The beginning of the second half of the 19th century was marked in Russia by a powerful social upsurge, which demanded from literature, and above all from poetry, new content and new artistic forms capable of reflecting the complex social contradictions of reality. Late XIX century was marked by a deep crisis that engulfed the entire European culture, resulting from disappointment in previous ideals and a feeling of the approaching death of existing socio-political orders.
The classical period of Russian poetry ended in the 19th century. Mentally embracing its boundless sea, one cannot help but admire the amazing variety of questions and problems that were touched upon in their works by Russian poets, who, in heartfelt, deep and emotionally moving poems, sought to preserve and strengthen faith in eternal spiritual values, in the incorruptibility of the universal ideals of Christianity, to remind the highest meaning of life and the highest destiny of man, to penetrate the secrets of the human spirit to reveal the unknown and unexplored movements of the heart's life. And although each of the poets did it in his own way, tried to reflect and comprehend the world around him, the thoughts and feelings of his contemporaries in a special way, there was one thing in common that made all the poets, even those very different from each other, have in common - this is love for the homeland and to his long-suffering people. And in my project I want to convey all the feelings of the poets, their poems about their homeland, nature, and tell a little about them.
F.I. Tyutchev was born on November 23, 1803 on the Ovstug estate in the Oryol province, into a noble family. In 1821 Graduated from the Faculty of Literature of Moscow University with a candidate's degree. Having lived abroad with short breaks for almost 22 years, Tyutchev never lost touch with his homeland.
There is a touching, mysterious charm in the lightness of autumn evenings: The ominous shine and variegation of trees, The languid, light rustle of crimson leaves, Foggy and quiet azure Above the sad and orphaned land, And, like a premonition of descending storms, A gusty, cold wind at times, Damage, exhaustion and everything That gentle smile of withering, What in a rational being we call the Divine modesty of suffering.
It is not the flesh, but the spirit that has become corrupted these days, And man desperately yearns... He rushes towards the light from the shadows of the night And, having found the light, he grumbles and rebels We burn and wither with unbelief, Today he endures what is unbearable... And he realizes his destruction, And he thirsts faith... but does not ask for it... He will not say forever, with prayer and tears, Just as he does not grieve in front of a closed door: “Let me in! -I believe, my God! Come to the aid of my unbelief!” Poem by F.I. Tyutchev “Our Century” was written on July 11, 1831. In this poem, the poet’s personality appears camouflaged, is an expression of generalized personal meaning, in addition, the accumulation of negations leads to
I.S. Turgenev was born on October 28, 1818 in Orlov, into a noble family. He was raised first at home and then studied in Moscow private boarding schools. In 1833, Turgenev entered Moscow University, but a year later he transferred to St. Petersburg University, from which he graduated with a candidate's degree. Mine creative path Turgenev began as a poet, during the period. His poems and poems were published in various magazines and were warmly received by critics and readers.
A foggy morning, a gray morning, Sad fields covered with snow, Reluctantly you remember the past, You remember faces long forgotten. You will remember the abundant passionate speeches, the glances so greedily, so timidly caught, the first meetings, the last meetings, the beloved sounds of a quiet voice. You will remember the separation with a strange smile, You will remember much of your distant home, Listening to the incessant murmur of the wheels, Looking thoughtfully at the wide sky. The poem “On the Road” (1843) by the outstanding Russian writer and poet I. S. Turgenev, which was later set to music and became a famous romance.
The work “The Noble Nest” was written by Turgenev in 1859. “The Noble Nest” remains one of the writer’s bright works. Despite the collapse of hopes for the personal happiness of the hero, Lavretsky, there remains hope for a bright future for others. The image of Liza Kalitina - the “Turgenev girl” - overshadows her entire environment and becomes a symbol of Russia.
Alexey Konstantinovich Tolstoy was born on August 24, 1817. in St. Petersburg in a noble family. In 1834 he was enrolled as a student in the Moscow archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He spent several years abroad, and upon returning to Russia he served at the royal court. During the Crimean War he joined the army, but did not participate in battles; he fell ill with typhus. Tolstoy began writing poetry as a child, and his first literary experiments were approved by V.A. Zhukovsky.
In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance, In the anxiety of worldly vanity, I saw You, but Your mystery covered my features. Only the eyes looked sadly, And the voice sounded so wondrous, Like the ringing of a distant pipe, Like a playing wave of the sea. I liked your thin figure and your whole thoughtful appearance, and your laughter, both sad and ringing, has been ringing in my heart ever since. In the lonely hours of the night I love, tired, to lie down - I see sad eyes, I hear cheerful speech; And I fall asleep so sadly, And I sleep in unknown dreams... Do I love you - I don’t know, But it seems to me that I do!
It was not the wind, blowing from above, that touched the sheets on the moonlit night; You touched my soul - It is as restless as leaves, It is like a multi-stringed harp. The whirlwind of life tormented her and with a crushing attack, whistling and howling, tore the strings and covered her with cold snow. Your speech caresses the ear, Your light touch is like fluff from flowers, Like a breath of May night...
A.A. Fet was born October-November 1820 In the village of Novoselki, Mtsesky district, Oryol province. He started writing poetry very early. While still studying at the university, in 1840. He published the first collection of poems, “Lyrical Pantheon,” which included mainly imitative works. In the 50s Fet was actively published in Sovremennik, Otechestvennye zapiski and other magazines. Died in Moscow in 1892.
Some sounds rush around and cling to my headboard. They are full of languid separation, Trembling with unprecedented love. It would seem, well? The last tender caress sounded, Dust ran along the street, The postal carriage disappeared... And only... But the song of separation Unfulfilled teases with love, And bright sounds rush and cling to my headboard.
The spruce covered my path with its sleeve. Wind. In the forest alone It’s noisy, and creepy, and sad, and fun, I won’t understand anything. Wind. Everything around is humming and swaying, Leaves are spinning at your feet. Chu, there, in the distance, you suddenly hear a subtly calling horn. Sweet is the call of the copper herald to me! The sheets are dead to me! It seems that from afar you tenderly greet the poor wanderer.
A.A. Grigoriev was born on July 20, 1822 in Moscow, in the family of an official. In 1842 he graduated from the Faculty of Law of Moscow University, then went to St. Petersburg and entered the service, but soon left it and devoted himself to literary activity. poems and critical articles began to appear on the pages of St. Petersburg magazines in the second half of the 40s. The main theme of Grigoriev’s work is the conflict of a romantically inclined personality with the world of mercantilism and life prose.
