Read poetry on this page “It’s wasted work - no, you can’t reason with them...” Russian poet Fedora Tyutcheva written in 1867 year.

Wasted work - no, you can’t reason with them...

Wasted work - no, you can’t reason with them, - The more liberal, the more vulgar they are, Civilization is a fetish for them, But its idea is inaccessible to them. No matter how you bend before her, gentlemen, you will not win recognition from Europe: In her eyes you will always be Not servants of enlightenment, but slaves.

May 1867

Fedor Tyutchev. Favorites.
World Library of Poetry.
Rostov-on-Don, "Phoenix", 1996.

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 silent...) January 29, 1837 (From whose hand...) Encyclica Mala aria Memento Silentium! A.F. Hilferding Alps Skald's Harp Madness Insomnia Gemini Brother, who has accompanied me for so many years... In the village In the stuffy air there is silence... Clouds are melting in the sky... There is a high meaning in separation... In a crowd of people, in immodest the noise of the day... At the hours when it happens... Vatican anniversary Submit to the command of the highest... The great day of Cyril's death... Venice Spring waters Spring thunderstorm Spring All day she lay in oblivion... Evening Vision Again I see your eyes... Wave and thought The East turned white. The boat rolled... From sea to sea... I heard it in my sleep, but I couldn’t... The executing god took everything from me... Everything I managed to save... I am omnipotent and yet weak... I looked, standing over the Neva... Gus at the stake Yes, you kept your word... Two voices Two unities There are two forces - two fatal forces... To 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 an Elysium of shadows... My soul would like to be a star... The smoke of E. N. Annenkova To His Grace Prince A. A. Suvorov There is in the primordial autumn... There is also in my suffering stagnation... The earth still looks sad... I still languish with the melancholy of desires... Here, where the vault of heaven is so sluggish... It’s not for nothing that winter is angry... And in God’s world the same thing happens... And the coffin has already been lowered into the grave... And there is no feeling in your eyes... Play as long as it is above you... From Goethe (Joy and Sorrow...) From edge to edge, from city to city... From Michelangelo To others inherited from nature... So, I saw you again... Italian villa To Ganka How true is the common sense of the people... How joyful is the roar of summer storms... Like a dear daughter to the slaughter.. How a smoky pillar brightens in the heights! .. Like sometimes in the summer... Like over hot ashes... No matter how separation oppresses us... How unexpected and bright... Like an unsolved mystery... No matter how angry the slander is... No matter how the sultry noon breathes. .. No matter how hard the last hour is... How the ocean envelops the globe... How he loved his family fir trees... Like a bird, the early dawn... How sweetly the dark green garden slumbers... How good you are, O sea night... Like this posthumous album... What a wild gorge... Prince Gorchakov (You have a fatal calling...) Prince P. A. Vyazemsky When in a circle of murderous worries... When decrepit forces... When there is no God's consent for this... When you are eighteen years old... Columbus The feast is over, the choirs have fallen silent... Sea horse Whoever you are, but, having met her... Swan Summer evening Summer 1854 Leaves To my dear daddy! I love your eyes, my friend.. M.P. Pogodin (Here are