Nikolai Nekrasov - Poet and Citizen (Poem): Verse. Class hour “You must be a citizen” You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen

These famous words were spoken by the great Russian citizen and poet Nekrasov. In our difficult times, as in past difficult times, it is difficult to be a citizen in the high sense of the word. Having a strong civic position, defending your views, and even more so being a teacher and passionate defender of the interests of your people is really not easy! And also to be recognized as a national poet, a person for whom the fate of the Motherland, his native land has always been in first place. All this can rightfully be said about Shamil Dzhikaev. When he passed away in the late 90s of the last century great son Russian academician Dmitry Sergeevich Likhachev, one of the representatives of the Russian intelligentsia, said that a man who was a standard of decency, a great intellectual whom his contemporaries looked up to, had passed away. Indeed, all this was true. Long ago, as a student of Tverskoy state university, I was also lucky enough to listen to the speeches of Academician D.S. Likhachev. His words were remembered for the rest of my life. I also remember what a simple person he was, despite all his titles and regalia.

Human life is structured in such a way that we often don’t think about the fact that after some time we discover that we didn’t do something at the right time and left it for later...

Several years ago, having started working at South Ossetian State University named after. A. Tibilova, I decided to enroll in graduate school at SOGU named after. K. Khetagurova. Then fate brought me together with Shamil Dzhikaev for a short time. Having approached him with a request to be my supervisor, he immediately agreed without hesitation. I knew him in absentia for a long time and was familiar with his work. But when we got to know each other better, it became clear to me who Shamil Dzhikaev really was for all of us, for all of Ossetia. For him, as for Likhachev, the problems of his native land, the common people, and the fate of the country were the main ones in his life.

Much has been written about the literary work of Shamil Dzhikaev. His talent is great and undeniable. He was born in the village. Dzomag, was a native of South Ossetia. The poet's love for South Ossetia is visible in many of his poetic works. But at the same time, Shamil Dzhikaev was a worthy son of a united Ossetia. He always dreamed of seeing his homeland united, strong, powerful.

Possessing excellent knowledge in the field of literature, history, folklore, he understood and felt the great responsibility that the Ossetian intelligentsia faces in the revival of Ossetia. In conversations with him (we talked several times for about 6 hours), the man learned a lot of interesting and unusual things from the history of Ossetia, literature and life in general. I once told him that our Patriotic War lasted about 20 years and that during this time a whole generation grew up in South Ossetia, which was destined to experience all the hardships of wartime. Shamil listened to me attentively, and then told me about how during the Mongol-Tatar invasion of Alania, one Alan fortress fought for 15 years and was not conquered. He said that our ancestors were always famous all over the world for the fact that such a concept as “ægdau” was above all else for them. And as long as they followed and lived according to his laws, no enemy could cope or overpower our ancestors.

Being a great citizen, a patriot of his people, Shamil perfectly understood and felt the spirit and strength of the people. He spoke with pain in his soul about the difficult situation Ossetia found itself in after the collapse of the USSR. He, like no one else, saw the social ills to which our youth, our society, were exposed. Shamil reacted painfully to all these new negative phenomena of reality. But his every thought ended with the fact that the people of Ossetia will be able to overcome all difficulties and will be able to be reborn. Talking about many tragic moments that occurred in the history of the people of Ossetia, he said that our people always overcame the impossible and again stood firmly on their feet. His faith in the power of the people's spirit was unshakable. In conversations with him, I learned a lot from him about the problems that he had in his work and in life. He always remained cheerful and a great optimist. Listening to my stories about the problems that were in South Ossetia, he was worried and sympathized with us. Once he told me: “I believe that Ossetia will sooner or later be reborn again. I am sure that the revival of Ossetia will begin from the South!”

To my question why from the south and not from the north, he replied that over the past 19 years Patriotic War in South Ossetia, although the people lost a lot human lives, but spiritually he was able to get stronger. “What you were able to withstand in the south, not everyone could handle,” said Shamil Dzhikaev. He said that Ossetia should be united not only territorially, but also spiritually. He spoke with pain in his soul that many of our enemies are trying to divide us according to some concepts, clans: Ironians, Digorians, Kudarians, etc. Seeing this problem, Shamil spoke everywhere about this danger for Ossetia.

