A swift stream runs down the mountain. The history of writing Tyutchev’s poem “I love a thunderstorm in early May...”. The sound fullness of the verse
Fyodor Tyutchev got involved in literature quite early and developed as a poet. Immediately after graduating from Moscow University, he gets a place abroad, in Germany, and goes to the capital of Bavaria, the city of Munich. Fyodor Ivanovich stays there enough most of of my life, twenty-two years. But, despite this, he has a special love and warmth for the Russian style, culture, and especially for Russian nature.
And it was in chanting the beauties of Russian fields, mountains, and rivers that the poet’s outstanding talent was most clearly reflected. One of the most famous poems on this topic is the work “Spring Thunderstorm”. The poem has a double date. It was written in 1828 and published in the magazine “Galatea”, but after that Tyutchev returned to it in 1854, reworking the first stanza and adding the second.
The first thing that catches your eye when analyzing the poem is the depiction of natural phenomena as something majestic and beautiful. The thunderstorm is presented to the reader from a completely different angle. Not formidable and intimidating, but beautiful, strong, triumphant. Paying attention to this feature, you can catch the idea that the author is showing reverse side not only thunderstorms, but life itself. Perhaps he is trying to teach us to look at the turbulence and storms of life positively. Many processes are the personification of life in all its liveliness, it bubbles, sparkles, shines. Nothing stands still, the picture is dynamic, everything moves, spring thunder rumbles “as if frolicking and playing,” and all nature echoes it: rain splashes, dust flies, birds sing, a waterfall flows swiftly and nimbly from the mountains.
The author of the poem admires the nature he describes. He sings with love and delight the spring thunderstorm and its accompanying phenomena. Reading the lines he wrote, we seem to be transported to that world, we see everything that the poet saw when he wrote the work, we hear the murmur of water, the singing of birds, the majestic rumbles of thunder, we inhale the freshness left after the spring rain.
You can also notice the metaphorical nature of all the described actions of nature, revealing the philosophical meaning. The stream running quickly down the mountain reminds us of a young man who has just left the care of his parents. And thunder is a riot of feelings, emotions and sensations inside him from the unlimited freedom he received. It was winter, and the young man was sleeping, being under the constant control of his parents, but everything came to life, awakened, life began to bubble up in him as soon as spring came, as soon as he escaped from under their care.
The poem consists of four stanzas. Each of which organically flows into the other. The first stanza introduces the reader to the situation, generally reporting what is happening and setting the direction of thoughts:
“I love thunderstorms at the beginning of May,
When spring, the first thunder,
as if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky."
“Young peals thunder,
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.”
The last, fourth stanza, anticipating the reader’s thoughts, summarizes them, conducting a direct dialogue with him:
“You will say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus's eagle,
A thunderous goblet from the sky,
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground.”
Bright emotional and semantic coloring and imagery are achieved by the author using various artistic and expressive means. For example, many colorful epithets: “ thunderous goblet», « rain pearls», « young peals», « nimble stream", etc.; personification: " pearls hung», « thunder, .. frolicking and playing, rumbles», « the stream is running", etc.; metaphors: " windy Hebe», « rain pearls”, etc. The inversion “and the sun gilds the threads” also played a role, etc. A lot of gerunds and verbs were used: one action is replaced by another, which is why the picture in our eyes becomes very dynamic and rich, rapidly replacing each other , actions.
“Spring Thunderstorm” is written in iambic tetrameter with pyrrhic, and also alternates female and masculine rhyme, all this allowed Fyodor Ivanovich to fill the poem with a special sound. It is melodic and melodious, but at the same time, to match the described natural phenomena, there are also many sonorant consonants, as well as the alliteration of “r” and “r”. These techniques determine the sound of the work, in which we hear the natural sounds of nature and literally find ourselves at the scene of the action.
F.I. It is not for nothing that Tyutchev is called the singer of Russian nature. In our century, when people have moved so far from it, such works are very important. They make us remember the greatness and beauty of the ancestor of all life, return to its roots and instill in the reader love, warmth and admiration. In “Spring Storm” Tyutchev concentrated all his attention on a separate natural phenomenon, poeticized it, giving it a deep philosophical meaning.
