18.03.2012

Russian classics about liberals

A.P. Chekhov

I do not believe in our intelligentsia, hypocritical, false, hysterical, ill-mannered, deceitful, I do not believe even when it suffers and complains, because its oppressors come out of its own depths.

F. M. Dostoevsky

Our liberal is above all a lackey who only looks to clean someone's boots.

If anyone destroys Russia, it will not be communists, not anarchists, but damned liberals. The more we are national, the more we will be Europeans (all people)

F. I. Tyutchev

... It would be possible to give an analysis of the modern phenomenon, which is acquiring an increasingly pathological character. This is the Russophobia of some Russian people... They used to tell us, and they really thought so, that in Russia they hate the lack of rights, the lack of freedom of the press, and so on. and so on, that it is the indisputable presence of all this in it that they like Europe ... And now what do we see? To the extent that Russia, striving for greater freedom, asserts itself more and more, these gentlemen's dislike for her only intensifies. They have never hated the old institutions so much as they hate the modern trends of social thought in Russia.
As for Europe, then, as we see, no violations in the field of justice, morality and even civilization did not in the least reduce their disposition towards it ... In a word, in the phenomenon that I am talking about, there can be no talk of principles as such, just instincts...

Wasted labor - no, you can't reason with them -
The more liberal, the more vulgar they are,
Civilization is a fetish for them
But her idea is inaccessible to them.
No matter how you bend before her, gentlemen,
You will not win recognition from Europe:
In her eyes you will always be
Not servants of enlightenment, but serfs.
May 1867

L. N. Gumilyov

A television interviewer once asked Lev Gumilyov:
— Lev Nikolayevich, are you an intellectual?
And Gumilyov soared:
- God save me! The current intelligentsia is such a spiritual sect.
What is characteristic: they don’t know anything, they can’t do anything, but they judge everything and absolutely do not accept dissent ...

V. O. Klyuchevsky

There is such a weak-mouthed intelligentsia that cannot keep silent about anything, can convey nothing to the place, and through the newspapers pours out everything that will clog its illegible stomach.

A. S. Pushkin

You illuminated your mind with enlightenment,
You saw the face of truth
And tenderly loved foreign peoples,
And he wisely hated his own.

source politonline.ru

Thank you for participating in the dialogue of those people who vigilantly peer into historical events and defend our Fatherland. After all, the word is also a deed that leaves a trace in space. Please hear us and help curb information rapists with a word...

