Tyutchev's phrases. Writers and poets about the creativity and personality of Tyutchev - the most interesting things in blogs

Tyutchev's son-in-law was a publicist and poet, one of the most active figures in Slavophilism. He is known as the author of the biographical essay “Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev,” published a year after the poet’s death. Based on the author's personal impressions and memories, the book contains valuable information about Tyutchev's personality, his life and work.

I. S. Aksakov wrote about Tyutchev “The mind is strong and firm - with weakness and powerlessness of will, reaching the point of weakness; the mind is vigilant and sober - with the sensitivity of the nerves of the finest, almost feminine - with irritability, flammability, in a word, with the creative process of the poet’s soul with all its instantly flaring up ghosts and self-deception. An active mind, knowing neither rest nor help - with a complete inability to act, with habits of laziness acquired from childhood, with an irresistible aversion to any kind of coercion; the mind is constantly hungry, inquisitive, serious, concentratedly penetrating all questions of history, philosophy, knowledge; a soul insatiably thirsty for pleasure, excitement, distraction, passionately surrendering to the impressions of the current day...” Frankly, it should be said, an unflattering, but deep personal characteristic.

From memoriesF.F. Tyutcheva (1860-1916) son of Tyutchev and Deniseva. A writer, a colonel of the tsarist army wrote about his father: “His face... but is it possible to describe the face of Fyodor Ivanovich in such a way that a person who has never seen him could imagine this special expression that defies any description?.. It was not only a human face, but some elusive, involuntarily striking everyone, combination of lines and strokes in which the high spirit of genius lived and which seemed to glow with inhuman, spiritual beauty.

“Feelings of neglect and contempt were completely unknown to his bright soul, just as they would have been unknown to any spirit if one could live among people. Reading in the souls and minds surrounding him, as in an open book, seeing the shortcomings and vices of his neighbors, being himself filled with all sorts of human weaknesses, which he was clearly aware of in himself, but which he was unable to get rid of and did not even want to get rid of, Fyodor Ivanovich never condemned anyone, accepting humanity as it is, with some special calm, complacent indifference...”

“For him, the human race was divided into two halves - into interesting people and boring people, and then he was indifferent to whom fate pitted him against: the highest-ranking dignitary, or the simplest mortal. He behaved exactly the same with both.”

The writer gives a detailed personal description of Tyutchev V. Khodasevich in the article “About Tyutchev” (1928), written for the 125th anniversary of Tyutchev’s birth. Below are excerpts from the said article.

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« Tyutchev was one of the most remarkable Russian people. But, like many Russian people, he was not aware of his true calling and place. He chased after something for which he was not born, and not only did he not value his true gift at all, but he valued it in the wrong way and not for what was most amazing about it.

He was a man of strong passions and phenomenal absent-mindedness. However, there is nothing unexpected in the fact that he entered the civil service. It is not surprising that Tyutchev served, and in the end served poorly.

But here’s what’s strange: being a not very efficient official of the diplomatic department, all his life he was eager to be very active in this field. And especially in those years when he was out of work and in disgrace. He did not know how to serve, but the political destinies of Europe and Russia worried him extremely, and he wanted to participate in them not only contemplatively, but also actively. In his articles and letters we see a man vigorously striving for political influence and action. But - after all, we are now celebrating the one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of the birth of not the politician Tyutchev, but the poet.

At that time, when Tyutchev himself had not yet been “discovered,” the compilers of anthologies and anthologies recommended him as an “outstanding describer of nature.” But in order to understand him as a “descriptor,” it was necessary not to notice the main thing in his poems, to pass by what lay under the apparent surface of the “description.” Sometimes they acted with barbaric naivety: they simply crossed out what was the true subject of the poem and for which the “picture of nature” served only as motivation or preparation. Thus, the famous poem “I Love a Thunderstorm in Early May” was often published without the last stanza, which was most important for Tyutchev’s plan, but “inappropriate” and “superfluous” for lovers of description.

He philosophized all his life. But thought was for him also a “golden-woven veil” over the abyss of prophetic dreams, overwhelming but majestic unconsciousness, spiritual Chaos. From there he heard his favorite voices of the incomprehensible, the inexpressible. Loved the dark, chaotic nature of the soul. He was not afraid to love evil itself - because it is mysteriously and invisibly diffused in everything. He brought the ultimate evil, worse than death, suicide, close to the greatest good, love, and reveled in this closeness:

Everything somehow fell apart at once. Tyutchev was already approaching fifty when he was overcome by love, blind, excessive, irresistible, for E. Denisyeva, a young girl, a classy lady at the institute where his daughters studied. A prosperous life, established with such difficulty, a career, forcibly restored, the public opinion that he valued, friendly connections, political plans, the family itself, finally - everything went to waste. For fourteen years, from 1850 to 1864, this love storm raged “more than fiery anger.” Tyutchev was tormented and tormented. He overstrained himself and brought his beloved to the grave. After her death, he lived in a daze, in “suffering stagnation.” His soul “languished” and “dry.” Tyutchev seemed blind from grief and wisdom. “A short, thin old man, with long, gray hair hanging back from the temples, which was never smoothed, dressed carelessly, not a single button fastened as it should, here he enters the brightly lit hall. The music is thundering, the ball is spinning in full swing ... The old man makes his way with an unsteady step along the wall, holding his hat, which now seems to fall from his hands..."