In the history of a familiar poem, it turns out, there are little-known pages.
Spring thunderstorm
I love thunderstorms at the beginning of May,
When spring, the first thunder,
As if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky.
Young peals thunder...
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.
A swift stream runs down the mountain,
The noise of birds is not silent in the forest,
And the din of the forest and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder.
You will say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus's eagle,
A thunderous goblet from the sky,
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground.
Fedor Tyutchev
Spring 1828
These lines, and especially the first stanza, are synonymous with Russian poetic classics. In the spring we simply echo these lines.
I love thunderstorms... - Mom will say thoughtfully.
At the beginning of May! - the son will respond cheerfully.
The kid may not have read Tyutchev yet, but the lines about the thunderstorm already live mysteriously in him.
And it is strange to learn that “The Spring Storm” took on the textbook form familiar to us from childhood only a quarter of a century after it was written, in the 1854 edition.
But when it was first published in the magazine Galatea in 1829, the poem looked different. There was no second stanza at all, and the well-known first one looked like this:
I love thunderstorms in early May:
How fun is spring thunder
From one end to another
Rumbling in the blue sky!
It was in this version that “Spring Thunderstorm”, written by 25-year-old Tyutchev, was familiar to A.S. Pushkin. I don’t dare to guess what Alexander Sergeevich would say if he compared the two editions of the first stanza, but the earlier one is closer to me.
Yes, in the later version the skill is obvious, but in the early version - what spontaneity of feeling! Not only can you hear thunderstorms there; there, behind the clouds, a rainbow can already be discerned - “from one end to the other end.” And if you scroll forward a couple of pages from Tyutchev’s volume, then here it is, the rainbow - in the poem “Calmness,” which begins with the words “The storm has passed...” and written, perhaps, in the same 1828:
...And the rainbow at the end of its arc
I ran into green peaks.
In the early edition of “Spring Storm,” the first stanza soared so high and said so much that subsequent stanzas seemed “trailer” and unnecessary. And it is obvious that the last two stanzas were written when the thunderstorm had long gone beyond the horizon, and the first enthusiastic feeling from contemplating the elements had faded.
In the 1854 edition, this unevenness is smoothed out by the second stanza that suddenly appeared.
Young peals thunder...
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.
The stanza is brilliant in its own way, but only the first and last lines remain from the first. The enthusiastically half-childish “how fun...” disappeared, the “edges” of the earth, between which the thunder roared, disappeared. In their place came an ordinary line for a romantic poet: “As if frolicking and playing...” Tyutchev compares thunder with a naughty child, there is nothing to complain about, but: oh, this is “as if”! If Fyodor Ivanovich and Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev, who collected his book in 1854, knew how tired we would be of this verbal virus in the 21st century (that’s what philologists call the ill-fated “as if”), they would not have bothered to edit the first stanza.
But you never know what to expect from your descendants.
The author gave the title “Spring Thunderstorm” to his poem, but readers like to identify it precisely by the first line. This is not surprising. It is with rains, thunderstorms, and floods that the time of year comes that is associated with rebirth.
Tyutchev very subtly sensed all the changes in nature, its mood, and could describe it interestingly. The poet loved spring; he devoted many of his lyrical poetic creations to this topic. For the poet-philosopher, spring symbolizes youth and youth, beauty and charm, renewal and freshness. Therefore, his poem “Spring Storm” is a work that shows that hope and love can be reborn with a new, unknown force, with a force capable of more than just renewal.
A little about the poet
It is known that the poet-philosopher was born in November 1803 in Ovstug, where he spent his childhood. But the entire youth of the popular poet was spent in the capital. At first he received only home education, and then successfully passed the exams at the capital’s institute, where he studied well, and then graduated with a candidate’s degree in literary sciences. At the same time, in his youth, Fyodor Tyutchev began to become interested in literature and began making his first experiments in writing.