No, I was not born to fight, nor to wait patiently in the hall, nor to eat at the princely table, nor to listen to nonsense with affection. No, I was not born to be a slave, Even in church at mass I feel bad, I repent of that, Listen to the august house. And what Marat felt, Sometimes I am able to understand, And if God himself were an aristocrat, I would proudly sing curses to Him... But on the cross, the crucified god was the son of the crowd and a demagogue.
A poet is a person with a creative soul, He is sick from his experiences, feelings, He is sick from his work, its beauty, which has not left the lips of generations. He conveys to us all his dreams, The whole picture of bygone times, He conveys to us heroes of excessive beauty. Heroes from changed names. And who would know how much the reader wants to find out the whole truth about the heroes famous works. But we will not be able to contact the writer, and with sorrow we ask him for an apology. A poet is a person with a creative soul. Why did you die so early? I want you to talk to me. Alas, you died, leaving behind you quite a few of your works. You are a god, you are a king, you are a genius. You are a man with an amazing mind. You do not know conquests before the enemy. Just friends, fans, readers all around. Sleep well my poet. I will idolize you all my life. Everyone remembers you, there is no doubt, and I will never forget about you.
In the second half of the 19th century there was a surge in Russian lyric poetry. Just listing the most famous names of poets says a lot - Apollo Nikolaevich Maykov (1821-1897), Apollo Alexandrovich Grigoriev (1882-1864), Yakov Petrovich Polonsky (1819-1898), Ivan Savich Nikitin (1824-1861), Alexey Nikolaevich Apukhtin ( 1840-1893), Konstantin Konstantinovich Sluchevsky (1837-1904), Semyon Yakovlevich Nadson (1862-1887), Konstantin Mikhailovich Fofanov (1862-1911), Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev (1803-1873), Alexey Konstantinovich Tolstoy (1817-1875), Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet (1820-1892), Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov (1821-1877/78).
Unfortunately, the triumph of poetry was short-lived. In Russian literature, prose is developing, especially large epic forms. The triumph of prose turned out to be more durable and is associated with the name of I. Turgenev, F. Dostoevsky, L. Tolstoy. And yet the poetry of the second half XIX century played a huge role in the development of Russian literature and culture in general. Poetry was a multifaceted system in which various forms of manifestation of the lyrical “I” were present. To understand this “I”, the reader must have an open heart and soul. N.V. Gogol noted: “Reading a lyrical work properly is not a trifle at all.”
It is important to remember that poetry developed in two directions - Pushkin's and Gogol's. The romantics of the 19th century (especially A.S. Pushkin) proclaimed its independence from the authorities and the people, and considered the poet a creator inspired by God. The programmatic poem for them was A.S. Pushkin "The Poet and the Crowd". The slogan is the final words “Not for everyday worries, / Not for self-interest, not for battles, / We were born for inspiration, / For sweet sounds and prayers.” The ideas of the romantics of the beginning of the century were picked up by the romantics of the second half of the 19th century and substantiated the theory of “pure art”. The main provisions of “pure art” can be formulated as follows: art should not depict reality and should not play a social role. The purpose of art is to create beauty, i.e. poetic, world. Art should exist for the elite.
The opposite point of view on civil art was substantiated by N.V. Gogol in the poem “Dead Souls” (beginning of the seventh chapter). He compared the creator of “art for art’s sake” and the writer-accuser. The principles of the “civil” direction in poetry of the second half of the 19th century are most consistently and vividly implemented in the poetry of N.A. Nekrasova.
Gogol proclaimed and embodied the idea that poetry should serve the people. Nekrasov made the peasant the main character of poetry, and the struggle for his happiness - the pathos of his work. The ideas of “pure art” are the basis of A.A.’s worldview and artistic system. Feta. From the point of view of the history of poetry, Pushkin and Gogol movements enriched the literature, culture, poetry of the 19th century and prepared many phenomena cultural life Russia.
The poets of the second half of the 19th century turned out to be receptive to life, to the spiritual atmosphere of Russian society. They continued and developed the traditions of the Russian poetic school of the 18th - early 19th centuries. At the same time, poets were looking for a new poetic language, the original forms of its expression. They were concerned about issues of national identity; the relationship between good and evil; death and immortality; spiritual generosity of people. A feature of Russian poetry of the 19th century is the magic of sound and words. I. Nikitin conveys the finest shades of color, shape and sound. Landscape lyrics are developing intensively (A. Maikov, “Landscape”; I. Koltsov, “South and North”; K. Sluchevsky, “Oh, don’t scold me for the fact that I lived aimlessly...”, etc.).
The song character, folklore, Russian antiquity, the beauty of Russian nature, the originality of the Russian national character became the source of Russian poetry. Alexander Blok called A. Grigoriev’s poem “The Gypsy Hungarian” “one of a kind pearls of Russian lyricism.” The “guitar” nature of the poem, set to music, made it a popular romance. Many poems by Y. Polonsky, “Song of the Gypsy” (set to music by P.I. Tchaikovsky) became romances and folk songs. Famous romances included poems by A. Apukhtin, set to music, “A Pair of Bays,” “Crazy Nights, Sleepless Nights...”; S.Ya. Nadson “In the shadow of a pensive garden...”.
In the second half of the 19th century, Russian poetry gradually moved towards modernism. This was also the movement in world literature, especially in French poetry. Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine - French symbolists were contemporaries of N. Nekrasov, the late A.A. Feta, V. Solovyova. The forerunners of modernism in Russia were primarily F.I. Tyutchev, A.A Fet.
As researcher V.S. notes. Babaevsky: “Russian poetry of the 19th century, as a whole with all its structural and chronological diversity, a manifestation of the spirit of the people, does not fit strictly within the boundaries of the century. The last decade, the 1890s, belongs in its essence to modernism. We can say that for Russian poetry the 20th century began in 1892. Poetry K.M. Fofanova and S.Ya. Nadsona connected the two centuries of Russian poetry, “golden” and “silver.”
Russian poetry of the 19th century experienced at least three genuine upsurges in its development. The first, relatively speaking, dates back to the beginning of the century and is blessed with the name of Pushkin. Another long-recognized poetic rise occurs at the turn of two centuries - the nineteenth and twentieth - and is associated primarily with the work of Alexander Blok. Finally, the third, as a modern researcher puts it, “poetic era” is the mid-19th century, the 60s, although it is in poetry that the so-called “sixties” shift chronologically more noticeably to the early 50s.