Turning to the history of our ancestors, Shamil said that the Mongols would never have been able to defeat the Alans if they had been united at that time. And from history we know that when the Mongol-Tatar hordes approached the territories of the Alans, they did not act together, together against a common enemy, as a result of which they were defeated separately. The lessons of history should never be forgotten. He told a lot of interesting things about the Scythians. Speaking about them, he quoted ancient military leaders who said that the Scythians had so much gold that it was impossible to bribe them with anything, and then defeat them. And here Shamil pointed to our great ægdau. He pinned all his hopes on the fact that the principles by which our glorious ancestors were brought up and lived would finally become the fundamental concepts in the life of the people.

One could listen to Shamil talking about the Ossetian language, literature and culture for hours. Everything that was associated with these concepts was paramount for him. He spoke with bitterness that some representatives of the Ossetian intelligentsia from high stands shout and teach others that the Ossetian language must be learned, developed, etc. And the children themselves are not able to formulate even one thought per native language. He said that if we forget our language, then in the north they will simply call us the population of North Ossetia.

Shamil was proud and admired the Ossetian language, and spoke it perfectly. Once he asked me about one of his works, how I liked it. When I answered that it was great, but there were a lot of Ossetian words unknown to me, he smiled sadly and said that some words were incomprehensible not only to me. He sadly quoted Alexander Tibilov, saying that “iron lag” should think and formulate his thoughts in the Ossetian language. And when he cannot do this, he loses a lot...

Talking about scientific works Alexander Tibilov, he noted with bitterness that despite the fact that so much time has passed since Alexander Tibilov worked on them, many problems of the Ossetian language have still not been resolved. But there were problems that have become even more acute today. To resolve the accumulated issues, he himself did a lot. However, Shamil always said that without a serious, well-thought-out state program for the development of the Ossetian language, we will not succeed.

“The intelligentsia of the north and south of Ossetia must work together on all these issues, otherwise there will never be a proper result,” he said.

Once, on my next visit, I found a man in his office who showed him two small books in a beautiful case. He told him with admiration that these were works of Ossetian and Georgian writers, which were published so that the “brotherly” peoples of Ossetia and Georgia would “understand” each other. This “comrade” wanted to give books to Shamil. Shamil turned in his chair and picked up the same copy from the trash can. I remember his eyes, which were full of sadness and sadness. When we were left alone, he was silent for a long time, and then started talking about how far some “respected scientists” had sunk, what they had become. “The wounds of the August war have not yet cooled down, and these... are already ready to be friends with the murderers of our people!” he said with pain in his soul.

“Today in Ossetia there are many people who have achieved great success in their work and career. They are educated, occupy high positions. But Lægau-Lægtæ as it was before, we have very little left,” he said sadly. The word Lægau-Læg has always been a very lofty concept in Ossetia. To earn this title, one had to do a lot of good things for one’s people.

I often had to listen to his opinion about the problems of young people. Here he was very worried and thought about the future of the Ossetian youth. Shamil said that despite the fact that today many representatives of the older generation scold youth for not being the same as before, he was sure that our youth are very good. “If it weren’t for the young guys, who would have been able to resist the Georgian fascists! 20 years of war is an eternity. What good things have they seen over the years? Just the horrors of war!” he said.

To raise a worthy generation, we need to return to our roots. Since ancient times, all nations have been jealous of how well-mannered and wonderful our youth are. And once again he spoke about the Ossetian ægdau. Without this we have no right path.

During our last meeting, Shamil said that he was very annoyed by threatening phone calls against him. However, there was no fear in his eyes. “I’m already an old man, and they want to intimidate me,” he said. It was painful to watch how he was worried...

The news of the terrible death of Shamil Dzhikaev shook the whole of Ossetia. It was as if the people were orphaned overnight. Everyone who knew him was shocked by the tragic news. Many people did not yet understand who Ossetia had lost. Lagau-Lægtæ people like Shamil Dzhikaev are born in Ossetia probably once every hundred years. They remain in the memory of the people because they completely devote themselves to serving the high ideals of goodness and justice.