The diplomat was fascinated by his interest in poetry and literary life for the rest of his life. Despite the fact that Tyutchev lived far outside his homeland for 22 long years, he wrote poetry only in Russian. Fedor Ivanovich for a long time occupied one of the official positions in the diplomatic mission, which at that time was in Munich. But this did not stop the lyricist from describing Russian nature in his poetic works. And when the reader delves into each of Tyutchev’s poems, he understands that this was written by a man who, with all his soul and heart, is always with his homeland, despite the kilometers.
Throughout his life, the poet wrote about four hundred poetic works. He was not only a diplomat and a poet. Fyodor Ivanovich translated works of poets and writers from Germany absolutely free of charge. Any of his works, whether his own or translated, struck me every time with its harmony and integrity. Each time, with his works, the author argued that man should always remember that he is also a part of nature.
The history of writing Tyutchev’s poem “I love a thunderstorm in early May...”
Tyutchev's poem “I love a thunderstorm in early May...” has several options. So, its first version was written by the poet in 1828, when he lived in Germany. Russian nature was constantly before the eyes of the most subtle lyricist, so he could not help but write about it.
And when spring began in Germany, according to the author himself, not much different from spring in his native places, he began to compare the climate and weather, and all this resulted in poetry. The lyricist recalled the sweetest details: the murmuring of a stream, which was attractive to a person who was far from his native land, heavy torrential rain, after which puddles formed on the roads, and, of course, a rainbow after the rain, which appeared with the first rays of the sun. Rainbow as a symbol of rebirth and victory.
When was it first written by a lyric poet? spring poem“I love thunderstorms at the beginning of May...”, then already this year it was published in the small magazine “Galatea”. But something confused the poet, and so he returned to him again after twenty-six years. He slightly changes the first poetic stanza, and also adds the second stanza. Therefore, in our time, it is the second edition of Tyutchev’s poem that is popular.
I love thunderstorms at the beginning of May,
When spring, the first thunder,
as if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky.
Young peals thunder,
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.
A swift stream runs down the mountain,
The noise of birds is not silent in the forest,
And the din of the forest and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder.
You will say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus's eagle,
A thunderous goblet from the sky,
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground.
The plot of Tyutchev's poem “I love a thunderstorm in early May...”
The author chooses a thunderstorm, which often happens in the spring, as the main theme of his poem. For the lyricist, it is associated with a certain movement forward, the transformation of life, its changes, the birth of something new and long-awaited, new and unexpected thoughts and views. Now there is no room for stagnation and decline.
The poet-philosopher does not go only into the natural world, since this unusual and beautiful world is always interconnected with man, they cannot exist without each other. Tyutchev finds in these two worlds - human and nature - a lot general provisions. For the poet, spring is a flight of feelings, emotions, and the whole general mood of a person. These feelings are trembling and incredibly beautiful, because for the author spring is youth and strength, it is youth and necessary renewal. This is openly stated by the poet, who shows how sweetly the birds sing, how wonderfully thunder rumbles, how magnificently the rain makes noise. In the same way, a person grows up who, growing up, enters adulthood and openly and boldly declares himself.
That is why Tyutchev’s images are so bright and rich:
➥ Water.
➥ Sky.
➥ Sun.
The poet needs them in order to more fully show the idea of the unity of man with the world around him. All natural phenomena are shown by Fyodor Ivanovich as if they were people. The lyricist attributes to them traits that are usually inherent only to people. This is how the talented and original lyricist demonstrates the unity of a person who is divine beginning, with the natural world. Thus, the author in his works compares thunder with a baby who plays briskly and makes noise. The cloud also has fun and laughs, especially when it spills water and makes it rain. Tyutchev’s poem is also interesting in that it represents a kind of monologue of the main character, the composition of which consists of four stanzas. The story begins with what is easily and naturally described spring thunderstorm, and only then it is given detailed description all main events. At the end of his monologue, the author also turns to mythology Ancient Greece, which allows him to unite nature and man, showing that nature and human life have their own life cycle.
Artistic and expressive means of Tyutchev's poem
In his simple poem, the poet uses iambic tetrameter and pyrrhic, which convey all the melody. The lyricist uses cross rhyme, which helps to give expressiveness to the entire work. Men's and feminine rhyme in Tyutchev's poem they alternate. To more fully reveal the created poetic image, the author uses a wide variety of artistic media speech.