my poems...) The East is doubtfully silent... Sea and cliff Heine's motive (If death is night...) N.I. Krolya N.F. Shcherbina On the way back On the high tree of humanity... On the anniversary of N.M. Karamzin Over the grape hills... Over the ancient Russian Vilna... Above this dark crowd. .. On the eve of the anniversary of August 4, 1864 It is not given to us to predict... Napoleon Vain labor - no, you cannot reason with them... Our century You did not serve God and not Russia... Don’t believe, don’t believe the poet, maiden... Don’t The soul dreams of everything painful... Don’t talk! He is the same to me as before... Don’t give us the spirit of idle talk... You don’t know what is more flattering for human wisdom... I don’t know if grace will touch... Not cooled by the heat... More than once you have heard confession... .. Don’t reason, don’t bother!.. Not what you think, nature... The sky is pale blue... Not without reason by a merciful God... Neman Reluctantly and timidly... There is not a day when the soul does not ache... No, my passion for you... The night sky is so gloomy... O my prophetic soul!.. What are you howling about, night wind?.. Oh, these days are fatal days... Oh, how murderously we love ... Oh, don’t disturb me... Oh, this South, oh, this Nice! ... Late autumn times... Autumn evening From the life that was raging here... Reply to the address In memory of V. A. Zhukovsky (I saw your evening...) In memory of E. P. Kovalevsky (And here in the ranks ...) In memory of M.K. Politkovskaya (A meaningful word...) There is melodiousness in the waves of the sea... First sheet Sand flowing knee-deep... The flame glows, the flame blazes... On the plain of azure waters... Under the breath of bad weather... Fires Noon The last cataclysm The last love The stream has thickened and is dimming... Send, Lord, your joy... Poetry Predestination Its beautiful day in the West has disappeared... When sending the New Testament Nature is a sphinx... A glimpse of a Prophecy Let the hearts of the Zoils ache with envy... Dawn Rome at night To the Russian woman With what bliss, with what melancholy the lover... From the clearing the kite rose... The well-deserved punishment is being carried out... The holy night has risen on the horizon... Today, friend, fifteen years have passed... I sit thoughtfully and alone... The sun is shining, the waters are sparkling... To the Slavs (They scream, they threaten...) To the Slavs (Greetings to you, dear brothers...) Human tears, oh human tears. .. Look how the west flared up... Look how on the river expanse... Look how the grove turns green... Snowy mountains Modern Dream at sea Means and goal The royal son dies in Nice... So, in life there are moments... Gray shadows mixed... Now you have no time for poetry... Quietly flowing in the lake... On a quiet night, late summer ... How long will you be behind the fog... You, my wave of the sea... Alas, what of our ignorance... A terrible dream weighed down on us... Russia cannot be understood with the mind... Calm The biz has calmed down... Easier breathes... Morning in the mountains Fountain Charon and Kachenovsky Cicero Enchantress Winter... Whatever life teaches us... What you prayed with love... Black Sea Your palace, the savior, I see, is decorated... What are you you bow over the waters... These poor villages... Y.F. Abaze (So - harmonic instruments...) I met you - and everything that was before... I knew her back then... I am a Lutheran, I love worship.. I knew the eyes - oh, those eyes!.. I remember the golden time...

