Inspiration is not for sale, but you can sell the manuscript. “Conversation between a bookseller and a poet,” analysis of Pushkin’s poem
Pushkin's poems have been known to each of us since childhood. First, we hear pleasant lines from the lips of our parents, then, having learned to read, we slowly begin to independently comprehend their exciting rhythm, trying to guess the elusive meaning and meaning. Lyrical work“A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” refers to the mature period of Alexander Sergeevich’s work, when he realized the desire to earn his living by writing. The difficulties he encountered, including the lack of understanding of those around him, gave rise to numerous thoughts and served as an incentive to write a poem. In the work, the author tries to understand how to proceed. The article provides a detailed analysis of it.
“A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” will perhaps prompt the thoughtful reader to think about the eternal and encourage him to rethink his values.
Poem composition
The lyrical work is structured in such a way that it is more convenient for the reader to perceive it: the stanzas of the poet’s and the bookseller’s answers alternate and together form a solid dialogue that seems endless. To understand the idea of this mysterious conversation, you need to be able to plunge into its essence, experience Pushkin’s main motives for yourself, and recognize the depth of his lyrics.
As we read, we often begin to empathize with the poet and take his side. This state occurs when the addressee finds some consonance of his life with the thoughts and feelings that the author is talking about.
The state of the lyrical hero
Pushkin created “A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” with special trepidation and put a lot of personal experiences into it. Lyrical hero Although he behaves confidently in dialogue, he actually doubts himself very much. The conversation resembles a verbal duel, where the truth is on one side or the other. The poet puts forward many arguments precisely because he is trying to prove to the world the importance and significance of true art. He wants to serve real literature, to become a voluntary artist of the word.
The bookseller is in no hurry to argue with him, he only puts forward quite reasonable arguments, shows what is important to society. The poet’s sensitive soul thirsts for new impressions: he needs “wonderful dreams,” deep thoughts and aspirations like air. This can be understood through analysis. “A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” shows the purpose of a man of art, his role on earth: to serve the world with his talent, although his contemporaries are not always ready to accept the talent addressed to them.
Freedom theme
Perhaps this is the key moment, the center of the “duel” between the sublime dreamer and the layman. The poet writes based on inspiration; payment is secondary for him. The interlocutor believes that freedom is impossible without money, as the analysis shows. “A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” reveals the vital relationship of a talented person with the world, showing how vulnerable and strong he is at the same time. One who is endowed with an extraordinary talent is like a white swan: his gigantic wings prevent him from walking on earth, but in heaven he is powerful and great.
Pushkin wrote “A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” to show the enormous power creative person: He can bear a lot. The most important thing for him is truth. A true poet is ready to pay any price for freedom, even if it significantly exceeds his actual earnings. The author gives the writer the voice of eternity, emphasizes his focus on the future and desire to serve the muse.
Bookseller's intentions
Anyone associated with publishing looks at creativity from opposite side. What matters here is not so much the strength and greatness of the talent, but the question of whether the work will sell. If commercial success is not expected, then no one will take risks and invest money in promoting a dubious project. A bookseller knows how to calculate the benefits of his business, and for him the degree of success and popularity of the author is fundamental, because this is how he earns money. For him, a book is a commodity and a source of income.
Pushkin's poems, as always, are filled with special psychologism and drama. The author of these lines emphasizes the inevitable suffering of a creative person, his difficulties on the path to becoming a writer.
The poet's feelings. Analysis
“A Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” touches on the deep personal experiences of Alexander Sergeevich himself and reflects the degree of his desire to express himself in creativity. Often the desire for self-expression is accompanied by rejected love, misunderstanding on the part of society and even loved ones. If someone thinks that this is very easy, let him try to experience all these dramas, which can often devastate so much that many people would give up much sooner. However, people capable of art are as resilient as they are talented.
Freedom is the main aspiration of a poet, any creative personality, because only in this state can you truly create and feel infinitely happy. Talents are willing to pay very dearly for it.