The lyricist uses alliteration for the melodic and sonorous structure of his work, since he often sounds “r” and “r”. In addition, a huge number of sonorant consonants are used. It is also noteworthy that the poet resorts to gerunds and personal verbs, which help to show the movement and how it gradually develops. The author manages to achieve that the reader sees a rapid change of frames, where the thunderstorm is presented in its most varied manifestations. All this is achieved by the skillful use of metaphors, epithets, inversion and personification.
All this gives expressiveness and brightness to Tyutchev’s entire work.
Analysis of Tyutchev’s poem “I love a thunderstorm in early May...”
It is best to consider Tyutchev's poem from a philosophical point of view. The author tried to accurately depict one of life’s moments, of which there are countless in the life of nature and man. The lyricist made him not discouraged, but very cheerful and full of energy.
The poet shows only one spring day in May, when there is a downpour and a thunderstorm rumbles. But this is only a superficial perception of Tyutchev’s work. After all, in it the lyricist showed the entire emotional palette and sensuality of what is happening in nature. Thunderstorm is not easy natural phenomenon, but also the state of a person who strives for freedom, tries to hurry to live, strives forward, where new and unknown horizons open up for him. If it rains, it cleanses the earth, awakens it from hibernation and renews it. Not everything in life goes away forever; much comes back, such as the May thunderstorm, the sound of rain and streams of water that will always appear in the spring.
Some young people will now be replaced by others who are just as brave and open. They do not yet know the bitterness of suffering and disappointment and dream of conquering the whole world. This inner freedom is very similar to a thunderstorm.
The sensual world of Tyutchev's poem
This work contains a huge sensory and emotional world. The author's thunder is like a young man who, with his shoulders squared, is rushing towards freedom. Just recently he was dependent on his parents, but now new life and new feelings take him into a completely different world. A stream of water quickly runs down the mountain, and the poet-philosopher compares it with young people who already understand what awaits them in life, their goal is high, and they strive for it. Now they will always stubbornly go to her.
But someday, youth will pass, and the time will come to remember, think, and rethink. The author is already at the age when he regrets some of the actions of his youth, but for him this time, free and bright, rich in its emotional terms, always remains the best. Tyutchev's poem is a small work that has deep meaning and emotional richness.
Spring thunderstorm
I love thunderstorms at the beginning of May,
When spring, the first thunder,
As if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky.
Young peals thunder!
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying...
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads...
A swift stream runs down the mountain,
The noise of birds is not silent in the forest,
And the noise of the forest, and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder...
You will say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus's eagle,
A thunderous goblet from the sky,
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground!
I love May's first storms:
chuckling, sporting spring
grumbles in mock anger;
young thunderclaps,
a spatter of rain and flying dust
and wet pearls hanging
threaded by sun-gold;
a speedy current scampers from the hills.
Such a commotion in the woods!
Noises cartwheel down the mountains.
Every sound is echoed round the sky.
You"d think capricious Hebe,
feeding the eagle of Zeus,
had raised a thunder-foaming goblet,
unable to restrain her mirth,
and tipped it on the earth.
I love a thunder – storm at the beginning of May,
when spring's first thunder,
as though play, in a frolic,
rumbles in the blue sky.
The young peals of thunder rattle.
Now it is drizzling,
dust is flying, pearls are hanging,
and the sun is gilding the threads.
A swift torrent rushes down the hill,
The birds’ clamor in the wood does not cease;
The clamor in the woods and the noise on the hillside
All gailly echo the thunder – claps.
You will say constant Hebe,
while feeding Zeus's eagle,
laughing, emptied a cup seeing things with thunder
from heaven on to the earth
I love a thunder-storm in May
When here the first spring's early thunder,
As though a joyful part of play,
Roars in the blue sky in its grandeur.
Being strong and young, it's thundering,
Look, rain has started, dust is flying,
The rainy pearls have hung as strings,
The sun is gilding threads by smiling.