"Air merchants" and distributors of information viruses

As an inquisitive person knows from scientific or esoteric periodicals, language can be used as a genetic weapon, that is, a genetic poison, when a foreign language code is launched against the language code of another people, depriving it of self-identification with its roots, tribal and domestic culture.
We also know about the direct impact of the word not only on the material (physical) plane with the help of acoustic and electromagnetic waves, but also on the subtle plane, that is, at the field level. Scientists conclude about the ability of information to influence the state of the genome and individual genes of all living beings. This is confirmed by scientific experiments.
Moreover, evolutionary scientists have dug up such discoveries that a living cell of any biosystem is an ideal environment for the spread of informational viruses.
This blitz-scientific base proves what a monstrous informational crime has been and is being committed against the citizens of Russia...
When, during the period of the terry Yeltsinism, the Vlasovites from the Kremlin corridors of power sold the information field of Russia to their “partners”, “friends” and “brothers” in the Masonic lodges, that is, the Anglo-American villians from politics, total, unrestrained information violence began with Anglo-Saxon vibrations as through means mass media, and openly in the space of Russian cities.
In other words, the thin substance of the air - the ether - was totally filled with songs in English, that is, our cultural, linguistic code was scrapped by the criminal officials, they threw away the protective mechanism of the consciousness of the people and launched the destructive cultural and linguistic code of the Anglo-Saxons for many decades, which, like shameless cancer cells, strikes the ether of our fatherland, and of the whole world, spreading informational viruses all over the planet.
What happens in practical life? Let's look at an example. For many years, even decades, to this day, the entire city of Voronezh, that is, all the squares, streets, markets, have become a place of infection of the consciousness of citizens with viruses of Anglo-Saxon vibrations that are hostile to the world of good by their nature, their genetic code. This is easy to follow by making an honest digression into the history of the Anglo-Saxons ...
Even if a person, walking through the city, when a tub of English-speaking vibrations is being poured on him, does not notice the viral information danger, he can be struck through subthreshold information. Young people and children are especially susceptible to the influence of information viruses, due to their fragile psyche. With a long stay in such poisoned fields infected with Anglo-Saxon information viruses, people with a fragile psyche, with a weak spiritual platform and superficial mind turn into likenesses of mankurts, that is, beings who have forgotten their roots, their culture, who have also lost their moral guidelines and spiritual supports.
Seeing the serious information crime being committed against Russia, coming from the world, to put it mildly, the enemies of Russia, with the connivance of the "hobbled" hypocritical politicians of the central and peripheral levels of all branches of government, for ten years we tried to reach out to officials of various levels and to the leaders of the media ... This found some reflection in our book “The captivity of illusion is not sweet, or What is the happiness of birds in the snares of bird-catchers” (website poisk-istiny.ru).
But alas... We are more than surprised at the deafness, that indifference, that meanness shown by our addressees with minds castrated by US psi-technologies to the issue of total information violence against our people, which criminals in power and media structures have been turning for decades into "information meat” for the Anglo-Saxons… Now they can’t get cannon fodder from Russia, so they devour “information meat” from the Voronezh anti-Russian lackeys and lackeys of the capital with all the wolf’s appetite.
The informational violence committed against our people is, of course, a crime against humanity and against the nation as a whole. And although specific criminals hide their "images" of information rapists from the people, taking advantage of the ignorant complacency of many citizens, they cannot escape the highest court ... And woe to the descendants of rapists! ..
We in no way encroach on the freedom of citizens to enjoy the Anglo-Saxon vibrations (especially if they have already "caught" the Anglo-Saxon virus and are sitting on the "needle of addiction"), and can even enjoy the sounds of jackals, hyenas, vultures, but only in personal space (apartment, mansion, in a car), but by no means in a public space! This is the principle of human society.
Once from Ilya Ehrenburg's book "People, Years, Life" we learned about his slogan at the beginning of World War II: "Kill the German!" We did not for a moment justify such a position, since there were many anti-fascists among the Germans, who were hunted by demon-possessed Nazis infected with the “brown plague” viruses.
Now, when a cruel information war against Russia has been going on for more than two decades, violence is being carried out in the ethereal space of our Fatherland through the information viruses of the "Anglo-Saxon plague" before the eyes of officials from the entire vertical of power. And we call on the citizens of Russia, whose minds have not been destroyed by information rapists, to curse the adversaries who are carrying out a criminal program to recode the consciousness of the people of the Russian-Russian world, to destroy the genetic code of an entire multinational state.
Throughout the vertical of power and in all its branches, urgent measures must be taken to categorically exclude information violence from the entire space of Russia, including through media channels. Power should not be criminal in relation to the people and loyal to its enemies. We are waiting for radical changes!

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March 21st is Poetry Day around the world, and this is a great occasion to remember our favorite authors and their work. After all, even about those poets whose poems we remember from school, you can learn a lot of new things.

Today website shares with his readers poetic observations and findings.

Fake Tyutchev

Recently, a hooligan poem about Europe, allegedly written by Fyodor Tyutchev, has become widespread in Runet:

Be silent, shameful Europe, and don't shake your rights!
You're just an asshole in Russia, but you think it's your head!

In fact, of course, these lines have nothing to do with Tyutchev. This is a modified quatrain from a poem by Vladimir Sablin, written at the end of the 20th century:

Freeze foul Europe
And do not "swing" your rights!
You are in RUSSIA - just f *,
And you think it's the head.

Tyutchev himself really has a poem “Vain labor - no, you won’t make them understand”, in which the poet unequivocally, but absolutely within the framework of the literary norm, speaks of his attitude to Europe:

No matter how you bend before her, gentlemen,
You will not win recognition from Europe:
In her eyes you will always be
Not servants of enlightenment, but serfs.

Militant Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova during her lifetime was constantly accused of the fact that her themes are too small, everyday, intimate, that all these love poems are unworthy of the title of true poetry. Many of us still know Akhmatova as a master of psychological lyrics and the author of sensual lines about love. When they say "civil lyrics", it is unlikely that the first (even second or third) name of Anna Akhmatova will come to someone's head. But it is she who owns one of the most heartfelt poems about the years of Yezhovshchina, when the poetess spent 17 months in prison queues in Leningrad - "Requiem". In this poem, the civil position of the lyrical Akhmatova, far from worldly affairs, sounds absolutely clear:

And if ever in this country
They will erect a monument to me,
I give my consent to this triumph,
But only with the condition - do not put it
Not near the sea where I was born:
The last connection with the sea is broken,
Not in the royal garden at the treasured stump,
Where the inconsolable shadow is looking for me,
And here, where I stood for three hundred hours
And where the bolt was not opened for me.
Then, as in blissful death I fear
Forget the rumble of black marus,
Forget how hateful the door slammed
And the old woman howled like a wounded animal.
And let from motionless and bronze eyelids
Like tears, melted snow flows,
And let the prison dove roam in the distance,
And ships are quietly moving along the Neva.