Russian poetry after Pushkin carried opposing principles and expressed the increased complexity and contradictory nature of life. Two directions are clearly emerging and polarizing: democratic and the so-called "pure art" When we talk about two poetic camps, we need to keep in mind the great diversity and complexity of relations both within each of the camps and in the relations between them, especially if we take into account the evolution of social and literary life. “Pure” poets wrote civil poetry: from liberal-accusatory (Ya. Polonsky) to reactionary-protective (A.P. Maikov). Democratic poets experienced a certain (and also positive) influence from the poets of “pure art”: Nikitin, for example, in his poetry of nature. The flourishing of satirical poetry is mainly associated with the democratic movement. Nevertheless, “pure art” put forward a number of major satirical talents: P. Shcherbina and especially A.K. Tolstoy, who wrote many satirical works - both independently and as part of the collective authorship that created the famous Kozma Prutkov. And yet, in general, there is a fairly clear divide between poetic movements. The confrontation and confrontation between these two trends often manifested an intensified social struggle. The poles could perhaps be designated by two names: Nekrasov and Fet. “Both poets began to write almost simultaneously,” the criticism stated, “both experienced the same phases of social life, both made a name for themselves in Russian literature... both, finally, are distinguished by far from ordinary talent, - and for all that in poetic there is almost not a single common point in the activities of each of them.”
More often under Nekrasov school- and here we are talking about just such a school - they mean the poets of the 50s - 70s, ideologically and artistically closest to him, who experienced the direct influence of one great poet, even organizationally united in essence due to the fact that the majority Of these, it was grouped around a few democratic publications: Nekrasov’s Sovremennik, Russkoe Slovo, Iskra.
An absolutely exceptional place in the depiction of folk life was occupied by the largest and most talented representative of the Nekrasov school - Ivan Savvich Nikitin (1824 - 1861). His best works represent independent and original creativity in the spirit of the Nekrasov school.
In Russian poetry of the second half of the 19th century, the development of folk life, primarily peasant life, took place almost exclusively within the framework of the Nekrasov direction.
In the lyrics of the Nekrasov poets we find a new hero - a man of public service, civic duty.
The poetry of the 50s, especially in its second half, is also interesting as a kind of preparation for the epic. Even in the lyrics of this time, much of what was realized in the epic itself in the 60s was ripening. And not only in poetic, but also in prose epic. It's about about the interaction and overlap between lyrics and prose. In general, these interactions themselves become more complex. Poetry of the 40s was closely associated with the small prose genres of the story and especially the essay, for example in the poems of Nekrasov and Turgenev. This phenomenon also occurs in the 50s, both in the work of poets of the Nekrasov school (Nikitin) and in Polonsky Mey. At the same time, processes are observed in the lyrics that are approaching the complexity of psychologism and the organization of lyrical plots to the novel. This was especially clear in love poem cycles.
Revolutionary Populists create their own poetry, organically included in the literary movement of this decade. In the poetry of the 70s years In general, two directions still coexist: Nekrasov’s, civil and Fetov’s, the direction of “pure art,” the struggle between them has intensified significantly. The poetic declarations of each direction are deliberately emphasized and sharpened. At the same time, each of them revealed its own inconsistency. “Pure art” mobilizes its poetic internal capabilities to the maximum and at the same time exhausts them (A.A. Dret, A.N. Maikov, A.K. Tolstoy). Nekrasov's poetry, which affirms the high ideal of serving the people, at the same time experiences its own difficulties in combining civic pathos and psychologism. Among the poets grouped around the Iskra magazine, the humorous tone that prevailed in the 60s was replaced by a satirical beginning.
Possessing a certain specificity, populist poetry also touches on those aspects of the populist movement and consciousness that were almost not touched upon by the prose of the populists. It is characteristic that lyric poetry arises primarily among the Narodnaya Volya. “Going to the people,” as already noted, gave rise to propaganda literature; poetry in it was represented primarily by songs.
The activities of revolutionary populists are inseparable from poetry. Their poetry is, first of all, poetic journalism. They almost consciously contrast themselves with professional poets.
The internal content and main task of democratic poetry of the 70s is “the liberation and education of the people in the spirit of humanism and social justice.” This theme is leading in the works of A. P. Barykova, I. V. Fedorov Omulevsky, A. F. Ivanov-Classic, A. A. Olkhin, A. L. Borovikovsky, A.K. Sheller-Mikhailovsky and others. Democratic poets are characterized by a special attitude to the word. “In their work, the word became a civic act, a direct continuation of social activity. Word and concept, word and feeling in the poetry of democrats are fused, there is no confrontation between them, the result of which would be the birth of additional semantic and emotional shades. The dominant tendency here is to expose the fundamental, vital meaning of words.”
The lyrics of the revolutionary populists also have their own lyrical hero. It uniquely united the consciousness of its tragic fate and the conviction that his sufferings will be redeemed. This theme will be strengthened by the poetry of the 80s, primarily in the poems of prisoners of the Shlisselburg fortress: V.N. Figner, N. A. Morozova, G. A. Lopatina and others.
Poetry of the 80s and 90s occupies a very modest place in the literary process, although it is marked by some signs of a new upsurge.
The era still bears reflections of the bright poetic phenomena of previous decades. Thus, poetry, which served “pure beauty,” recalls itself in the work of A. Fet, who, after a short break, appears in print and publishes four issues of “Evening Lights” (1883 - 1891).
His lyrics are rich in free and strong feelings, appearing in infinitely varied shades - in this direction Fet deepens the “eternal” themes of art, almost without expanding their range. In his poetry, new content is obtained not so much through the new objectivity of the image, but through the boldly updated form of the verse. It is Fet’s form, acquiring truly musical mobility and flexibility, that captures such combinations of moods, overflows of thoughts and feelings that were not known to Fet’s poetry.
Fet’s work is associated with a trend that directly leads to the formation of symbolist poetry. Objective-psychological motivations for the poetic image are increasingly being replaced by subjective-psychological and purely aesthetic motivations; experiments with poetic form. All this will soon be reflected in the poetic practice of K. D. Balmont, B.C. Solovyov, F. Sologub, in the declarations of N. M. Minsky, D. S. Merezhkovsky - the direct founders of Russian symbolism.
