“What a wild gorge!...” Fyodor Tyutchev
What a wild gorge!
The key is running towards me -
He's in a hurry for a housewarming party...
I climb up to where the spruce stands.So I climbed to the top,
I’m sitting here, joyful and quiet...
You are the key to the people, you are in a hurry to the valley -
Try what it's like for them!
Analysis of Tyutchev’s poem “What a wild gorge!...”
Mountains are one of the most important images in Tyutchev’s landscape lyrics. They occupy a key place in a number of poems. Among them are “Alps”, “”, “Morning in the Mountains”. According to literary critic Pumpyansky, mountain landscapes make it possible to most clearly reveal the idea of the dual worlds of nature and demonstrate the correlation of spheres. In lyrics, mountains are usually depicted as the oldest part of the earthly world. On the one hand, it is rooted in the earth, on the other, it rises above it. The world of peaks, as a rule, is perceived as alien to humans. It is considered to be the space of spirits. At night this world is incredibly scary, during the day it is bright.
The poem “What a wild gorge!..” is also dedicated to the mountains, the exact time of which is not clear. The approximate dating, usually indicated by researchers of Tyutchev’s work, is the 1830s. In the work you can see the vertical dimension of the landscape, characteristic of Fyodor Ivanovich’s natural lyrics. Readers are presented with two opposing movements. The hero heads up, and at the same time the stream flows down with him. The first movement is obscured by the poet, the second, on the contrary, is emphasized in various ways. This can be seen even in the example of the opening stanza. The opening line of the poem indicates the location of the action - a wild gorge. Then we talk about a stream running towards the lyrical hero and rushing to the valley for a housewarming party. Only in the finale of the first quatrain is a man mentioned climbing up where the spruce tree stands. In the second stanza, the movement towards the top stops. The hero finds himself at his destination. At the same time, the stream continues to flow - it hurries towards people, into the valley.
In Tyutchev's lyrics, movement is often associated with water. The emergence of this pair is easy to explain. For the poet, water is the source of life, and therefore of movement. Sometimes the lyrical heroes of Fyodor Ivanovich’s poems talk to water, which can be observed in the text under consideration. At the end of the work “What a wild gorge!..” the person directly addresses the key: “...Try what it’s like for them!”
The poem combines the features of landscape and philosophical lyrics. In it, the poet talks about the main meaning of human existence. The feat of an individual is to learn to live on earth for the allotted time without losing heart. The path to the top is a lifetime of work. Rising to the top, the lyrical hero strives to cognize the hidden principles of existence, go to another world, and abandon passions.
What a wild gorge!
The key is running towards me -
He's in a hurry for a housewarming party...
I climb up to where the spruce stands.
So I climbed to the top,
I’m sitting here, joyful and quiet...
You are the key to the people, you are in a hurry to the valley -
Try what it's like for them!
(No Ratings Yet)
More poems:
- What happiness it is to simply live like a bird in the branches. What happiness it is to do something not this way, but this way. What a blessing it is to be the way you want. It’s so good - there’s smoke from the fire...
- Blue expanses, fogs, Feather grass, and wormwood, and weeds... The expanse of the earth and the heavenly sculpt! The Pontic Wild Field, the Dark Cimmerian Steppe, overflowed and unfolded in freedom. All covered with burial grounds - Without names, without...
- What a bliss that the snow is shining, that the cold has gotten stronger, and it has been drizzling since the morning, that the foil sparkles wildly and tenderly on every corner and in the store window. While the serpentine, tinsel, and gimmick rise...
- I ran to the doctor, mysteriously ill: “I want to find out what’s actually wrong with me?” My friends are worried, and I myself am trembling. I should sit down - and I sit, sit, sit......
- What do they care about my grief? They have their own, their own longings and sorrows! And what do they care about me and what do they care about him?.. Believe me, they are already tired...
- What bad deed have I done, and am I a corrupter and a villain, me who makes the whole world dream about my poor girl? Oh, I know, people are afraid of me, and they burn people like...
- What a joy it is to be with you! Your eyelashes are completely darkness... With such burning beauty - I'm going crazy to the grave! Before you alone I am speechless, All my purity is burning! Such and such...
- What happiness: both the night and we are alone! The river is like a mirror and all sparkles with stars; And there... throw your head back and look: What depth and purity is above us! Oh call me...
- Teacher... What a word! Teacher! Here they are running along the path under and above the river, Little Sparrows, who among themselves call You teacher. They are running. Their faces are blushing. And in the bags there are pencils, notebooks... and another particle...
- What a sky over Moscow! Didn't the Creator intend to amuse the soul with blue on some special date? And immediately endow the sky with immediate movement, as if feasts and battles were demonstrated for us? A...