Very strange Bryusov

There are many nominees for the honorary title of the strangest poem, but, perhaps, one of the most worthy is the famous Russian monosty of the symbolist Valery Bryusov:

Oh close your pale feet.

Critics took the work very sharply. And "Why one line?" - was the first question, and only the second - "What are these legs?" The poet himself never explained the content of the text, so many interpretations of it appeared. The version about the religious subtext of the poem remains the most common to this day: supposedly this line is an exclamation of Judas, who saw the bare feet of the crucified Christ.

Inadmissible Lermontov

The famous poem about the death of Pushkin "The Death of a Poet", which each of us remembers from the school curriculum, at one time became one of the most resonant works and cost Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov his arrest and exile. The investigation was conducted on the "Case of impermissible verses written by the cornet of the Life Guards Hussars Regiment Lermontov, and the distribution thereof by the provincial secretary Raevsky." The reaction of the authorities was caused by the second edition, supplemented by 16 lines. The first edition of the poem did not cause, as the evidence shows, the king's displeasure. And here are these 16 fatal lines for the poet:

And you, arrogant descendants
By the well-known meanness of the illustrious fathers,
Fifth slave corrected the wreckage
The game of happiness offended childbirth!
You, a greedy crowd standing at the throne,
Freedom, Genius and Glory executioners!
You hide under the shadow of the law,
Before you is the court and the truth - everything is silent! ..
But there is also God's judgment, the confidants of debauchery!
There is a formidable judgment: it waits;
He is not available to the sound of gold,
And he knows his thoughts and deeds in advance.
Then in vain will you resort to slander:
It won't help you again
And you won't wash away with all your black blood
Poet's righteous blood!

Especially dangerous Mandelstam

If Lermontov was only transferred to the Nizhny Novgorod Dragoon Regiment for an “impermissible” poem, then the poets of the 20th century had to pay much harder for the freedom of their speech. For example, Osip Mandelstam wrote an epigram on Stalin in November 1933:

We live, not feeling the country under us,
Our speeches are not heard for ten steps,
And where is enough for half a conversation,
They will remember the Kremlin mountaineer there.
His thick fingers, like worms, are fat,
And the words, like pood weights, are true,
Cockroaches laugh eyes.
And his bootlegs shine.
And around him is a rabble of thin-necked leaders,
He plays with the services of demihumans.
Who whistles, who meows, who whimpers,
He alone babachet and pokes.,
Like a horseshoe, gives a decree for a decree -
Who in the groin, who in the forehead, who in the eyebrow, who in the eye.
Whatever his punishment is raspberry
And the broad chest of an Ossetian.

On the night of May 16-17, 1934, Mandelstam was arrested for this poem. True, famous poets stood up for him, and he was given a mild sentence - exile with his wife to the Perm region without the right to return to Moscow. And in April 1938, he was arrested again - allegedly for the fact that, despite the ban, he still visits fellow writers in Moscow. Mandelstam was sentenced to 5 years in the camps, and in the camp he died of typhus.

But even from the camp, Mandelstam wrote: “Since they kill for poetry, it means that it is given due honor and respect, it means that it is power” .

Fatal Yesenin

It is no secret that according to one version, Sergei Yesenin committed suicide. Around his last poem, allegedly written before this tragic event, there are legends. They say that it was inscribed with the poet's blood and carried almost magical power:

Goodbye my friend, goodbye.
My dear, you are in my chest.
Destined parting
Promises to meet in the future.

Goodbye, my friend, without a hand, without a word,
Do not be sad and do not sadness of the eyebrows, -
In this life, dying is not new,
But to live, of course, is not newer.

Like it or not, we cannot say, but its poetic impact was so strong that after its publication a wave of suicides swept across the country. Vladimir Mayakovsky even wrote a poem "To Sergei Yesenin" in many respects in order to "sober up" too impressionable readers. It ends with these lines:

For fun
our planet
little equipped.
Necessary
snatch
joy
in the coming days.
In this life
die
not difficult.
Make a life
much more difficult.

