Not everything painful to the soul dreams of:

Spring has arrived and the sky will clear.

COMMENTS:

Autograph unknown.

List (on telegraph form in the hand of an unidentified person) - RGALI. F. 505. Op. 1. Unit hr. 71. L. 55.

The first publication is the One-day newspaper of the Committee of Academic Theaters for Famine Relief. 1922, May 28–29.

It is printed according to the text on telegraph form, but with two lines of poetry highlighted, although there are three lines on the form, without division into verses and without punctuation. Above the text is a record of delivery from St. Petersburg on April 12, 1864 at 11.30 and receipt at 6 o’clock; at the bottom is the signature “Tyutchev”. On the reverse side is the address: “Moscow. Nikolaevsky Palace. Maid of honor Tyutcheva."

The poems were sent by Tyutchev to his daughter Daria (the second daughter from his first marriage) on her birthday. She was born on April 12, 1834 in Munich, where she spent her childhood. In 1845–1851 she was brought up at the Smolny Institute, then lived with her father’s family. In 1858 she became a maid of honor to Empress Maria Alexandrovna.

In a letter dated September 8/20, 1864, Tyutchev wrote to her: “... if anything could cheer me up, create for me at least the appearance of life, it would be to save myself for you, to devote myself to you, my poor, dear child, - you, so loving and so lonely, outwardly so little sensible and so deeply sincere - you, to whom I, perhaps, inherited this terrible property that has no name, disturbing all balance in life, this thirst for love that you have , my poor child, remained unsatisfied. Oh yes, if I could<…>to be something in your life, to create for you at least some deceptive semblance of life in the emptiness and futility of your existence, so it may happen - this would also bring me out of the hopeless stupor in which I find myself and which deprives me of even ability to find words to express it. In a word, I would like, my daughter, that these remaining fragments of the life of my soul and heart, which are no longer suitable for anything, would be suitable for you...” ( Ed. 1984. T. 2. P. 271). ( F.T.).

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 the immodest noise of the day... In 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 long 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 had a fatal calling. ..) To Prince P. A. Vyazemsky When in a circle of murderous worries... When decrepit forces... When there is no God's consent... When you are eighteen years old... Columbus The feast is over, the choirs have fallen silent... The horse of the sea Whoever you are, but when you meet 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 We cannot predict... Napoleon Vain work - no, you can’t reason with them... Our century You didn’t serve God and not Russia... Don’t believe, don’t trust the poet, maiden... Not everything painful to the soul dreams of... 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...) Tears human, 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 together... 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, wave my sea... Alas, what of our ignorance... A terrible dream weighed down on us... Russia cannot be understood with the mind... Calm The biza has calmed down... Breathing easier... Morning in the mountains Charon Fountain and Kachenovsky Cicero Enchantress Winter. .. Whatever life teaches us... What did you pray with love... Black Sea Your palace, the savior, I see, is decorated... What are you bowing over the waters... These poor villages... Yu.F .Abase (So - harmonic instruments...) I met you - and everything of the past... I knew her even then... I am a Lutheran, I love worship... I knew the eyes - oh, those eyes!.. I remember golden time...

She composed her first poem at the age of 11. After re-reading it “with a fresh mind,” the girl realized that she needed to improve her art of versification. Which is what I began to actively do. However, Anna's father did not appreciate her efforts and considered it a waste of time. That is why he forbade using his real last name - Gorenko. Anna decided to choose her great-grandmother’s maiden name, Akhmatova, as her pseudonym.

From the biography of A. A. Akhmatova

A. S. Pushkin’s first duel took place at the Lyceum, and in general he was challenged to a duel more than 90 times. Pushkin himself suggested shooting more than one and a half hundred times. The reason might not be worth a damn - for example, in an ordinary dispute about trifles, Pushkin could unexpectedly call someone a scoundrel, and, of course, this would end in shooting.

From the biography of A. S. Pushkin

Pushkin A.S. also had gambling debts, and quite serious ones. True, he almost always found means to cover them, but when any delays occurred, he wrote angry epigrams to his creditors and drew their caricatures in notebooks. One day such a sheet was found, and there was a big scandal.