We, citizens of Ossetia, are obliged to perpetuate their bright names for future generations! In honor of Shamil Dzhikaev in Tskhinvali, memorial evenings were held in some schools and at the Ossetian department of South Ossetian State University. Thanks to those who organized these events.

However, perhaps the time has come to perpetuate his name in South Ossetia, according to his great services to the Ossetian people. I am sure that the majority of our citizens will support me in the fact that it is necessary to erect a monument to Shamil Dzhikaev in Tskhinvali, and also to name one of the city streets after him...

In 2012, South Ossetian State University staff organized and held evenings in memory of Alexander Tibilov and Vladimir Ikaev. Everyone knows what level they passed. The third evening was to be dedicated to the memory of Shamil Dzhikaev. However...

To educate new generations in best traditions of our people, we need the names of our Lægau-Lægty so that they are known to everyone. Their service to their people should be exemplary.

Thanks to all this, we will be able to revive our Ossetia.

Shamil! Dæ næ Ira arvy styaly!
Dæ nyhas ta now u ræsugd, fælmæn,
Dæ zonæy zærdæ rukhs tæmæn kuy kala.
Uæd now, næ nyfs, kuyd babyn dæ, tsæmæn?!
Dy uarztai Ira, adæmy, næ kon,
Dæ huydy ta uyd rast æmæ nærton.
Næ nybbarstay zyd birægæn
yah-tona,
Skodtai son of læjy akkag tærkhon.
Uydtæ næ zækhhyl dy ætsæg lægau-læg,
Zydtay alanty kad æmæ ægdau.
Dælækh nykhaua, usæn, dæ maræg.
Fælæburdta dæm tugmondag syrdau.
Dæ nom uydzæn næ kæstærtæn tyrysa,
Æmæ myggagmæ bazzaidzæn tsærgæ.
Æmæ ma znag Irystonmæ kuy byrsa, -
Dæ tokhi zaræg huysdzæn uæd nærgæ!

The text of Nekrasov’s poem “The Poet and the Citizen” was published in 1855, at the very end of the reign of Nicholas I. The political reaction left a powerful imprint on the poet’s state of mind, which was reflected in ideological content a work that children study in 10th grade. The poem is written in the form of a dialogue between the Poet and the Citizen. Which one is the lyrical “I” of Nekrasov himself? It would seem that he is a Poet. But didn’t Nekrasov agree with everything that Citizen said? For example, with the famous “You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen”? Perhaps both heroes of the poem are two sides of Nekrasov’s soul. Starting to read the poem “The Poet and the Citizen” by Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov, it is worth drawing the attention of schoolchildren in a literature lesson that we are seeing a reflection of an internal dispute in the soul of the poet. On the one hand, he is aware of his civic duty, which he sees in political struggle, and not in art for art’s sake and not in the glorification of tender feelings, on the other hand, he considers himself incapable of creating something congenial to Pushkin. The motive of uncertainty in one’s talent, in the importance of one’s creative credo for the people, is very typical of the nervous and suspicious Nekrasov.

The form of dialogue is found more than once in Nekrasov’s works. It helps to reveal the emotional state and views of the lyrical hero. The poem “The Poet and the Citizen” gave literature many aphorisms. In addition to what has already been mentioned, one can also cite as an example the words “Do not go to the camp of the harmless when you can be useful”, “A thing is strong when blood flows underneath it”, etc.

Citizen (included)

Alone again, harsh again
He lies there and doesn’t write anything.

Add: moping and barely breathing -
And my portrait will be ready.

Citizen

Nice portrait! No nobility
There is no beauty in him, believe me,
It's just vulgar foolishness.
A wild animal knows how to lie down...

So what?

Citizen

It's a shame to watch.

Well, then go away.

Citizen

Listen: shame on you!
It's time to get up! You know yourself
What time has come;
In whom the sense of duty has not cooled,
Who is incorruptibly straight in heart,
Who has talent, strength, accuracy,
Tom shouldn't sleep now...

Let's say I'm such a rarity
But first we need to give a job.