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On March 21, Poetry Day is celebrated all over the world, and this is an excellent occasion to remember our favorite authors and their work. After all, even about those poets whose poems we remember from school, we can learn a lot of new things.

Today website shares poetic observations and findings with his readers.

Fake Tyutchev

Recently, a hooligan poem about Europe, allegedly written by Fyodor Tyutchev, became widespread on the RuNet:

Shut up, shameful Europe, and don’t undermine your rights!
You're just an ass in Russia, but you think you have a head!

In fact, of course, these lines have nothing to do with Tyutchev. This is an altered quatrain from a poem by Vladimir Sablin, written at the end of the twentieth century:

Freeze lousy Europe
And don’t “download” your rights!
You are with RUSSIA - just w*,
And you think it's the head.

Tyutchev himself actually has a poem “Labor in vain - no, you can’t reason with them,” in which the poet unambiguously, but absolutely within the framework of the literary norm, speaks about his attitude towards Europe:

No matter how you bend before her, gentlemen,
You will not gain recognition from Europe:
In her eyes you will always be
Not servants of enlightenment, but slaves.

Militant Akhmatova

During her lifetime, Anna Akhmatova was constantly accused of the fact that her themes were too small, everyday, intimate, that all these love poems were unworthy of the title of true poetry. Many of us are still familiar with Akhmatova as a master of psychological lyricism and the author of sensual lines about love. When they say “civil poetry,” it is unlikely that the first (even second or third) name that comes to anyone’s mind is Anna Akhmatova. But it was she who wrote one of the most heartfelt poems about the years of the Yezhovshchina, when the poetess spent 17 months in prison lines in Leningrad, “Requiem.” In this poem, the civic position of the lyrical Akhmatova, far from worldly affairs, sounds absolutely clear:

And if ever in this country
They are planning to erect a monument to me,
I give my consent to this triumph,
But only with the condition - do not put it
Not near the sea where I was born:
The last connection with the sea is severed,
Not in the royal garden near the treasured stump,
Where the inconsolable shadow is looking for me,
And here, where I stood for three hundred hours
And where they didn’t open the bolt for me.
Then, even in the blessed death I am afraid
Forget the rumble of the black marus,
Forget how hateful the door slammed
And the old woman howled like a wounded animal.
And let from the still and bronze ages
Melted snow flows like tears,
And let the prison dove drone in the distance,
And the ships quietly sail along the Neva.

Very strange Bryusov

There are many nominees for the honorary title of the strangest poem, but perhaps one of the most worthy is the famous Russian monostic symbolist Valery Bryusov:

Oh close your pale legs.

Critics reacted very strongly to the work. Moreover, “Why one line?” - was the first question, and only the second - “What are these legs?” The poet himself never explained the content of the text, so many interpretations appeared. The most widespread version to this day remains about the religious overtones of the poem: supposedly this line is the exclamation of Judas, who saw the uncovered feet of the crucified Christ.

Unacceptable Lermontov

The famous poem about the death of Pushkin “The Death of a Poet”, which each of us remembers school curriculum, at one time became one of the most resonant works and cost Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov his arrest and exile. The investigation was conducted into the “Case of inappropriate poems written by the cornet of the Life Guards Hussar Regiment Lermontov, and of their distribution by the provincial secretary Raevsky.” The reaction of the authorities was caused by the second edition, supplemented by 16 lines. The very first edition of the poem did not cause, as evidence shows, the tsar’s displeasure. And here are these 16 fatal lines for the poet:

And you, arrogant descendants
The famous meanness of the illustrious fathers,
The fifth slave trampled the wreckage
The game of happiness of offended births!
You, standing in a greedy crowd at the throne,
Executioners of Freedom, Genius and Glory!
You are hiding under the shadow of the law,
There is a trial before you and the truth - keep quiet!..
But there is also God’s judgment, the confidants of depravity!
There is a terrible judgment: it awaits;
It is not accessible to the ringing of gold,
He knows thoughts and deeds in advance.
Then in vain you will resort to slander:
It won't help you again
And you won't wash away with all your black blood
Poet's righteous blood!

Particularly dangerous Mandelstam

If Lermontov was only transferred to the Nizhny Novgorod Dragoon Regiment for an “inadmissible” poem, then the poets of the 20th century had to pay much harder for the freedom of their speech. For example, Osip Mandelstam wrote an epigram on Stalin in November 1933:

We live without feeling the country beneath us,
Our speeches are not heard ten steps away,
And where is enough for half a conversation,
The Kremlin highlander will be remembered there.
His thick fingers are like worms, fat
And the words, like pound weights, are true,
Cockroaches laughing eyes.
And his boots shine.
And around him is a rabble of thin-necked leaders,
He plays with the services of demihumans.
Who whistles, who meows, who whines,
He's the only one who babbles and pokes.
Like a horseshoe, he gives a decree after a decree -
Some in the groin, some in the forehead, some in the eyebrow, some in the eye.
No matter what his punishment is, it’s raspberries
And a broad Ossetian chest.

On the night of May 16-17, 1934, Mandelstam was arrested for this poem. True, famous poets stood up for him, and he was given a lenient sentence - exile with his wife to the Perm region without the right to return to Moscow. And in April 1938, he was arrested again - allegedly because, despite the ban, he still visited literary friends in Moscow. Mandelstam was sentenced to 5 years in the camps, and in the camp he died of typhus.