From the biography of A. S. Pushkin

And here is what foreigners write about A.S. Pushkin. It turns out that Eugene Onegin is actually the first Russian novel (albeit in verse). This is what it says in the 1961 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. It also says that before Pushkin, the Russian language was generally not suitable for fiction.

From the biography of A. S. Pushkin

In Russia, in 1912 and 1914, collections were published, which have now become a bibliographic rarity: the compiler of the collections was a certain V. Lenin, and the preface was written by A. Ulyanov. Lenin was the pseudonym of the publisher Sytin (his daughter’s name was Elena), and the literary critic Ulyanov was simply a namesake.

From the biography of A. S. Pushkin

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2008 - 2020 Collection of Russian poetry "Lyricon"

Every day the Mnogo.ru website hosts a quiz called “Quote of the Day.” The invitation page of the site is shown below.

First of all, let's present the question in its original form. Let's do this in the photo below.

So, we have three candidates for consideration:

1. Fyodor Tyutchev;
2. Afanasy Fet;
3. Mikhail Lermontov.

Let's solve the problem using the inverse method. Among the proposed candidates, the third one seems far-fetched - Mikhail Lermontov did not write anything similar to what was given in the quotation. So we are withdrawing his candidacy from consideration.

We have two candidates left. And now, when it’s already mid-May, it’s raining - though not always with a thunderstorm, but sometimes with snow - I remember the poet’s lines about a thunderstorm in early May. I believe that many people remember these lines from their school curriculum. So, it seems that the same poet is the author of the proposed line.

We withdraw the candidacy of the second poet from consideration, since this is precisely the case when “Bolivar cannot stand two.”

The correct answer is Fyodor Tyutchev.

We will confirm the correctness of the answer with a photo from the website of the quiz host.

The above quote is - surprisingly - a full-fledged verse. This verse, which has no title, belongs to the series “short poems about spring.”

And if you are registered on a website that hosts the quiz and answer the question correctly, you will also receive five bonuses.

Not everything painful to the soul dreams of*:
Spring has arrived and the sky will clear. 1

1 Autograph unknown.
List (on telegraph form in the hand of an unidentified person) - RGALI. F. 505. Op. 1. Unit hr. 71. L. 55.
The first publication is the One-day newspaper of the Committee of Academic Theaters for Famine Relief. 1922, May 28–29.
It is printed according to the text on telegraph form, but with two lines of poetry highlighted, although there are three lines on the form, without division into verses and without punctuation. Above the text is a record of delivery from St. Petersburg on April 12, 1864 at 11.30 and receipt at 6 o’clock; at the bottom is the signature “Tyutchev”. On the reverse side is the address: “Moscow. Nikolaevsky Palace. Maid of honor Tyutcheva."
Dated April 12, 1864 based on the note in the telegram.
The poems were sent by Tyutchev to his daughter Daria (the second daughter from his first marriage) on her birthday. She was born on April 12, 1834 in Munich, where she spent her childhood. In 1845–1851 she was brought up at the Smolny Institute, then lived with her father’s family. In 1858 she became a maid of honor to Empress Maria Alexandrovna.
In a letter dated September 8/20, 1864, Tyutchev wrote to her: “... if anything could cheer me up, create for me at least the appearance of life, it would be to save myself for you, to devote myself to you, my poor, dear child, - you, so loving and so lonely, outwardly so little sensible and so deeply sincere - you, to whom I, perhaps, inherited this terrible property that has no name, disturbing all balance in life, this thirst for love that you have , my poor child, remained unsatisfied. Oh, yes, if I could be something in your life, if I could create for you at least some deceptive semblance of life in the emptiness and futility of your existence, then, perhaps, this would bring me out of that hopeless stupor in which I find myself in and which deprives me of even the ability to find words to express it. In a word, I would like, my daughter, that these remaining fragments of the life of my soul and heart, which are no longer suitable for anything, would be suitable for you...” (Ed. 1984. Vol. 2. P. 271). (F.T.).

THE POEM DOES NOT ALL THE PAINFUL THINGS OF THE SOUL DREAM... There are no audio recordings yet...