But here a qualitatively different stage in the development of poetry begins, which will fully take shape by the 900s. And in the 90s, Fetov’s lyrics, which continued the traditions of classical Russian poetry and brought them to their logical conclusion, with its sensual power and rich poetics, remained an isolated phenomenon.
For many poets of these years, the themes and images of democratic poetry of the 60s and 70s, especially the poetry of Nekrasov, retain their attractiveness. However, their interpretation turns out to be poorer, the artistic means of developing these themes are more meager, and the author’s voice is quieter and more monotonous.
Often in the poems of the 80s and 90s one can find echoes of Lermontov’s motives and moods - interest in his romantic lyrics, as well as in the work of Pushkin and in general in the poets of the first half of the century, increased noticeably at that time. But none of the poets managed to approach the heights of Lermontov’s poetry, combining merciless negation with a powerful love of life, energy and picturesqueness of verse with accuracy and depth of thought.
Feelings of disappointment, hopelessness, “civil grief”, spiritual breakdown do not know the outcome and create in poetry a general atmosphere of tragedy, a gloomy and “sick” time.
Etc.) and dactylic rhymes. If previously 3-syllables were used only in small genres, then Nekrasov and other poets also write large poems and poems with them (III, , ,). 3-syllables become universal. If in the 18th century. iambs accounted for more than 80% of all poetic lines, and 3-syllables less than 1%, if in the first quarter of the XIX V. - respectively 3/4 and about 4%, then in the period under review iambics - about 2/3, 3-syllables - 13% ( ). And for Nekrasov, iambics are about 1/2, 3-syllables are about 1/3. 3-syllables are dominated by 3-foot ones (III, , , , , , , , ), less often 4-foot ones (III, , , ) and alternation of different footnotes; 5-foot units are single (III, ).
Comparing the 3-foot anapests of Nekrasov given here (III, , , , , , ), you can see how varied they are rhythmically and intonationally - from song verse to colloquial verse.
In the 40s, dactylic rhymes were used even more often in comic verse, couplet or feuilleton, for example in iambic 3-foot with cross alternation with masculine ones: A?bA?b (III,). Since the middle of the century, dactylic rhymes have become as universal as feminine rhymes (III, , , , , , , , , ). The only meter they were not grafted to was iambic tetrameter. As a single experiment, they even appear in Alexandrian verse, instead of women's (III,).
Experiences of imitation of folk verse are becoming few and far between - and only in small genres (III, , , ). From the second third of the 19th century. the imitation of Russian folk song in many ways begins to resemble the gypsy romance (cf. II, , ; III, ). The poet who most organically assimilated the poetics of folklore, Nekrasov, absorbed folk poetic vocabulary, syntax, imagery, but among the features of folk verse he adopted only dactylic rhymes - and made them the property of literary verse.
Nekrasov is the only poet of the 19th century who omitted metric stress (tribrachia) 15 times in 3-syllables (III, , ,), which would develop half a century later. In Nekrasov, there are interruptions in meter that anticipate the achievements of poets of the 20th century, in particular Mayakovsky. In several works, among the usual 3-syllables, he allows contractions, introducing separate verses (III, , ); or highlights the ending by placing a dactyl instead of an anapest (III, ); or adds an extra syllable, turning the dactyl into a tactic - and, again, into a “dactylic” tactic instead of an anapest (III,).
Few contemporaries appreciated these innovations. The editor of Nekrasov's first posthumous edition corrected the poet's imaginary mistakes. N.G. Chernyshevsky rightly wrote: “The usual reason for amendments is given to him by “irregularity of size”; but in fact the size of the verse he corrects is correct. The fact is that Nekrasov sometimes inserts a two-syllable foot into the verse of a play written in three-syllable feet; when this is done the way Nekrasov does, it does not amount to wrongness. Let me give you one example. In “The Wanderer’s Song” Nekrasov wrote:
I'm on my third time: man! Why are you beating the woman?
In the Posthumous Edition the verse is corrected:
...why are you beating a woman?
Nekrasov, not through oversight, but deliberately, made the last foot of the verse two-syllable: this gives special power to the expression. The amendment spoils the verse."
Tyutchev’s metrical interruptions are few, but extremely expressive, and in the most traditional, and therefore most conservative, meter - iambic tetrameter (III, ,). The innovation of Nekrasov and Tyutchev was appreciated in our days, against the backdrop of Blok, Mayakovsky and Pasternak, when dolniks, taktoviki, tribrachs, and metric interruptions have become commonplace. Isolated examples of free verse (III, ) are a harbinger of the 20th century.
Rhyme. During this period, approximate rhyme begins to develop ( birch - tears); it was theoretically substantiated and often used in all genres by A.K. Tolstoy (III, ,), but the main background remains precise rhyme. Lyrics and folklore stylizations are satisfied with familiar rhymes; in dactylic rhymes the percentage of grammatical ones is especially high: consolation - salvation and so on.
In satire there are often compound rhymes, with proper names, barbarisms (III, , ,). D. D. Minaev was nicknamed the king of rhyme: his punning rhymes, like the compound rhymes of Nekrasov the feuilletonist, anticipate the achievements of Mayakovsky.
The sound instrumentation of the verse, in particular internal rhyme, begins to acquire greater importance than in the previous period (III, , , , , , , , ).
Strophic. Increasing specific gravity strophic works. If in the 18th and first quarter of the 19th centuries. their number amounted to approximately a third of all poetic works, but now significantly exceeds half ( ). 4-verses predominate. Huge complex stanzas, like those of Derzhavin and Zhukovsky, come to naught. But Fet and some other poets masterfully vary 6-verses (III, , , , , , ), 8-verses (III, , , ), odd stanzas are unusual (III, , , ), even 4-verses sound unusual (III , ). Of particular note are the stanzas with blank verses. There are two types. One is a 4-verse with only even verses rhymed haha (III, ,), which became very popular from the middle of the century under the influence of translations from Heine. The other is individual stanzas. In early Tyutchev they were similar to Derzhavin’s (III, ,), in Fet they were unique (III, ,).
Multi-foot stanzas continue to develop, primarily 4-verses (III, , , , ). The extreme degree of contrasting heterogeneity - rhyme-echo (III, ) and the combination of different meters in a stanza (III, ) - is so far only in satire.
Examples of strophic free verse are becoming more frequent (III, ,). The sonnet fades into the background; sextine unexpectedly appears from other solid forms - in L. A. Mei (III,), L. N. Trefolev. Unlike the canonical form, both of them are rhyming.