Citizen

Here's the news! You're dealing
You only fell asleep temporarily
Wake up: boldly smash the vices...

A! I know: “Look, where did you throw it!”
But I'm a shelled bird.
It's a pity, I don't want to talk.

(Takes a book.)

Savior Pushkin! — Here is the page:
Read it - and stop reproaching!

Citizen (reading)

“Not for everyday worries,
Not for gain, not for battles,
We were born to inspire
For sweet sounds and prayers."

Poet (with delight)

Inimitable sounds!..
Whenever with my Muse
I was a little smarter
I swear, I wouldn’t pick up a pen!

Citizen

Yes, the sounds are wonderful... hurray!
Their strength is so amazing
That even the sleepy blues
It slipped from the poet's soul.
I’m sincerely happy - it’s time!
And I share your delight,
But I confess, your poems
I take it more to heart.

Don't talk nonsense!
You are a zealous reader, but a wild critic.
So, in your opinion, I am great,
A poet taller than Pushkin?
Tell me please?!.

Citizen

Well, no!
Your poems are stupid
Your elegies are not new,
Satyrs are alien to beauty,
Ignoble and offensive
Your verse is viscous. You are noticeable
But without the sun the stars are visible.
In the night that is now
We live fearfully
When the beast roams freely,
And the man wanders timidly, -
You held your torch firmly,
But the sky was not pleased
So that it burns under the storm,
Lighting the way publicly;
A trembling spark in the darkness
It burned slightly, blinked, and rushed about.
Pray that he waits for the sun
And drowned in its rays!

No, you are not Pushkin. But for now
The sun is not visible from anywhere,
It’s a shame to sleep with your talent;
It’s even more shameful in a time of grief
The beauty of the valleys, skies and sea
And sing of sweet affection...

The thunderstorm is silent, with a bottomless wave
The skies argue in the radiance,
And the wind is gentle and sleepy
The sails barely flutter,
The ship runs beautifully, harmoniously,
And the travelers’ hearts are calm,
As if instead of a ship
Beneath them is solid ground.
But the thunder struck; the storm is moaning,
And it tears the rigging and tilts the mast, -
This is not the time to play chess,
This is not the time to sing songs!
Here is a dog - and he knows the danger
And barks furiously into the wind:
He has nothing else to do...
What would you do, poet?
Is it really in a distant cabin?
You would become an inspired lyre
To please the ears of sloths
And drown out the roar of the storm?

May you be faithful to your destination,
But is it easier for your homeland,
Where everyone is devoted to worship
Your single personality?
Against good hearts,
To whom the homeland is sacred.
God help them!.. and the rest?
Their goal is shallow, their life is empty.
Some are money-grubbers and thieves,
Others are sweet singers,
And still others... still others are sages:
Their purpose is conversation.
Protecting your person,
They remain idle, repeating:
“Our tribe is incorrigible,
We don't want to die for nothing
We are waiting: maybe time will help,
And we are proud that we do no harm!”
Cunningly hides an arrogant mind
Selfish dreams
But... my brother! whoever you are
Don't believe this despicable logic!
Be afraid of sharing their fate,
Rich in word, poor in deed,
And do not go to the camp of the harmless,
When you can be useful!
The son cannot look calmly
On my dear mother's grief,
There will be no worthy citizen
I have a cold heart for my homeland,
There is no worse reproach for him...
Go into the fire for the honor of your fatherland,
For conviction, for love...
Go and perish impeccably.
You will not die in vain: the matter is strong,
When blood flows underneath...

And you, poet! chosen one of heaven,
Herald of age-old truths,
Do not believe that he who has no bread
Not worth your prophetic strings!
Don’t believe that people will fall altogether;
God has not died in the souls of people,
And a cry from a believing chest
Will always be available to her!
Be a citizen! serving art,
Live for the good of your neighbor,
Subordinating your genius to feeling
All-embracing Love;
And if you are rich in gifts,
Don’t bother exhibiting them:
They themselves will shine in your work
Their life-giving rays.
Look: solid stone in fragments
The poor worker crushes
And from under the hammer it flies
And the flame splashes out on its own!