- What an incense from these heated rocks, from the ancient parapets and the fortress wall! Are you thirsty? - in the colony Near the sleepy plane tree The water of the fountain gurgles - the Holy Blood of the country. Drink it!...
- We are driving through pine forests and black forests. Here is a mountain, a sandy descent into a valley. It's getting dark. On the mountain before us the Forest bristles with a new peak. And it’s dark, dark in that new thicket, Where the road is hidden again, And...
- In the worldly steppe, sad and boundless, three springs mysteriously broke through: The key of youth, the spring is fast and rebellious, Boils, runs, sparkling and murmuring. The Castalian spring waters exiles in the worldly steppe with a wave of inspiration....
- I'm reading Schopenhauer. The old man, Sad, considers female nature Tragic. The philosopher was wrong: The father spoke in him, and not the wise man, For me, she is rather philosophical. Here is the expectant mother. She's eighteen. Girl! But she...
- What is there in the distance, between the bushes, above the granite cliff, Where the silver spring runs with a quiet murmur? Has the nymph of the valley fallen asleep in the cool of the shadows? Branches, quickly spread out: let me take a look...
Read poetry on this page “What a wild gorge...” Russian poet Fedora Tyutcheva written in 1836 year.
What a wild gorge...
<1836>F.I. Tyutchev. Complete collection of poems.
Leningrad, "Soviet Writer", 1957.
Themes of the poem
Other poems by Fyodor Tyutchev
Select verses... December 1, 1837 (So it is destined here...) May 11, 1869 (All of us gathered...) April 12, 1865 (Everything is decided...) 1856 (We stand blindly... ) February 19, 1864 (And silent...) January 29, 1837 (From whose hand...) Encyclica Mala aria Memento Silentium! A.F. Hilferding Alps Skald's Harp Madness Insomnia Gemini Brother, who has accompanied me for so many years... In the village In the stuffy air there is silence... Clouds are melting in the sky... There is a high meaning in separation... In a crowd of people, in immodest 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 Hanka 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 are not given the opportunity to 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... No wonder by the 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...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 knowing 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. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. 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.
– Don’t write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "The 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 every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, 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.
Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
What a wild gorge!
The key is running towards me -
He's in a hurry for a housewarming party...
I climb up to where the spruce stands.
So I climbed to the top,
I’m sitting here, joyful and quiet...
You are the key to the people, you are in a hurry to the valley -
Try what it's like for them!
Mountains are one of the most important images in Tyutchev’s landscape lyrics. They occupy a key place in a number of poems. Among them are “Alps”, “Even though I built a nest in the valley...”, “Morning in the mountains”. According to literary critic Pumpyansky, mountain landscapes make it possible to most clearly reveal the idea of the dual worlds of nature and demonstrate the correlation of spheres. In lyrics, mountains are usually depicted as the oldest part of the earthly world. On the one hand, it is rooted in the earth, on the other, it rises above it. The world of peaks, as a rule, is perceived as alien to humans. It is considered to be the space of spirits. At night this world is incredibly scary, during the day it is bright.
The poem “What a wild gorge!..” is also dedicated to the mountains, the exact time of which is not clear. The approximate dating, usually indicated by researchers of Tyutchev’s work, is the 1830s. In the work you can see the vertical dimension of the landscape, characteristic of Fyodor Ivanovich’s natural lyrics. Readers are presented with two opposing movements. The hero heads up, and at the same time the stream flows down with him. The first movement is obscured by the poet, the second, on the contrary, is emphasized in various ways. This can be seen even in the example of the opening stanza. The opening line of the poem designates the location of the action - a wild gorge. Then we talk about a stream running towards the lyrical hero and rushing to the valley for a housewarming party. Only in the finale of the first quatrain is a man mentioned climbing up where the spruce tree stands. In the second stanza, the movement towards the top stops. The hero finds himself at his destination. At the same time, the stream continues to flow - it hurries towards people, into the valley.
In Tyutchev's lyrics, movement is often associated with water. The emergence of this pair is easy to explain. For the poet, water is the source of life, and therefore of movement. Sometimes the lyrical heroes of Fyodor Ivanovich’s poems talk to water, which can be observed in the text under consideration. At the end of the work “What a wild gorge!..” the person directly addresses the key: “...Try what it’s like for them!”
The poem combines the features of landscape and philosophical lyrics. In it, the poet talks about the main meaning of human existence. The feat of an individual is to learn to live on earth for the allotted time without losing heart. The path to the top is a lifetime of work. Rising to the top, the lyrical hero strives to cognize the hidden principles of existence, go to another world, and abandon passions.