Inventive Twisted

Do you know which poem in history is considered the most "Russian"? According to the futurist Alexei Kruchenykh, it was he who wrote such a work. It consists of only five lines:

Dyr bul schyl
ubesh shur
skoom
you with boo
r l ez

There is an opinion that it was from this five-verse, devoid of any definite meaning, that the language of the futurists then "grew" - zaum. And Kruchenykh said about his poem that there is "more Russian national in it than in all of Pushkin's poetry."

Deviant Pushkin

“Our everything”, the sun of Russian poetry, the founder of the literary Russian language Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin is often idealized and presented in an almost angelic image. In fact, Pushkin, like any person, was characterized by earthly weaknesses. Everyone knows that the poet was a witty interlocutor, but in addition, he was also intemperate with his tongue. The poet's personal correspondence, including with his wife Natalya Goncharova, is replete with profanity. Dozens of ambiguous erotic poems belong to Pushkin's pen, and obscene expressions are found even in the poet's familiar poems. For example, in this excerpt from the well-known poem "The Cart of Life":

In the morning we sit in the cart;
We are happy to break the head
And, despising laziness and bliss,
We shout: - Let's go! E ... yona mother!

And in the notes on the margins of the novel in verse "Eugene Onegin" you can find the following lines:

"The navel blackens through the shirt
Outside tit - cute look!
Tatyana crumples a piece of paper in her hand,
Zane's stomach hurts:
She then got up in the morning
With pale moon rays
And tore it to pieces,
Of course, the Nevsky Almanac.

Gentle Mayakovsky

Vladimir Mayakovsky, unlike Pushkin, could hardly surprise us with obscene verses - indeed, he had them. It would seem that what else to expect from a bawler, a rebel, a singer of the proletariat - this is exactly how Vladimir Vladimirovich is known to most of us from school textbooks. However, Mayakovsky not only wrote poems about the “red-skinned passport” and other joys of contemporary realities, but was also an amazing lyric poet. His love story with Lilya Brik gave the world many tender, poignant, emotional and deep poems. One of them - "Lilichka" - a recognized masterpiece of Russian love lyrics:

Smoke tobacco air has left.
Room -
head in krunykhovsky hell.
Remember -
behind this window
for the first time
your hands, frenzied, stroked.
Today you sit here
iron heart.
Another day -
you will expel
you can be scolding.
In the muddy front will not fit for a long time
trembling broken arm in the sleeve.
I'll run out
I will throw the body into the street.
Wild,
go crazy
vanishing in despair.
Don't need this
expensive,
good,
Let's forgive now.
Does not matter
my love -
heavy weight after all -
hanging on you
wherever you run.
Let me roar in the last cry
the bitterness of offended complaints.
If the bull is killed with labor -
he will leave
thaw in cold waters.
Except your love
to me
there is no sea
and from your love and crying you will not beg for rest.
A tired elephant wants rest -
regal will lie down in the scorched sand.
Except your love
to me
no sun,
and I don't know where you are and with whom.
If so the poet was tormented,
is he
I would exchange my beloved for money and fame,
and me
not a single joyful ringing,
except for the ringing of your favorite name.
And I won’t throw myself into the span,
and I won't drink poison
and I can’t pull the trigger over my temple.
over me,
except for your gaze
the blade of no knife has no power.
Tomorrow you will forget
who crowned you
that the soul blooming with love burned out,
and vain days swept carnival
ruffle the pages of my books...
Are my words dry leaves
make you stop
greedily breathing?

Give me at least
spread the last tenderness
your outgoing step.

Read poetry on this page “Vain labor - no, you can’t reason with them ...” Russian poet Fyodor Tyutchev written in 1867 year.

Wasted labor - no, you can’t reason with them ...

Wasted labor - no, you can't reason with them - The more liberal, the more vulgar they are, Civilization is a fetish for them, But its idea is inaccessible to them. No matter how you bend before her, gentlemen, You will not win recognition from Europe: In her eyes you will always be Not servants of enlightenment, but serfs.

May 1867

Fedor Tyutchev. Favorites.
World Poetry Library.
Rostov-on-Don, "Phoenix", 1996.