Have you finished?.. I almost fell asleep.
Where do we care about such views!
You've gone too far.
It takes a genius to teach others,
It takes a strong soul
And we with our lazy soul,
Proud and timid,
We're not worth a penny.
In a hurry to achieve fame,
We are afraid to go astray
And we walk along the path,
And if we turn to the side -
Lost, even if you run away from the world!
How pathetic are you, the role of a poet!
Blessed is the silent citizen:
He, alien to the Muses from the cradle,
Master of your actions,
Leads them to a rewarding goal,
And his work is successful, the dispute...

Citizen

Not a very flattering sentence.
But is it yours? was it said by you?
You could judge more correctly:
You may not be a poet
But you have to be a citizen.
What is a citizen?
A worthy son of the Fatherland.
Oh! We will be merchants, cadets,
Bourgeois, officials, nobles,
Even poets are enough for us,
But we need, we need citizens!
But where are they? Who is not a senator?
Not a writer, not a hero,
Not a leader, not a planter,
Who is a citizen of the native country?
Where are you? respond! No answer.
And even alien to the poet’s soul
His mighty ideal!
But if he is between us,
What tears he cries!!
A heavy lot fell on him,
But he doesn’t ask for a better share:
He wears it on his body like his own
All the ulcers of your homeland.
………………………………………………..
………………………………………………..
The thunderstorm makes noise and drives towards the abyss
Freedom's shaky boat,
The poet curses or at least groans,
And the citizen is silent and continues
Under your head.
When... But I’m silent. At least a little
And among us fate appeared
Worthy citizens... You know
Their fate?.. Kneel!..
Lazy guy! your dreams are funny
And frivolous penalties!
Your comparison makes no sense.
Here is a word of impartial truth:
Blessed is the chattering poet,
And the silent citizen is pathetic!

It’s no wonder to achieve this,
There is no need to finish off anyone.
You're right: it's easier for a poet to live -
There is joy in free speech.
But was I involved in it?
Ah, in the years of my youth,
Sad, unselfish, difficult,
In short - very reckless -
How zealous was my Pegasus!
Not roses - I wove nettles
In his sweeping mane
And he proudly left Parnassus.
Without disgust, without fear
I went to prison and to the place of execution,
I went to courts and hospitals.
I won’t repeat what I saw there...
I swear I honestly hated it!
I swear, I truly loved!
So what?.. hearing my sounds,
They considered them black slander;
I had to fold my hands humbly
Or pay with your head...
What was to be done? Recklessly
Blame people, blame fate.
If only I could see a fight
I would fight, no matter how difficult it is,
But... perish, perish... and when?
I was twenty years old then!
Life slyly beckoned forward,
Like free streams of the sea,
And love tenderly promised
My best blessings -
The soul fearfully retreated...
But no matter how many reasons,
I don't hide the bitter truth
And I timidly bow my head
At the word “honest citizen”.
That fatal, vain flame
To this day it burns my chest,
And I'm glad if someone
He will throw a stone at me with contempt.
Poor man! and from what he trampled
Are you a sacred man's duty?
What kind of gift did you take from life?
Are you the son of a sick person of a sick century?..
If only they knew my life,
My love, my worries...
Gloomy and full of bitterness,
I'm standing at the door of the coffin...

Ah, my farewell song
That song was the first!
The Muse bowed her sad face
And, quietly sobbing, she left.
Since then there have been infrequent meetings:
Stealthily, pale, he will come
And whispers fiery speeches,
And he sings proud songs.
Calls now to the cities, now to the steppe,
Full of cherished intentions,
But suddenly the chains rattle -
And she will disappear in an instant.
I wasn’t completely alienated from her,
But how afraid I was! how afraid I was!
When my neighbor drowned
In waves of essential grief -
Now the thunder of heaven, now the fury of the sea
I chanted good-naturedly.
Scouring little thieves
For the pleasure of the big ones,
I marveled at the audacity of the boys
And he was proud of their praise.
Under the yoke of years the soul bent,
She's cooled down to everything
And the Muse turned away completely,
Full of bitter contempt.
Now I appeal to her in vain -
Alas! disappeared forever.
Like the light, I don’t know her myself
And I will never know.
O Muse, a random guest
Have you appeared to my soul?
Or songs are an extraordinary gift
Fate intended for her?
Alas! who knows? harsh rock
Everything was hidden in deep darkness.
But there was one crown of thorns
To your gloomy beauty...

