believe that people will fall at all; God has not died in the soul of people, And a cry from a believing breast Will always be available to her! Be a citizen! serving art, For the good of your neighbor, live, subordinating your genius to the feeling of All-embracing Love; And if you are rich in gifts, do not bother to exhibit them: Their life-giving rays themselves will shine in your labor. Look: the wretched toiler crushes a hard stone into fragments, And from under the hammer flies And flames sprinkle by itself! Are you finished? .. I almost fell asleep. Where are we to such views! You've stepped too far. Teaching others - it takes a genius, You need a strong soul, And we, with our souls lazy, Selfish and fearful, Do not cost a copper penny. In a hurry to achieve fame, We are afraid we will get lost from the road And we are walking along the torno path, And if we turn to the side - Gone, at least run out of the light! Where are you pathetic, the role of a poet! Blessed is the silent citizen: He, alien to the Muses from the cradle, Master of His actions, Leads them to a noble goal, And his work is successful, a dispute ... GRADANIN Not a very flattering verdict. But is he yours? Did it tell you? You could judge more correctly: You may not be a poet, But you must be a citizen. And what is a citizen? A worthy son of the Fatherland. Oh! will be with us merchants, cadets, bourgeoisie, 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 a 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, What tears he cries !!. To him a heavy lot fell, But he does not ask for a better share: He, like his own, wears all the ulcers of his homeland on his body. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... The thunderstorm makes a noise and drives the shaky boat to the abyss of Freedom, The poet curses or even groans, And the citizen is silent and bows his head under the yoke. When ... But I am silent. Even a little, And among us, fate has shown worthy citizens ... Do you know Their fate? .. Bend your knees! .. Lazy! your dreams are ridiculous And frivolous penalties! There is no sense in your comparison. Here is the word of impartial truth: Blessed is the chattering poet, And the mute citizen is miserable! P about e t 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 - There is joy in free speech. But was I involved in her? Ah, in the years of my youth, Sad, disinterested, difficult, In short - very reckless, Where was my Pegasus zealous! Not roses - I woven nettles Into his sweeping mane And proudly left Parnassus. Without disgust, without fear, I went to prison and to the place of execution, I entered the courts, hospitals. I won't repeat what I saw there ... I swear I honestly hated! I swear I truly loved! And what? .. having heard my sounds, Considered them black slander; I had to humbly fold my hands Or pay with my head ... What was to be done? It's reckless to blame people, blame fate. If I had seen at least a struggle, I would have fought, no matter how difficult it is, But ... perish, perish ... and when? I was twenty then! Slyly life beckoned ahead, Like free streams of seas, And affectionately love promised me its best blessings - The soul fearfully retreated ... 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 To this day burns the chest, And I am glad if someone Throws a stone at me with contempt. Poor man! and from what have you trampled upon the sacred debt of man? What kind of tax have You taken from life - the son of a sick, sick age? .. When you knew my life, My love, my worries ... Gloomy and full of anger, At the door of the coffin I stand ... Ah! song of my farewell That song was the first! The Muse bowed her sad face And, quietly sobbing, she left. Since then, meetings have not been frequent: Furtively, pale, she will come And whisper fiery speeches, And sings proud songs. Calls now to the cities, now to the steppe, Full of cherished intent, But the chains will suddenly clang - And she will disappear in a moment. I was not at all averse to her, But how afraid I was! how afraid! When my neighbor was drowning In waves of essential grief - That thunder of heaven, then the fury of the sea I kindly sang. Scourging the little thieves For the pleasure of the big ones, I marveled at the insolence of the boys And I was proud of their praise. Under the yoke of years, the soul bent, It cooled to everything, And the Muse turned away completely, Full of bitter contempt. Now in vain I appeal to her - Alas! Hidden away forever. As a light, I myself do not know her And I will never know. O Muse, a random guest Have you been to my soul? Or an extraordinary gift of songs Fate intended for her? 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 collection of 1856. It was printed in a special type and with a separate page numbering. All this testified to its programmatic nature. Informing the readers of Sovremennik about the release of Nekrasov's book of poems, Chernyshevsky reprinted The Poet and 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 perceived as subversive political content. Both the magazine and the collection were repressed. By the orders of the Minister of Public Education A. S. Norov and the Minister of Internal Affairs S. S. Lansky it was prescribed that “a 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 for publication. concerning the book, not especially the extracts from it. " The editors of Sovremennik were warned that "the first such trick would subject ... the magazine to a complete cessation." Subsequently, Chernyshevsky recalled: "The trouble that I brought upon Sovremennik by this reprint was very difficult and prolonged." A rumor reached Nekrasov, who was abroad, that on his return 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 saw censorship storms and worse ..." - the poet wrote). The poem continues a great poetic tradition ("The Conversation of a Bookseller with a Poet" Citizen(included) Poet Citizen Poet Citizen Poet Citizen Poet Citizen Poet Citizen(is reading) Poet(with delight) Citizen Poet Citizen Poet Citizen Poet Analysis of the poem "Poet and Citizen" by NekrasovMost of Nekrasov's works are written in the genre of civil lyrics. Moreover, in many of them he directly expressed his beliefs about the role of the poet in society, about his civic duty. These views are set forth in the 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 a 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 goes down (Pushkin), the stars flash in the sky and hold back the darkness until the next dawn. No matter how imperfect the poet's poems 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 sublime speech, the poet declares that his goal is to achieve fame. All the deeds and actions of the poet are subordinated to this goal. Fulfillment of civic duty would lead to deviations from the intended path. The citizen's objection is the central phrase of the work, which has become the winged one - "You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen." He declares that social position and status of a person do not mean anything 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, moved 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 matter, he was accompanied by Muse. But instead of human gratitude, he experienced ridicule and persecution. Nobody wanted his truth. Fear of public condemnation led to the fact that the poet began to avoid sensitive topics, singing insignificant deeds and deeds. This provided a livelihood and a quiet life. But the poet lost the location of the Muse, who left him forever. Only over the years did he realize that the Muse does not tolerate fake jewelry. Its beauty is most emphasized by the “wreath of thorns”. The poem "The Poet and the Citizen" is very important for understanding the central idea of 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. |
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