But even from the camp Mandelstam wrote: “Since people kill for poetry, it means it is given due honor and respect, it means it is power.” .

Fatal Yesenin

It is no secret that according to one version, Sergei Yesenin committed suicide. There are legends surrounding his last poem, supposedly written before this tragic event. They say it was inscribed in the poet’s blood and carried almost magical powers:

Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.
My dear, you are in my chest.
Destined separation
Promises a meeting ahead.

Goodbye, my friend, without a hand, without a word,
Don’t be sad and don’t have sad eyebrows, -
Dying is nothing new in this life,
But life, of course, is not newer.

Whether this is true or not, we cannot say, but its poetic impact was so strong that after its publication a wave of suicides swept across the country. Vladimir Mayakovsky even wrote a poem “To Sergei Yesenin” largely in order to “sober up” overly impressionable readers. It ends with these lines:

For fun
our planet
poorly equipped.
Necessary
snatch
joy
in the days to come.
In this life
die
not difficult.
Make a life
much more difficult.

Inventive Twisted

Do you know which poem in history is considered the most “Russian”? According to the futurist Alexei Kruchenykh, it was he who wrote such a work. It consists of only five lines:

Dyr Bul Shchyl
ubesh schur
skoom
you and boo
r l ez

There is an opinion that it was from this five-line verse, devoid of any specific meaning, that the language of the futurists “grew” - zaum. And Kruchenykh said about his poem that there is “more Russian national in it than in all of Pushkin’s poetry.”

Absurd Pushkin

“Our everything,” the sun of Russian poetry, the founder of the literary Russian language, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, is often idealized and presented in an almost angelic image. In fact, Pushkin, like any person, was characterized by earthly weaknesses. Everyone knows that the poet was a witty conversationalist, but in addition, he was also intemperate with his tongue. The poet’s personal correspondence, including with his wife Natalya Goncharova, is replete with profanity. Pushkin wrote dozens of ambiguous erotic poems, and obscene expressions are found even in the poet’s poems, which are familiar to everyone. For example, in this excerpt from the famous poem “The Cart of Life”:

In the morning we get into the cart;
We're happy to break our heads
And, despising laziness and bliss,
We shout: - Let's go! F... her mother!

And in the notes in the margins of the novel in verse “Eugene Onegin” you can find the following lines:

“The navel turns black through the shirt
Exposed tit - nice view!
Tatyana crumples a piece of paper in her hand,
Zane's stomach hurts:
She then got up in the morning
In the pale rays of the moon
And tore it up for wiping,
Of course, Nevsky Almanac.

Tender Mayakovsky

Vladimir Mayakovsky, unlike Pushkin, would hardly have been able to surprise us with obscene poems - indeed, he had them. It would seem, what else can we expect from a loudmouth, a rebel, a singer of the proletariat - this is exactly how most of us know Vladimir Vladimirovich from school textbooks. However, Mayakovsky not only wrote poems about the “red-skinned passport” and other joys of contemporary realities, but was also an amazing lyric poet. His love story with Lilya Brik gave the world many tender, poignant, emotional and deep poems. One of them is “Lilichka” - a recognized masterpiece of Russian love lyrics:

The tobacco smoke has eaten away from the air.
Room -
chapter in Kruchenykhov's hell.
Remember -
outside this window
first
In a frenzy, he stroked your hands.
Today you are sitting here,
heart in iron.
It's still a day -
you'll kick me out
maybe by scolding.
Won't fit in the muddy hallway for a long time
hand broken by trembling into sleeve.
I'll run out
I'll throw the body into the street.
Wild,
I'll go crazy
cut off by despair.
Don't need this
Expensive,
good,
let's say goodbye now.
Doesn't matter
My love -
it's a heavy weight -
hangs on you
wherever I would run.
Let me cry out in my last cry
the bitterness of offended complaints.
If a bull is killed by labor -
he will leave
will lie down in the cold waters.
Besides your love,
to me
there is no sea,
and you can’t beg your love for rest even with tears.
A tired elephant wants peace -
the royal one will lie down in the fried sand.
Besides your love,
to me
there is no sun
and I don’t even know where you are or with whom.
If only I had tormented the poet like that,
He
I would trade my beloved for money and fame,
and for me
not a single joyful ringing,
except the ringing of your favorite name.
And I won’t throw myself into the air,
and I won’t drink poison,
and I won’t be able to pull the trigger above my temple.
Above me
except your gaze,
the blade of no knife has power.
Tomorrow you'll forget
that he crowned you,
that he burned out a blossoming soul with love,
and the hectic days of the swept up carnival
will ruffle the pages of my books...
Are my words dry leaves?
will make you stop
panting greedily?

