« Snowy mountains» Fyodor Tyutchev
It's already midday
Shoots with sheer rays, -
And the mountain began to smoke
With your black forests.Below, like a steel mirror,
The lakes' streams turn blue,
And from the stones shining in the heat,
Streams rush into their native depths.And meanwhile, half asleep
Our low world, devoid of strength,
Imbued with fragrant bliss,
In the midday darkness he rested, -Grief, like dear deities,
Over the dying earth
The icy heights are playing
With the azure sky of fire.
Analysis of Tyutchev’s poem “Snowy Mountains”
Exact date the writing of the poem “Snowy Mountains” still remains unclear. Often, literary scholars give only possible chronological boundaries - from June 1825 to 1829. The text was first published in 1830 by the Moscow weekly magazine Galatea, published by Semyon Yegorovich Raich (1792-1855). At the same time, it was published under a general heading (“In the mountains”) and with a general note (“Salzburg”), together with a work similar in theme – “”. In “Snowy Mountains” the reader sees midday. The poet paints a half-asleep nature. Sun rays, falling to the ground, make the lake look like a steel mirror. Streams rush from the mountain peaks into the valley. The “low world” plunged into “fragrant bliss.” Tyutchev’s lyrics are often based on contrasts, which can be confirmed by the example of the text under consideration. In particular, we're talking about about the proximity of ice-covered mountain peaks with a “fiery” sky. The epithet “fire” plays in the poem important role. With its help, the image of purity, purity, and divinity is introduced into the work. In Russian culture, fire often symbolizes purification, the triumph of light over death and darkness, and plays the role of a mediator between deity and man.
Tyutchev’s work is characterized by a connection between movement and water. There is nothing difficult in interpreting such a correlation. Water is perceived by the poet as a source of life, and as a consequence, movement. Please note that in the text under consideration, personification is used in relation to streams: “streams rush.”
“The dying earth” is the space in which a person is forced to exist. At the same time, his soul yearns for something different. In the poem “Snowy Mountains,” the world of peaks is depicted as full of life, the heights are compared to deities. Their iciness becomes a symbol of such a life-saving coolness in the midday heat. A positive perception among readers is created through the color combinations used by Tyutchev: azure is combined with the gold of the sun, and crystal white is also added to them. Mountain landscapes in Fyodor Ivanovich’s lyrics are a way to illustrate the idea of the dual worlds of nature. Mountains are its oldest part. They are simultaneously rooted in the earth and rise above it. Pursuit human soul to the heights is due to the desire to cognize the secret principles of existence, to touch another world, to forever get rid of the influence of passions.
Great ones about poetry:
Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.
Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.
Humboldt V.
Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - the poet makes our thoughts sing within us. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind each poetic work of those times, a whole Universe was certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.
Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"
I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.
The literary heritage of the Russian poet Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev is not very large: it amounts to about 50 poems translated from the original and 250 original poems. Critics note that among them there are many unsuccessful ones. But some of the poet’s creations are pearls of poetry. Interest in them never wanes. This applies primarily philosophical lyrics Tyutcheva. After all, these works even now, several centuries after they were written, have not lost their special depth of meaning.
An example of this is the poem “Snowy Mountains”. The exact date of its creation is unknown. Typically, researchers attribute this work to the period 1825-1829. At this time, Tyutchev was serving in Germany, in Munich.
The poem was written not because of sudden inspiration, but at the request of good friend and teacher Sergei Raich, who owned literary magazine in Tyutchev's homeland. But this publication was not popular, and therefore the poem published in it did not find a response. Only about six years later, several of Tyutchev’s works were published in the Sovremennik magazine, which was at the peak of its fame at that moment. Among these works was the work “Snowy Mountains”. Thanks to the fact that the whole capital read Sovremennik, the poem was looked at from a different perspective. It soon found admirers.
The poem describes a winter afternoon in the mountains that are located above the lake. Tyutchev depicts nature, plunged into half-asleep. The rays of the sun fall on the ground and make the lake look like a steel mirror. Streams quickly flow down from the mountain tops.
The author shares the world into two: the world of heights and the world of bottoms. This technique is typical for the poet's philosophical poems. Tyutchev's lyrics are often based on contrast. In this work, the author also contrasts the icy peaks with the fiery sky. Cold contrasts with heat, humility with energy.
The epithet "fire" in this text plays a very important role. Thanks to him, Tyutchev introduces into the poem the motif of purity and virgin purity, closeness to God. If we turn to Russian culture, we can understand that fire in it also symbolizes a certain liberation, purification, victory of light over darkness. Fire acts as a kind of mediator between a living person and death. No wonder the river in Purgatory, which is the road to hell, was fiery.
The earth in the poem is dying, and man has to live in this space. But his soul wants something else. The world of mountains, their heights are shown by the world, full of life and happiness, because they are close to God. And ice is an indicator of the opportunity granted to them to escape during the midday heat.
The figurative perception in the reader’s mind helps to create many color epithets used by the author: there are shades of azure, gold, and the crystal-white color of the peaks.
Turning to the mountain peaks, Tyutchev clearly illustrated an idea with which he absolutely agreed: the opinion that there are two worlds of nature. After all, mountains have existed for hundreds of thousands of years. They stand on the ground and at the same moment reach the clouds. People are like mountains: for many years they strive for the peaks, try to conquer them, climb higher and higher. This human behavior is determined by the desire to understand the secret principles, to try to touch the hitherto invisible world.
It's already midday
Shoots with sheer rays, -
And the mountain began to smoke
With your black forests.
Below, like a steel mirror,
The lakes' streams turn blue,
And from the stones shining in the heat,
Streams rush into their native depths.
And meanwhile, half asleep
Our low world, devoid of strength,
Imbued with fragrant bliss,
In the midday darkness he rested, -
Grief, like dear deities,
Over the dying earth
The icy heights are playing
With the azure sky of fire.
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