Through the whirling of the ball, what did his old eyes see? What did the prophetic ear hear behind this music? Where was he at heart?

Here I am wandering along the high road

In the quiet light of the fading day.

The trees bare their shoulders, the yellow ball hides the masks, Whoever says that time heals has never known love...
Tyutchev Fedor

Whatever life teaches us,
But the heart believes in miracles...

Tyutchev Fedor

This day, I remember, for me
Was on the morning of life's day:
She stood silently in front of me.
Her chest heaved like a wave,
Cheeks reddened like the dawn,
The blushing and grief are getting hotter and hotter!
And suddenly, like the young sun,
Golden declaration of love
It burst out of her chest...
And I saw a new world!..

Tyutchev Fedor

But all charms are short-lived; they are not allowed to visit us.

Tyutchev Fedor

I love your eyes, my friend,
With their fiery-wonderful play,
When you suddenly lift them up
And, like lightning from heaven,
Take a quick look around the whole circle...

But there is a stronger charm:
Eyes downcast
In moments of passionate kissing,
And through lowered eyelashes
A gloomy, dim fire of desire.

Tyutchev Fedor

There is more than one memory here,
Here life spoke again, -
And you have the same charm,
And that love is in my soul!..

Tyutchev Fedor

Your shrine will not be violated
The poet's clean hand
But inadvertently life will strangle
Or it will carry you beyond the clouds.

Tyutchev Fedor

Oh, how murderously we love,
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!

Tyutchev Fedor

I still languish with the longing of desires,
I still strive for you with my soul -
And in the twilight of memories
I still catch your image...
Your sweet image, unforgettable,
He is in front of me everywhere, always,
Unattainable, unchangeable,
Like a star in the sky at night...

Tyutchev Fedor

Love, love - says the legend -
Union of the soul with the dear soul -
Their union, combination,
And their fatal merger,
And... the fatal duel...

Tyutchev Fedor

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.

Tyutchev Fedor

You loved and as you love,
No, no one has ever succeeded
Oh my God! And survive it
And my heart didn’t break into pieces!

Tyutchev Fedor

So sweet and gracious
Airy and light
to my soul a hundredfold
Your love was there.

Tyutchev Fedor

There is a high meaning in separation:
No matter how much you love, even one day, even a century,
Love is a dream, and a dream is one moment,
And whether it’s early or late to wake up,
And man must finally wake up...

Tyutchev Fedor

How long ago, proud of my victory,
You said: she is mine...
A year has not passed - ask and find out,
What was left of her?

Where did the roses go?
The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?
Everything was scorched, tears burned out
With its flammable moisture.

Tyutchev Fedor

Not what you think, nature:
Not a cast, not a soulless face -
She has a soul, she has freedom,
There is Love in it, there is language in it.

Tyutchev Fedor

Be silent, hide and hide
And your feelings and dreams -
Let it be in the depths of your soul
They get up and come in.

Tyutchev Fedor

She was sitting on the floor
And I sorted through piles of letters,
And, like cooled ash,
She picked them up and threw them away.

I took familiar sheets
And I looked at them so wonderfully,
How souls look from above
The body thrown on them...

Oh, how much life there was here,
Irreversibly experienced!
Oh, how many sad moments
Love and joy killed!..

I stood silently on the sidelines
And I was ready to fall on my knees, -
And I was terribly sad
As from the inherent sweet shadow.

Tyutchev Fedor

More than once you have heard the confession:
"I'm not worth your love."
Let her be my creation -
But how poor I am in front of her...

Before your love
It hurts me to remember myself -
I stand, silent, in awe
And I bow to you...

When, sometimes, so tenderly,
With such faith and prayer
You involuntarily bend your knee
Before the dear cradle,

Where she sleeps - your birth -
Your nameless cherub, -
You too understand my humility
Before your loving heart.

Tyutchev Fedor

I met you - and everything is gone
In the obsolete heart came to life;
I remembered the golden time -
And my heart felt so warm...

Like late autumn sometimes
There are days, there are times,
When suddenly it starts to feel like spring
And something will stir within us, -

So, all covered in perfume
Those years of spiritual fullness,
With a long-forgotten rapture
I look at the cute features...

Like after a century of separation,
I look at you as if in a dream, -
And now the sounds became louder,
Not silent in me...

There is more than one memory here,
Here life spoke again, -
And we have the same charm,
And that same love is in my soul!...

Tyutchev Fedor

(1803 - 1873) - Russian poet, diplomat and publicist. More than four hundred of his poems are known, but the author himself did not want to be seen as a professional poet and tried in every possible way to distance himself from the literary process.

According to a number of philologists, his work gravitates towards the poetry of the 18th century, and Tyutchev’s works are compressed odes, which determines the imagery, richness and information content of his lyrics.