Even poets are enough for us,

But we need, we need citizens!

N.A.Nekrasov

In the first hot days of summer, the representative of the creative mass, Klychev Temur Aminovich, who was (according to the definition stolen by O. Tutubalina from V. Lenin) a complete “Mr” and therefore subject to fermentation processes, sharply intensified. Known in poetic circles under the pseudonym Varki. From his pen almost simultaneously came two appeals: to the President of Tajikistan and international organizations.

To understand the poet’s work and the motives driving him, it is useful to know at least a little about him as a person and citizen.

It is known that Varkey wrote poetry for a long time, but was embarrassed to show his “masterpieces” to the public and even to his classmates. Then the poet became bolder. Having not received fame and recognition as a poet, Varkey decided to become famous as a journalist and political commentator. He tried to clothe objective political realities in subjective lyrical monologues, to eclectically mix the high with the low, the pure with the dirty, poetry with politics in his verses.

An unsuccessful example of such creativity can be considered his edifying parable about the national flag and the peacock’s tail. Varki, who during the civil confrontation worked closely with the IPV, DPT, “Rastokhez” - the instigators of the bloody events, has the courage (no - the impudence!) to criticize the actions of the defenders of the constitutional order and supporters of a peaceful resolution of the conflict. The poet is ashamed of his country and the fact that he is Tajik. Which, when reading Varka’s opuses, one has to seriously doubt. It is more credible that T.A. Klychev is an ethnic Turkmen. Why, then, did he not write about gigantomania in his historical homeland during the reign of Turkmenbashi? Varki allegorically calls our people parrots and peacocks. Accuses of unprofessionalism and unpatriotism. And this is written by a man who has stained himself with provocative calls for a violent change in the constitutional system, which, through the newspaper “Tajik-Press”, has caused considerable damage to the consciousness of readers and television viewers in troubled times, campaigned for the criminals who stirred up the bloody mess. Then he fled and settled in Moscow, from where he continued to conduct anti-government activities and worked for the Russian service of the BBC.

An indicative fact of confirmation of Varka's commitment to the behavior of a chameleon, changing color, principles and beliefs depending on the situation, is the example when in May 1992 he defended the books of Bozor Sobir, which were burned at the stake. Then he called B. Sobir ustod, “the pride and conscience of the Tajik nation.” Today Varki came to the defense of O. Tutubalina, who publicly insulted the Tajik intelligentsia and personally the national poet, and called the lawsuit against the journalist “a fact of pressure on the media.”

In his creative and journalistic activities, Varkey has always depended and depends on foreign sponsors: work at the BBC and the pro-American “Asia Plus”; cooperation with the Swiss Development Authority, which pays for the publication of his poetry collection; representatives of Human Rights Watch/Helsinki Watch, to whom Varki had already turned many times in search of protection of his own and others’ “infringed” rights.

Varki calls us all hostages of our own country. We answer for ourselves: “This is not so”! No one is captivating the poet here. Perhaps his unfulfilled ambitions and political illusions, which make no sense to take them anywhere. Varki is not kept behind closed doors, is not deprived of freedom of movement, and is not “squeezing his mind out of Tajikistan.” The border is open. Schengen is in his hands! He can treat his “social depression” there.

In relation to Z. Saidov, whom Varki defends so zealously, the proper authorities will look into it. But why does the philologist Varki already publicly act as his lawyer twice? Why does the arrest of the former minister and the current millionaire directly connect with the beginning of a political career that never took place? Why is he so actively belittling the role of the “New Tajikistan” and calling not to be afraid of its “brilliant” appearance? Isn't it because American dollars and euros are never paid to anyone just like that? Among the international organizations to which Varkey appeals are those without whose assistance not a single color revolution could have happened.