Themes of the poem

Other poems by Fyodor Tyutchev

Choose the 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 quiet...) January 29, 1837 (From whose hand...) Encyclica Mala aria Memento Silentium! To A. F. Hilferding Alps Skald's harp Madness Insomnia Gemini Brother who accompanied me for so many years... Silence in the countryside Stuffy air... Clouds melt in the sky... There is a high meaning in separation... In a crowd of people, in immodest the noise of the day ... At the time when it happens ... Vatican anniversary Submissive to the highest command ... Great day of Cyril's death ... Venice Spring waters Spring thunderstorm Spring All day she lay in oblivion ... Evening Vision Once again I see your eyes ... Wave and thought The East turned white. The boat was rolling... From the sea to the sea... In my sleep I hear - and I can't... The executing god took everything from me... Everything that I managed to save... I am omnipotent and at the same time 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 His Grace Prince A. A. Suvorov Is in the original autumn... There is also in my suffering stagnation... The sight of the earth is still sad... I still languish with longing for desires... Here, where the vault of heaven is so sluggish... Winter is angry for good reason... And it happens in God's world... And the coffin has already been lowered into the grave ... And there is no feeling in your eyes ... Play as long as you are above ... From Goethe (Joy and sorrow ...) From end to end, from city to city ... From Michelangelo Other inherited from nature ... So, again I saw you... Italian villa To Hanka How true is the common sense of the people... How cheerful is the roar of summer storms... Like a daughter to be slaughtered... Like a pillar of smoke brightens in the sky! Like over hot ashes... No matter how separation oppresses us... How unexpected and bright... Like an unsolved mystery... No matter how slandering rages... No matter how sultry noon breathes... No matter how heavy the last hour. .. How the ocean embraces the globe of the earth... How he loved his native fir trees... Like a bird, early dawn... How sweetly the dark green garden slumbers... How good you are, O night sea... Like this posthumous album ... What a wild gorge ... Kn. Gorchakov (You have a fatal calling. ..) To Prince P. A. Vyazemsky When in the circle of murderous worries... When decrepit forces... When there is no God's consent... When your eighteen years... Columbus The feast is over, the choirs fell silent... Sea horse Whoever you are, but when you meet her... Swan Summer evening Summer 1854 Leaves Dear papa! I love your eyes, my friend. Shcherbine On the way back On the high tree of humanity... On the anniversary of N. M. Karamzin Over the vineyard hills... Over the ancient Russian Vilna... Over this dark crowd... On the eve of the anniversary of August 4, 1864 It is not given to us to predict... Napoleon Vain labor - no, you can't reason with them... Our century You didn't serve God and not Russia... Don't believe, don't believe the poet, maiden... Not everything painful dreams of the soul... Don't say! He me as before... Do not give us the spirit of idle talk... You do not know what is more flattering for human wisdom... I do not know if grace will touch... Not cooled by the heat.. More than once you have heard a confession.. Don't argue, don't bother!.. Not what you think, nature... The sky is pale blue... No wonder the merciful God... Neman Reluctantly and timidly... There is not a day when the soul does not ache... No, my addiction to you... The night sky is so gloomy... O my prophetic soul!.. What are you howling about, night wind? ... Oh, don't disturb me... Oh, this South, oh, this Nice! ... Late autumn sometimes ... Autumn evening From the life that raged here ... Answer 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 ... The first sheet The sand is free-flowing up to the knees... The flame is blushing, the flame is blazing... Across the plain of azure waters... Under the breath of bad weather... Fires Noon The last cataclysm The last love The stream has thickened and grows dim... Send, Lord, your consolation. .. Poetry Predestination His beautiful day in the West has disappeared... At the sending of the New Testament, Nature is a sphinx... A glimpse of Prophecy Let the hearts of the Zoils ache with envy... Dawn Rome at night To a Russian woman With what bliss, with what melancholy, in love... A kite has risen from the clearing... A well-deserved punishment is being carried out... The holy night has ascended into the sky. .. Today, friend, fifteen years have passed ... I am sitting thoughtful and alone ... The sun is shining, the waters are sparkling ... To the Slavs (They shout, they threaten ...) To the Slavs (Hello to you, brothers ...) Tears human, oh human tears... See how the west flared up... See how in the open space of the river... See how the grove grows green... Snowy mountains Contemporary Dream on the sea Means and purpose The king's son dies in Nice... So, there are moments in life... Dove-gray shadows have mixed up... Now you have no time for poetry... It flows quietly in the lake... On a quiet night, in late summer... You will be behind the fog for a long time... You, wave my maritime... Alas, that our ignorance... A terrible dream burdened us... Russia cannot be understood with the mind... Calmness The biza has subsided... Breathing easier... Morning in the mountains Fountain Charon and Kachenovsky Cicero Enchantress in Winter. .. Whatever life teaches us... What you prayed with love... The Black Sea I see your chamber, savior, decorated... What are you bending over the waters... These poor villages... Yu.F .Abaze (Ta k - harmonic instruments ...) I met you - and all the past ... I knew her even then ... I love the Lutheran services ... I knew the eyes - oh, those eyes! .. I remember the golden time. ..