A stream runs quickly down the hill,
The birds of wood don’t cease songs’ wonders,
And whistle from wood and sound of rill
Both gailly echo to the thunders...
It's carefree Hebe, you may say,
When feeding Zeus's noble eagle,
Below her on the earth’s huge tray
Has spilled a cup, it makes her giggle.
Wie lieb" ich dich, o Maigewitter,
Wenn durch den blauen Wolkenspalt
Wie scherzend unter Blitzgezitter
Der erste Lenzesdonner hallt!
Das ist ein Rollen, Knattern, Splittern!
Nun spritzt der Regen, Staub fliegt auf;
Der Gräser Regenperlen zittern
Und goldig flirrt die Sonne drauf.
Vom Berge schnellt der Bach hernieder,
Es singt der grünbelaubte Hain,
Und Bachsturz, Hainlaub, Vogellieder,
Sie stimmen in den Donner ein...
Hat Hebe in dem Göttersaale,
Nachdem sie Jovis Aar getränkt,
Die donnerschäumend volle Schale
Mutwillig erdenwärts gesenkt?
Lubię w początku maja burzę,
Kiedy wiosenny pierwszy grom,
Jakby swawoląc po lazurze,
Grzechoce w niebie huczną grą.
Odgromy młode grzmią rozgłośnie.
Już deszczyk prysnął, kurz się wzbił,
Zawisły perły dżdżu radośnie
I słońce złoci rośny pył.
Z pagórka potok wartki bieży,
Ptaszęcy zgiełk w dąbrowie wre,
I leśny zgiełk, i poszum świeży
Wesoło wtórzą gromów grze.
I rzekłbyś, że to płocha Heba,
Dzeusowe orlę karmiąc, w ślad
Piorunopienną czarę z nieba
Wylała, śmiejąc się, na świat!
Oluju volim ranog svibnja,
proljetni kada prvi grom
k"o da urezuje se, game,
Na nebu tutnji plavetnom.
Gromovi grme, tutnje mladi,
Prah leti, kiša lije, gle,
Sunašce niti svoje zlati,
I visi kišno biserje.
Sa gore hita potok brzi,
U šumi ne mre ptica pjev,
I graja šume, zvuci brdski -
Veselo groma prate sijev.
Zeusu orla pojila,
pa gromobujni pehar s sky,
Smijuć se, zemljom prolila.
Oluju volim ranog svibnja,
Proljetni kada prvi grom
Kao da zabavlja se, game,
Na nebu tutnji plavetnom.
Gromovi tutnje, grme mladi,
Prah leti, kiša lije se,
Sunašce svoje niti zlati,
I visi kišno biserje.
S planine hita potok brzi,
U šumi ne mre ptica pjev,
I žamor šume, zvuci brdski -
Veselo groma prate sijev.
Ti reć" ćeš: vrckava to Heba,
Zeusu orla pojila,
Munjonosni je pehar s neba
Smijuć se, zemljom prolila.
(Rafaela Sejić)
I love the bleached navalnitsa,
Kali on a bright May day,
The sky is walking and having fun,
thunder in the sky.
The rumble of the rumble of the young one,
all the rain is pouring, the chicken is ardent,
There are rich pearls in the sky,
And the sun is a thread of silver.
Zgary Byazhyts Ruchai Vyasyoly,
don't get sick of the haman,
And the forest is clear, and the noise is down -
all turue perunam.
You say: Hebe's wind race
grin, you arla feeders,
grymotnapenny cup from the sky
The edge was completely damaged.
五月初的雷是可爱的：
那春季的第一声轰隆
好象一群孩子在嬉戏，
闹声滚过碧蓝的天空。
青春的雷一联串响过，
阵雨打下来，飞起灰尘，
雨点象珍珠似的悬着，
阳光把雨丝镀成了黄金。
从山间奔下湍急的小溪，
林中的小鸟叫个不停，
山林的喧哗都欢乐地
回荡着天空的隆隆雷声。
你以为这是轻浮的赫巴①
一面喂雷神的苍鹰，
一面笑着自天空洒下
满杯的沸腾的雷霆。
一八二八年
查良铮 译
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.