Nekrasov creates extraordinary strophoids of white iambic 3-meter in the poem “Who Lives Well in Rus'” and in the poem “Green Noise” (III,), written simultaneously with the beginning of the poem. The alternation of dactylic and masculine clauses is not specified by the stanza model, but depends on the syntactic structure. Within one sentence, which can cover from 2 to 7 verses in a poem (in a poem from 2 to 5), all endings are dactylic; the end of the phrase is indicated by a masculine clause. This is as individual a structure as, for example, the Onegin stanza, and if it occurs in someone, it sounds like a rhythmic quotation.
F. I. Tyutchev (1803–1873)
As the ocean envelops the globe,
Earthly life is surrounded by dreams;
Night will come - and with sonorous waves
The element hits its shore.That's her voice; he forces us and asks...
Already in the pier the magical boat came to life;
The tide is rising and sweeping us away quickly
Into the immeasurability of dark waves.Firmament; burning with star glory,
Looks mysteriously from the depths, -
And we float, a burning abyss
Surrounded on all sides.
2. To two sisters
I saw both of you together -
And I recognized all of you in her...
The same quietness of gaze, tenderness of voice,
The same beauty of the morning hour,
What breath came from your head!And everything is like in a magic mirror,
Everything became clear again:
The days gone by are sadness and joy,
Your lost youth
My lost love!
3. Madness
Where the earth is burnt
The vault of heaven merged like smoke -
There in the carefree cheerfulness
Pathetic madness lives on.Under the hot rays
Buried in the fiery sands,
It has glass eyes
Looking for something in the clouds.Then suddenly he will stand up and, with a sensitive ear,
Crouching to the cracked ground,
He listens to something with greedy ears
With contentment secret on the brow.And he thinks he hears boiling jets,
What does current hear? groundwater,
And their lullaby singing,
And a noisy exodus from the earth!..
Let the pines and spruce
They hang around all winter,
In snow and blizzards
They are wrapped up and sleeping.
Their skinny greens,
Like hedgehog needles
At least it never turns yellow,
But it’s never fresh.We are an easy tribe,
We bloom and shine
And for a short time
We are visiting on the branches.
All red summer
We were in glory
Played with rays
Bathed in dew!..But the birds sang,
The flowers have faded
The rays have turned pale
The marshmallows are gone.
So what do we get for free?
Hanging and turning yellow?
Isn't it better to follow them?
And we can fly away!Oh wild winds,
Hurry, hurry!
Rip us down quickly
From the annoying branches!
Rip it off, run away,
We don't want to wait
Fly, fly!
We are flying with you!..
Be silent, hide and hide
And your feelings and dreams -
Let it be in the depths of your soul
They get up and go in
Silently, like stars in the night, -
Admire them - and be silent.How can the heart express itself?
How can someone else understand you?
Will he understand what you live for?
A spoken thought is a lie.
Exploding, you will disturb the keys, -
Feed on them - and be silent.Just know how to live within yourself -
There is a whole world in your soul
Mysteriously magical thoughts;
They will be deafened by the outside noise,
Daylight rays will disperse, -
Listen to their singing - and be silent!..
6. Spring calm
(From Uland)Oh don't put me down
Into the damp ground -
Hide, bury me
Into the thick grass!Let the breeze breathe
Moves the grass
The flute sings from afar,
Light and quiet clouds
They're floating above me!..
7. Sleeping at sea
Both the sea and the storm rocked our canoe;
I, sleepy, was given over to all the whims of the waves.
There were two infinities in me,
And they played with me willfully.
Around me the rocks sounded like cymbals,
The winds called and the waves sang.
I lay stunned in the chaos of sounds,
But above the chaos of sounds my dream floated.
Painfully bright, magically mute,
It blew lightly over the thundering darkness.
In the rays of the firelight he developed his world -
The earth turned green, the ether glowed,
Lavirinth gardens, palaces, pillars,
And the hosts seethed with silent crowds.
I recognized a lot of unknown faces,
Mature magical creatures, mysterious birds,
Along the heights of creation, like a god, I walked,
And the motionless world shone beneath me.
But all dreams through and through, like a wizard's howl,
I heard the roar of the deep sea,
And into the quiet region of visions and dreams
The foam of the roaring waves rushed in.
My soul is an Elysium of shadows,
Silent, light and beautiful shadows,
Not to the thoughts of this violent time,
Neither the joys nor the sorrows are involved.My soul, Elysium of shadows,
What do life and you have in common?
Between you, ghosts of past, better days
And by this insensitive crowd?..
10. Day and night
A mysterious spirit on the world,
Over this nameless abyss,
A gold-woven cover is thrown over
By the high will of the gods.
Day - this brilliant cover -
Day, earthly revival,
Healing for sick souls,
Friend of men and gods!But the day fades - night has come;
She came, and from the world of fate
Fabric of blessed cover
Having torn it off, it throws it away...
And the abyss is laid bare to us
With your fears and darkness,
And there are no barriers between her and us -
This is why the night is scary for us!
11. Russian woman
Far from the sun and nature,
Far from light and art,
Far from life and love
Your younger years will flash by
Living feelings die
Your dreams will be shattered...And your life will pass unseen,
In a deserted, nameless land,
On an unnoticed land, -
How a cloud of smoke disappears
In a dim and foggy sky,
In the autumn endless darkness...
How a pillar of smoke brightens in the heights! -
How the shadow below glides elusively!..
“This is our life,” you said to me, “
Not light smoke shining in the moonlight,
And this shadow running from the smoke..."
Human tears, oh human tears,
You pour early and late at times...
The unknown ones flow, the invisible ones flow,
Inexhaustible, innumerable, -
Flow like rain streams
In the dead of autumn, sometimes at night.
14. Poetry
Among the thunder, among the lights,
Among the seething passions,
In spontaneous, fiery discord,
She flies from heaven to us -
Heavenly to earthly sons,
With azure clarity in your gaze -
And to the rioting sea
The oil of reconciliation is pouring.
I don’t know if grace will touch
My painfully sinful soul,
Will she be able to resurrect and rebel?
Will the spiritual fainting pass?But if the soul could
Find peace here on earth,
You would be a blessing to me -
You, you, my earthly providence!..
16. Last love
Oh, how in our declining years
We love more tenderly and more superstitiously...