By the way, according to the starving Safvat Burkhonov, whom Varki called on to be protected by the above-mentioned MNO, almost all international organizations working in Tajikistan pursue selfish goals and “do not serve the prosperity of my Motherland in any way. Their only goal is to denigrate and blackmail Tajikistan, and use society for their own purposes.”

Defending Z. Saidov, Varki simultaneously says that “today all regions, from Kulyab, Khatlon, Pamir and to Sogd, are united in their dislike for the presumptuous, insatiable nouveau riche and corrupt officials. And this unites our people with you.” Z. Saidov is a vivid example of just such an “insatiable nouveau riche and corrupt official” who made a fortune from the people’s budget and increased his capital through corruption schemes. It is Z. Saidov who is an example of those who, according to Varka, “buy expensive cars for themselves and their households and build cottages and villas for themselves, which can be bought for their 500-year salary, if they sit only on tap water. They are hostages of a dream of impunity, in which they are divorced from reality.” But for Z. Saidov this dream ended. It's time to wake up. And the businessman decided to prolong these sweet dreams, protect himself and his property by going into big politics, and enlist the support of the intellectual elite, to which for the time being he had not paid any attention.

Varkey tries to be the voice civil society, but his “political” introductions are characterized by emotions, tears-nursing-snot-drooling that are more acceptable and appropriate for lyrical works. As a poet, Varki reproduces any phenomenon and event of life in the form subjective experiences. His emotions and internal monologues, presented to the public as journalistic statements, resemble passages that are good only for sentimental poetry collections.

“And in order to attract attention to themselves, in order to prolong their existence, they try to dress up in colorful, lush clothes. The parrot is trying to imitate the nightingale's roulades, ruffling its feathers, spreading its feathers and amusing the forest audience with new old stupidity. And the voiceless peacock spreads its tail and speaks of its greatness in a disgusting voice.”

Less lyrics and new old nonsense, Mr. poet!

Tatyana Obidova, teacher

You may not be a poet, / But you must be a citizen
From the poem “Poet and Citizen” (1856) by N. A. Nekrasov (1821 - 1877).
Used: as a humorous and ironic form of reminder of public duty. At the end of the XIX-XX centuries. in Russia, in addition to the above, other lines of this Nekrasov poem were often quoted, in which the same idea was expressed - in a slightly different form:
Oh, we will be merchants, cadets,
Bourgeois, officials, nobles,
Enough even for us poets.
But we need, we need citizens!

Encyclopedic dictionary of popular words and expressions. - M.: “Locked-Press”. Vadim Serov. 2003.

See what “You may not be a poet, / But you must be a citizen” in other dictionaries:

Quote from a poem by N.A. Nekrasova Poet and Citizen (1856). Dictionary of popular words. Plutex. 2004 ... Dictionary of popular words and expressions

You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen- wing. sl. Quote from the poem by N. A. Nekrasov “Poet and Citizen” (1856) ... Universal additional practical explanatory dictionary by I. Mostitsky

You may not be a scientist, but you must be a candidate- (from a poem by N. Nekrasov: You may not be a poet, but you must be a citizen) about the need to defend a Ph.D. dissertation... Live speech. Dictionary of colloquial expressions

Present vr. no (except for 3 l. units: yes; book., 3 l. plural: essence); be, be; was, was, was (with the negative: wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t, weren’t); I will, you will; former; being; nsv. 1. Exist. I think there are aliens. Troy was once here. * IN … Encyclopedic Dictionary

be- present vr. no (except for 3 l. units: yes; book., 3 l. plural: essence); be, be/be; was, was/, would/lo see also. to be therefore, to be so as not to be, perhaps, perhaps... Dictionary of many expressions

Nikolai Alekseevich (1821 1877) the most prominent Russian revolutionary democratic poet. Born on December 4, 1821 in the family of a wealthy landowner. He spent his childhood in the Greshnevo estate in Yaroslavl province. in an extremely difficult situation of the brutal reprisals of his father against... Literary encyclopedia

poet- a, m. poete m. gr. poietes. 1. outdated A writer in general, a creator of artistic and poetic works (regardless of the genre). MAS 2. Gentlemen, poets and prose writers, in a word, poets, at the end of the last century and even at the beginning of this one... ... Historical Dictionary of Gallicisms of the Russian Language