Give me at least
cover with the last tenderness
your leaving step.

Thank you for participating in the dialogue of those who keep a keen eye on historical events and protects our Fatherland. After all, a word is also a deed that leaves a trace in space. Please hear us and help us curb the information rapists with words...

“Air traders” and distributors of information viruses

As an inquisitive person knows from scientific or esoteric periodicals, language can be used as a genetic weapon, that is, genetic poison, when the code of an alien language is launched against the language code of another people, depriving them of self-identification with their roots, tribal and national culture.
We also know about the direct impact of the word not only on the material (physical) plane with the help of acoustic and electromagnetic waves, but also on the subtle plane, that is, at the field level. Scientists conclude that information can influence the state of the genome and individual genes of all living beings. This is confirmed by scientific experiments.
Moreover, evolutionary scientists have uncovered such discoveries that a living cell of any biosystem is an ideal environment for the spread of information viruses.
This blitz scientific base proves what a monstrous information crime has been and is being committed against Russian citizens...
When, during the period of the terry Yeltsinism, the Vlasovites from the Kremlin corridors of power sold the information field of Russia to their “partners”, “friends” and “brothers” in the Masonic lodges, that is, the Anglo-American political leaders, total, unrestrained information violence began with Anglo-Saxon vibrations as through means mass media and openly in the space of Russian cities.
In other words, the subtle substance of air - ether - was completely filled with songs on English language, that is, our cultural and linguistic code was scrapped by criminal officials, they threw away the protective mechanism of the consciousness of the people and launched for many decades the destructive cultural and linguistic code of the Anglo-Saxons, which, like shameless cancer cells, affects the airwaves of our fatherland, and the whole world, spreading information viruses all over the planet.
What happens in practical life? Let's look at an example. For many years, even decades to this day, the entire city of Voronezh, that is, all the squares, streets, markets, have become a place of infection of the consciousness of citizens with viruses of Anglo-Saxon vibrations, hostile to peace good by their nature, their genetic code. This is not difficult to trace by making an honest excursion into the history of the Anglo-Saxons...
Even if a person, walking around the city, when a tub of English-speaking vibrations is being poured on him, does not notice the viral information danger, he can be affected through subliminal information. Young people and children are especially susceptible to the influence of information viruses due to their fragile psyche. With a long stay in such poisoned fields, infected with Anglo-Saxon information viruses, people with a fragile psyche, a weak spiritual platform and a superficial mind turn into the likeness of mankurts, that is, creatures who have forgotten about their roots, their culture, who have also lost their moral guidelines and spiritual supports.
Seeing the grave information crime being committed against Russia, coming from the world, to put it mildly, enemies of Russia, with the connivance of “hobbled” hypocritical politicians at the central and peripheral levels of all branches of government, we have been trying for ten years to reach out to officials at various levels and to media executives... This found some reflection in our book “The captivity of illusion is not sweet, or What is the happiness of birds in the snares of bird catchers” (website poisk-istiny.ru).
But alas... We are more than surprised by the deafness, the indifference, the meanness that our recipients, with their minds castrated by state psy-technologies, have shown to the issue of total information violence against our people, which criminals in power and media structures have been turning for decades into “information “meat” for the Anglo-Saxons... Now they can’t get cannon fodder from Russia, so with all their wolfish appetite they devour “information meat” from Voronezh anti-Russian lackeys and metropolitan lackeys.
Information violence committed against our people is, of course, a crime against humanity and against the nation as a whole. And although specific criminals hide their “images” of information rapists from the people, taking advantage of the ignorant complacency of many citizens, they cannot escape from the highest court... And woe to the descendants of the rapists!..
We in no way encroach on the freedom of citizens to enjoy Anglo-Saxon vibrations (especially if they have already “caught” the Anglo-Saxon virus and are sitting on the “needle of addiction”), and can even, of their own free will, enjoy the sounds emanating from jackals, hyenas, vultures, but only in personal space (apartment, mansion, car), but under no circumstances in public space! This is the principle of human coexistence.
Once upon a time, from Ilya Ehrenburg’s book “People, Years, Life” we learned about his slogan at the beginning Patriotic War: “Kill the German!” We did not justify this position for a moment, since among the Germans there were many anti-fascists who were hunted by the possessed Nazis, infected with the “brown plague” viruses.
Now, when for more than two decades there has been a cruel information war against Russia, in front of officials of the entire vertical of power, violence is carried out in the air space of our Fatherland through the information viruses of the “Anglo-Saxon plague”. And we call on the citizens of Russia, whose minds have not been destroyed by information rapists, to curse the adversaries who are carrying out a criminal program to recode the consciousness of the people of the Russian-Russian world, to destroy the genetic code of an entire multinational state.
Throughout the entire vertical of power and all its branches, urgent measures must be taken to categorically exclude information violence from the entire space of Russia, including through media channels. The authorities should not be criminal towards the people and loyal to their enemies. We are waiting for drastic changes!