Shine, shine, farewell light
Last love, dawn of evening!Half the sky was covered in shadow,
Only there, in the west, does the radiance wander,
Slow down, slow down, evening day,
Last, last, charm.Let the blood in your veins run low,
But there is no shortage of tenderness in the heart...
O you, last love!
You are both bliss and hopelessness.Between 1852 and 1854
There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...Where the cheerful sickle walked and the ear fell,
Now everything is empty - space is everywhere, -
Only a web of thin hair
Glistens on the idle furrow.The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away -
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...
Nature - sphinx. And the more faithful she is
His temptation destroys a person,
What may happen, no longer
There is no riddle and she never had one.
I. S. Turgenev (1818–1883)
19. (On the road)
Foggy morning, gray morning,
The fields are sad, covered with snow,
Reluctantly you remember the past time,
You will also remember faces long forgotten.Do you remember the abundant passionate speeches,
Glances, so greedily, so timidly caught,
First meetings, last meetings,
Quiet voices, beloved sounds.Will you remember the separation with a strange smile,
You will remember many things from your distant home,
Listening to the incessant murmur of wheels,
Looking thoughtfully into the wide sky.
With absent eyes
I will see an invisible light,
Missing ears
I will hear the chorus of silent planets.
With missing hands
I will paint a portrait without paints.
Missing teeth
I'll eat the insubstantial pate,
And I will talk about it
A non-existent mind.
The Green Noise goes on and on,
Green Noise, spring noise!
Playfully, disperses
Suddenly a riding wind:
The alder bushes will shake,
Will raise flower dust,
Like a cloud, everything is green:
Both air and water!
The Green Noise goes on and on,
Green Noise, spring noise!
My hostess is modest
Natalya Patrikeevna,
It won't muddy the water!
Yes, something bad happened to her
How I spent the summer in St. Petersburg...
She said it herself, stupid
Tick her tongue!
In a hut, one-on-one with a liar
Winter has locked us in
My eyes are harsh
The wife looks and is silent.
I’m silent... but my thoughts are fierce
Gives no rest:
Kill... so sorry for my heart!
There is no strength to endure!
And here the winter is shaggy
Roars day and night:
“Kill, kill the traitor!
Get rid of the villain!
Otherwise you'll be lost for the rest of your life,
Not during the day, not during the long night
You won't find peace.
Shameless in your eyes
The neighbors will spit!..”
To the song of a winter blizzard
The fierce thought grew stronger -
I have a sharp knife...
Yes, suddenly spring has crept up...
The Green Noise goes on and on,
Green Noise, spring noise!
Like drenched in milk,
There are cherry orchards,
They make a quiet noise;
Warmed by the warm sun,
Happy people making noise
Pine forests;
And next to it there is new greenery
They babble a new song
And the pale-leaved linden,
And a white birch tree
With a green braid!
A small reed makes noise,
The tall maple tree is rustling...
They make a new noise
In a new way, spring...
The Green Noise goes on and on,
Green Noise, spring noise!
The fierce thought weakens,
The knife falls from my hands,
And I still hear the song
One - in the forest, in the meadow:
“Love as long as you love,
Be patient as long as you can,
Goodbye while it's goodbye
And God will be your judge!”
62. About the weather. Epiphany frosts
(Excerpt)
“My lord! where are you running?
- “To the office; What a question?
I don't know you! - “Rub, rub
Hurry up, for God's sake, your nose!
Turned white!” - "A! very grateful!”
- “Well, what about mine?” - “Yes, yours is radiant!”
- “That's it! - I took measures...” - “What, sir?”
- "Nothing. Drink vodka in cold weather -
You'll probably save your nose,
Roses will appear on your cheeks!”
63. Recent time
(Excerpt)
Harmless, peaceful topics!
They won’t make you angry, they won’t quarrel...
We all have personal interests
We worked out more in those days.
However, we had Russophiles
(Those who saw the Germans as enemies)
Slavophiles came to us,
Their secular type then was as follows:
In St. Petersburg, champagne with kvass
They drank from ancient ladles,
And in Moscow they praised with ecstasy
Pre-Petrine order of things,
But, living abroad, they owned
Very bad native language,
And they had no idea
About your Slavic calling.
I once laughed so hard,
Hearing Prince NN say:
“I, my soul, am a Slavophile.”
- “What is your religion?” - “Catholic.”
The honest ones who fell valiantly fell silent,
Their lonely voices have fallen silent,
Those who cried out for the unfortunate people,
But cruel passions are unbridled.A whirlwind of anger and rage rushes
Above you, unresponsive country.
Everything living, everything good is askew...
You can only hear, O dawnless night!Among the darkness spilled by you,
How enemies, triumphant, call each other,
Like the corpse of a slain giant
Bloodthirsty birds flock
Poisonous reptiles are crawling...Between 1872 and 1874
M. L. Mikhailov (1829–1865)
<Из Гейне>
How it trembles, reflected
In the splashing sea, the moon;
And she walks across the sky
And calm and clear, -
So you go, calm down
And it is clear, in its own way;
But your bright image trembles
In my trembling heart.
They say spring has come
The days are bright and the nights are warm;
The green meadow is full of flowers,
Nightingales sing in the forests.
I walk among the meadows -
I'm looking for your traces;
More often I listen to the forest,
Won't your voice be heard?Where is spring and where are the flowers?
You don't go to pick them.
Where is the nightingale's song?
I can’t hear your speech...
Spring hasn't come yet.
The day is gloomy, the night is cold.
A field of frost is forged,
Birds cry and don't sing.
67. Epigrams
MISUNDERSTANDINGThere was a lot of talk in our magazines about the free press.COLLECTION
The public understood: crush us freely under pressure!Hard labor and execution are even called punishment by the decrees:
You have been sought (so understand!) by the royal mercy.
V. S. Kurochkin (1831–1875)
I'm not a poet - and not bound by ties
With the muses
I am not flattered by either the false or the right
Glory.
Devoted to his homeland with an unknown love,
Honest,
Without singing with the singers of the jury,
Important
Evil and good, with equal chances,
Stanzas,
I put my feeling more filial
Everything goes into it.But I can't cry for joy
Out of disgust,
Or look for beauty in ugliness
Asia,
Or smoke in the direction given
incense,
That is, flirting with evil and adversity
Odami.Climb with rhymes of special happiness
To power I
I don’t find it - whatever there are
Arrived.
My rhymes walk with a firm step,
I'm proud
Situated in rich pairs -
Bars!Well, they won’t give me money for them at the Academy.