Obligated, obligated; obliged, obliged, obliged. 1. with inf. Having as his duty that n.; such that he should that n. perform as your duty. “Every citizen of the USSR is obliged to protect and strengthen public, socialist property...” ... Dictionary Ushakova

- [by] poet, m. [Greek. poietes]. 1. Writer-artist who creates poetic works. “Mayakovsky was and remains the best, most talented poet of our Soviet era.” Stalin. “At the name of Pushkin, the thought of the Russian national immediately dawns... ... Ushakov's Explanatory Dictionary

ARMENIAN LITERATURE. LITERATURE IN ANCIENT AND MIDDLE ARMENIAN. Monuments of A.L. can be divided into three categories, corresponding to three periods distinguished in the history of the A. language: Old Armenian (“Grabar”), Middle Armenian and... ... Literary encyclopedia

The beginning of Nekrasov's wide popularity as a poet of democratic orientation was his collection of 1856. The introduction to the collection was the program poem “Poet and Citizen”. The poem appeared at a time of heightened social struggle on the eve of the 60s. Nekrasov revealed his poetic program in it, expressed his views on the duty of a poet: to be a citizen, a faithful son of his homeland and people.

The son cannot look calmly

On my dear mother's grief,

There will be no worthy citizen

I have a cold heart for my homeland...

What a poet should be, what his role in society is, what the tasks of poetry are, has more than once been the subject of fierce debate in Russian and world literature. Long before Nekrasov, V. Zhukovsky asked: “Who is a poet?” And he answered: “A skillful liar. To him is the glory and the crown.” According to A. Fet, life and art are two different worlds, between which there is no connection.

“I am not a poet, but a citizen!” - exclaimed Ryleev. Pushkin, comparing the poet with a prophet, urged him: “With a verb, burn the hearts of people! “Lermontov regretted that the poet’s voice no longer sounds “like a bell on the veche tower on days of celebrations and troubles of the people.” Serving the Motherland

And Nekrasov, like his predecessors, considers the people to be the main task of poetry:

Be a citizen! Serving art

Live for the good of your neighbor...

A fairly traditional image of a thunderstorm appeared in the poem as a symbol of the approaching revolutionary storm:

But the thunder struck; the storm is moaning

And the rigging breaks, and the mast tilts...

The poem sharply contrasts the positions of two people: the passionate citizenship of one and the withdrawal from public interests of the other. Nekrasov believes that a poet who refuses to serve society becomes barren, since the source that feeds true poetry disappears. Second and most likely main character poems - citizen. He addresses the poet, who was exhausted in the struggle and “humbly folded his hands,” with a call that was perceived as a call to all honest people:

Go into the fire for the honor of your fatherland,

For conviction, for love...

Go and perish impeccably.

The citizen's monologues reminded readers of the 50s and 60s of the poetry of the Decembrists, the freedom-loving poems of Pushkin and Lermontov. The poet and the citizen seem to have switched roles: the citizen speaks like a poet, since he preaches high ideals, and the poet speaks like a person immersed in the prose of life. But in the poet’s last monologue we hear something different. Irony and indifference disappear. They are replaced by grief and repentance. We understand that the citizen’s words fell on fertile soil. Nekrasov remained faithful to the thoughts expressed in the poem “Poet and Citizen” throughout his life. It became, together with the poem “Elegy” (1874), a program and assessment of the poet’s creative and civic activities. He wrote:

I dedicated the lyre to my people,

Perhaps I will die unknown to him,

But I served him - and my heart is calm...

For many poets of the 19th and 20th centuries, the civic orientation of Nekrasov’s poetry became an undoubted creative and aesthetic example.

Isakovsky, Tvardovsky, Surkov, Simonov and other poets experienced the influence of Nekrasov’s poetry. In our difficult times, breaking many ideological, social, aesthetic canons, Nekrasov’s poetry has not lost its civic significance, offering us high examples of patriotic lyrics, which, unfortunately, have ceased to be popular in modern literature.