18.03.2012

Russian classics about liberals

A.P.Chekhov

I don’t believe in our intelligentsia, hypocritical, false, hysterical, ill-mannered, deceitful, I don’t even believe when it suffers and complains, because its oppressors come from its own depths.

F. M. Dostoevsky

Our liberal is, first of all, a lackey who is only looking to clean someone's boots.

If anyone destroys Russia, it will not be communists, not anarchists, but damned liberals. The more national we are, the more we will be Europeans (all people)

F. I. Tyutchev

...It would be possible to give an analysis of a modern phenomenon that is becoming increasingly pathological. This is the Russophobia of some Russian people... They used to tell us, and they really thought so, that in Russia they hated the lack of rights, the lack of freedom of the press, etc. etc., that it is precisely the undeniable presence of all this in it that they like Europe... And now what do we see? As Russia, seeking greater freedom, asserts itself more and more, the dislike of these gentlemen towards it only intensifies. They never hated the previous institutions as much as they hate the modern trends of social thought in Russia.
As for Europe, then, as we see, no violations in the field of justice, morality and even civilization have in the least diminished their disposition towards it... In a word, in the phenomenon I am talking about, there can be no talk of principles as such; only instincts...

Wasteful work - no, you can’t reason with them -
The more liberal, the more vulgar they are,
Civilization is a fetish for them,
But her idea is inaccessible to them.
No matter how you bend before her, gentlemen,
You will not gain recognition from Europe:
In her eyes you will always be
Not servants of enlightenment, but slaves.
May 1867

L. N. Gumilyov

A television interviewer once asked Lev Gumilyov:
— Lev Nikolaevich, are you an intellectual?
And Gumilev soared:
- God save me! The current intelligentsia is such a spiritual sect.
What is typical: they know nothing, can’t do anything, but they judge everything and absolutely do not accept dissent...

V. O. Klyuchevsky

There is such a weak-lipped intelligentsia who cannot keep silent about anything, cannot convey anything to the point, and through newspapers they pour out everything that clogs their indiscriminate stomach.

A. S. Pushkin

You illuminated your mind with enlightenment,
You saw the face of truth,
And tenderly loved alien peoples,
And wisely he hated his own.

source politonline.ru