Awards,
Piitiki will not cite them as examples
Critics:
“There is nothing, they say, for “folk reading”
Fit,
No soul-lifting soaring
Genius,
There is no warlike, brave in old age,
Fury
And not one for Petrushka and Vasenka
Fables."Well? Mother Nature herself left me
Rules,
Giving the same simple feeling
Anything.
If they find a book with different songs
Idle
Good people worth attention -
What else?
If I rhyme free and bold
I'll do it
Moreover, the well-known impression
Honest, -
There will be abundant poetry in it,
Strong
The fact that it is not even connected with muses
Bonds.
D. D. Minaev (1835–1889)
(Excerpt)
From a German poet
A genius cannot take over,
Our poets can
Take the size of his creations.Let him rhyme every other line
Modern Russian Heine,
And in the water of similar songs
You can swim like in a pool.I don't speak poetry well
But - I swear here in front of everyone -
I'll write in that size
Every evening a poemEvery evening a poem
Without hard work,
Where they will intertwine through the line
Along with rhymes of wit.
70. Epigrams
I ate soup while sitting in a restaurant,
The soup was sweet like a subsidy
Which I sleep and think about
We tempt you with a round sum.You can't trust hope
She lies terribly often:
He showed promise before
Now he makes denunciations.I'm not fit to be a judge, of course,IN FINLAND
But I'm not confused by your question.
Let Tamberlik take it with his chest,
And you, my friend, take do - with your nose.The realm of rhymes is my element,OUR PEOPLE
And I write poetry easily;
Without hesitation, without delay
I run to line from line,
Even to the Finnish brown rocks
Handling with a pun.A thief will not even say aside about another:OFFICIAL GERMANS
"Crow!.."
Eyes, it is known, will not gouge out a crow
Crow.Everyone in Russia is German,AFTER THE BENEFIT
Officials suffering from thirst,
Five times for them
Let us be crucified.
For this reason
In front of you, Ross,
He turns up his nose
With an order, with rank:
For a German, after all, ranks
Tastier than ham.“Whose play was on today?”B. M<АРКЕВИ>CHU
- “Alexandrova.” - "Was
Was it played brilliantly, or not?”
- “With style, with style: they shushed loudly.”The other day, dragging with me two huge portsacks,IN THE ALBUM TO KRUPP JUNIOR, WHO ARRIVED IN ST. PETERSBURG
He dragged himself to the station; sweat was streaming from my face...
“He can’t get it!” - the people around were sorry,
And just some bully
Said: "Don't worry - will report!..”Do I eat semolina soup?
Or I see a horse's croup -
Krupp comes to mind
And behind him - large mass,
A pile of “cannon fodder”...
Oh, may it not be thorny
The path of such a person:
He is a great humanist
Nineteenth century!
71. Rhymes and puns
(From the notebook of a mad poet) IGrooms, don’t turn your nose up,II
Coming to his bride.Gold is valued by its weight,III
And for pranks - I'll hang you.Don't walk around like everyone else,IV
Without a gift you go to Rosina,
But, making visits to her,
Every time you bring a bouquet.Me, meeting Isabella,V
I treasure your tender gaze,
As a reward, and for white
Taking it by the hand, I tremble.Beautiful features, I pray,VI
Draw them for me, painting them,
And I'm written in pastels
I'll hang the portrait above the bed.I walked with her to the garden,IX
And my annoyance passed
And now I'm all red,
Remembering the dark alley.You sadly exclaim: “Am I the one?XIII
My waist is a hundred centimeters..."
Indeed, I will become like this
I will not express praise.In the midday heat on the SeineXIV
I searched in vain for the canopy,
Remembering the Volga, where, in the hay
Lying down, I listened to Senya’s song:
“Oh, you, my canopy, my canopy!..”On a picnic, under the shade of a spruce tree
We drank more than we ate
And, knowing a lot about wine and ale,
We barely returned home.
L. N. Trefolev (1839–1905)
72. Song about the Kamarinsky man
(Excerpt)
Like on Varvarinskaya Street
Kasyan, a Kamarinsky man, is sleeping.
His beard is unkempt
And tarnished by cheapness;
Scarlet streams of fresh blood
The cheeks are sunken.Oh, you dear friend, my darling Kasyan!
It's your birthday today, which means you're drunk.
There are twenty-nine days in February,
On the last day the Kasyans sleep on the ground.
Green wine for them on this day
Especially drunk, drunk, drunk.February twenty-ninth
A whole bottle of damned wine
Kasyan poured into the sinful womb,
I forgot my dear wife
And your own children,
Two twins, little ones.Having twisted his hat on one side,
He went to his godfather's kuren.
There his godfather baked balls;
Baba is kind, rosy and white,
I baked him a hot roll
And respected... more, more, more.
73. Poor Makar gets a lot of bumps
(Excerpt)
Everything is not going well for Makar. Over poor Makars
Fate the villain amuses herself with cruel blows.
From our peasant, from poor Makarushka,
There is no money for a rainy day, no lady, no lady.
In truth, there is money: the copper penny is jingling,
And there is a woman: she lies there, withered and pale.
I should help her, but how can I help her? I can't afford the road
All doctors and healers, our dashing enemies...
K. K. Sluchevsky (1837–1904)
74. To the cemetery
I'm lying on my gravestone,
I watch the clouds move in the air
How quickly the swallows fly under them
And their wings shine brightly in the sun.
I look like in the clear sky above me
A green maple hugs a pine tree,
How to draw from the haze of clouds
Movable pattern of fancy sheets.
I watch the shadows grow long
How the twilight floats quietly across the sky,
How beetles fly, knocking their heads together,
Spiders are placing webs in the leaves...I hear it as if under a gravestone.
Someone is cowering, moving the earth,
I hear the stone being sharpened and scraped
And they call me in a barely audible voice:
“Listen, honey, I’ve been tired of lying for a long time!
Let me breathe the spring air,
Let me, my dear, look into the white light,
Let me straighten my pressed chest.
In the kingdom of the dead there is only silence and darkness,
Tenacious roots, but rot, and phlegm,
Sunken eyes are covered with sand,
My bare skull is worn away by a worm,
I'm tired of silent relatives.
Won’t you lie down, my dear, for me?”I was silent and just listened: under the stove
He banged his bone head for a long time.
For a long time the dead man gnawed the roots and scraped the ground,
He fussed about and finally became quiet.
I was lying on my gravestone,
I watched the clouds rushing in the heights,
As the ruddy day burned down in the sky,
As the pale moon floated into the sky,
How the beetles flew, knocking their foreheads,
How fireflies crawled onto the grass...
75. Winter landscape
Yes, amazing, truly, jokes of the world
There is in the winter landscape, dear to us!
So sometimes the plain is covered with a veil of snow,
Richly browned sunbeam,
It shines with some kind of senile freshness.
A fast river that flows across the plain
And, spinning in rings and bends,
Doesn't freeze in deep winter -
Enters into a color connection with the sky!
Green skies bright colors
She is absolutely incredibly green;
She runs green through the white snow,
Green, like emerald, like duckweed...And so it seems then that in front of us
Earth and sky joke, exchanging colors:
The sky shines, transferring its blush to the snow,
The color of the green fields - it is accepted by heaven,
And, as if in memory of the past, like a trace of a trace,
Green water runs through the white snow.
ABOUT! if you could, plains of the sky,
Taking in all the colors of summer and spring,
Take our sorrows, doubts, need for bread -
Giving a little of your silence in return
And your peace... we need them!
A. N. Apukhtin (1840–1893)
When, children, are you students,
Don't rack your brains over the moments
Over Hamlets, Lyras, Kents,
Over kings and presidents,
Over the seas and over the continents,
Don't mingle with your opponents there,
Be smart with your competitors.
How will you finish the course with eminents?
And you will go into service with patents -
Don't look at the service of assistant professors
And don’t disdain, children, gifts!
Surround yourself with counterparties
Always give compliments
Be clients of the bosses
Comfort their wives with instruments,
Treat old women with peppermints -
They will repay you for these with interest:
They will cover your uniform with braids,
The chest will be decorated with stars and ribbons!..
And when the doctors with ornaments
They will call you, alas, patients
And they will kill you with medications...
The bishop will sing for you and the regents.
The burial will be carried out with assistants,
They will provide your children with annuities
(So that they can be subscribers at the opera)
And they will cover your ashes with monuments.
M. N. Soimonov (1831–1888)
77. Woman's business
I stung on the strip
Knitted sheaves of gold -
Young;
I'm tired, tired...
That's our woman's business -
The share is evil!
It’s hard, but that’s okay,
If there is no sweetness in the heart
Yes anxiety;
And with sweethearts... it’s of little use!..
I dozed off on the sheaves
By the road.
Darling, it just happened here,
He grinned, leaned over,
Began to caress
Kiss... and the streak
So it remained, unharnessed,
To crumble...
The husband and mother-in-law waited for a long time:
“Wedge of all, tea,” they reasoned,
Masha will squeeze it out.”
And the night grew dark over Masha...
That's our woman's business -
Our stupidity!..
Chernyshevsky N. G. Full collection op. T. 1. M., 1939, p. 751.
This is what people call the awakening of nature in spring. (Author's note).
Introduction…………………………………………………….……….......…....3
1. The development of poetry in the second half of the 19th century…………...…………….….5
2. The main motives of the lyrics in the works of A. A. Fet.................................................... 6
2.1 Fet’s poetry is nature itself, looking mirror-like through the human soul.................................................... ............................................8
2.2 Fet’s aesthetic views............................................................ .............10
3.Creativity of F.I. Tyutchev.................................................... ...................................12
Introduction
“Poetry is dark, inexpressible in verse,” wrote I.A. Bunin, a great representative of Russian literature of the 20th century. Indeed, poetry calls “a higher truth” - it tells about the events of spiritual life. “Can you tell your soul?” So, poetry in literature is a special kind, the art of words, where the poet expresses thoughts, feelings, and moods. The second half of the 19th century in Russia was the heyday of lyric poetry, although not for long: already in the 60-70s, interest in lyric poetry was declining (until almost the end of the century). But this short heyday was very fruitful.
Numerous collections of poetry are published; Critical attention was focused on new poetic works. It was also interesting that poetry for the first time split into two movements: democratic and lyrical. The source of this split is in disputes about Pushkin’s legacy. Fet and other supporters of “pure art” referred to Pushkin’s lines: “not for everyday excitement... we were born...”. Topicality and journalisticism were not accepted by poets, representatives of the second movement. The very term “poetry of pure art” is quite conventional. Thus, the person of the lyric poets is immersed in nature, and not in history, but the subject of their poetry has always been the real reality itself in the utmost completeness and richness of every moment. The man in their lyrics is open to every manifestation of “omnipotent nature”; every moment of his existence, in the words of I.A. Bunin, “partakes of the earth itself, of everything sensual, material from which the world is created.”
In their poems one cannot find pictures of social reality, just as there is no direct reflection of contemporary ideological problems. Fet, Tyutchev, A.K. Tolstoy do not strive to depict life with its everyday worries, troubles and losses. Their poetic task is to give life from a special angle, where it was beauty, the direct realization of the ideal.
Life in the 21st century is viewed from a different angle. What goals should modern readers have for 19th-century poetry?
Let's formulate the main ones:
Get acquainted with the life and work of poets
Show the features of poetry as a type of literature
Reveal the originality of the lyrics of the presented poets
Development of poetry in the second half of the 19th century
The poems that were created by Russian authors in the 50s were subject to sharp criticism - they were all compared with the legacy of Alexander Sergeevich, and, according to many critics, they were much “weaker” than them. During this period, poetry began to gradually supplant prose. Such talented prose writers as Tolstoy, Turgenev and Dostoevsky appeared in the literary field. It should be noted that it was Tolstoy who was one of the most categorical critics of the new Russian poets: he ignored the work of Tyutchev, and openly called Polonsky, Maykov and Fet “mediocrities.”
Maybe Lev Nikolaevich really was right, and we shouldn’t perceive the poetry of the post-Pushkin era as a literary heritage? Then why do many of us associate the 19th century not only with the works of Lermontov and Pushkin, but also with the brilliant poems of Fet, Nekrasov, Pleshcheev, Koltsov, Polonsky, A. Tolstoy?
Moreover, if we consider Russian poetry from such a radical position, then the silversmith poets - Akhmatova, Blok, Bely, Mayakovsky, Tsvetaeva - automatically fall into the category of “mediocrities” who have not reached the level of Pushkin. Therefore, we see that such an opinion is devoid of all logical foundations, and it is categorically impossible to be guided by it.