General meaning
The poem “Conversation between a bookseller and a poet” contains deep philosophical meaning. It lifts important issues about the meaning of life and the purpose of man on earth. The conversation between a writer and a publisher turns into an eternal dispute that continues to this day. The work does not lose its relevance even today, when the issue of promoting young authors is very acute, some of them are forced to publish at their own expense.
In September 1824, Pushkin returned to Mikhailovskoye with the firm intention to engage exclusively in literature and have nothing to do with the service. The poet was not frightened by the fact of his resignation, which threatened to leave him without a salary, since even at that time Pushkin was earning much more by selling his works.
Formally, the poem “Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” refers to romanticism; the idea of the work and one of the characters fully correspond to this genre. It is written in iambic tetrameter, the poet’s favorite meter.
Initially, “Conversation” was intended as a preface to “Eugene Onegin”, and was published in its first edition. With such an action, Pushkin wanted to show his readers that his romanticism was ending and that he, like his hero, was moving into another quality - from a dreamer to a realist. Pushkin loved to surprise the reader with some detail, and in this work he did not change himself: at the very end, the romantic poet not only switches to prose, but also enters into an agreement with the seller, thereby performing not a romantic, but an exclusively pragmatic action.
We bring to your attention the text of the poem “Conversation between a bookseller and a poet”:
Bookseller
Poems are just fun for you,
You should sit down a little,
Glory has already divulged
The most pleasant news is everywhere:
The poem, they say, is ready,
The fruit of a new mental invention.
So, decide: I'm waiting for the word:
Set your own price for it.
Rhymes of the favorite of muses and graces
We will instantly replace it with rubles
And in a bunch of cash notes
Let's turn your leaves...
Why did you take such a deep breath?
Isn't it possible to find out?
Poet
I was far away:
I remembered that time
When, rich in hopes,
Carefree poet, I wrote
From inspiration, not from payment.
I saw the rock shelters again
And the dark shelter of solitude,
Where am I for the feast of imagination,
Sometimes I called upon the muse.
My voice sounded sweeter there:
There are some bright visions there,
With inexplicable beauty,
They hovered and flew above me
In the hours of night inspiration!..
Everything worried the tender mind:
Blooming meadow, shining moon,
There is a noise in the chapel of the old storm,
The old ladies are a wonderful legend.
Some demon possessed
My games, leisure;
He followed me everywhere,
He whispered wonderful sounds to me,
And a serious, fiery illness
My head was full;
Wonderful dreams were born in her;
Slender sizes flocked to
My obedient words
And they closed with a ringing rhyme.
In harmony my rival
There was the noise of the forests, or a violent whirlwind,
Or the orioles sing a living tune,
Or at night there is a dull roar of the sea,
Or the whisper of a quiet river.
Then, in the silence of labor,
I wasn't ready to share
With the crowd of fiery delight,
And muses of sweet gifts
He did not humiliate himself with shameful bargaining;
I was their stingy keeper:
That's right, in silent pride,
From the eyes of the hypocritical mob
Gifts from a young lover
A superstitious lover keeps it.
Bookseller
But fame has replaced you
Dreams of secret joy:
You went through different hands.
Meanwhile, as dusty hulks
Stale prose and poetry
They wait in vain for their readers
And her windy rewards.
Poet
Blessed is he who hid to himself
Souls are high creatures
And from people, as from graves,
I didn’t expect any reward for the feeling!
Blessed is he who was silently a poet
And, not entwined with thorns of glory,
Forgotten by the despised mob,
Left the world without a name!
Hope is more deceptive than dreams,
What's glory? Is it a whisper from the reader?
Is it the persecution of a lowly ignoramus?
Or the admiration of a fool?
Bookseller
Lord Byron was of the same opinion;
Zhukovsky said the same thing;
But the world found out and bought it up
Their mellifluous creations.
Indeed, your destiny is enviable:
The poet executes, the poet crowns;
Villains with the thunder of eternal arrows
In distant offspring it strikes;
He consoles the heroes;
With Corinne on the Cythera throne
He elevates his mistress.
Praise be to you the annoying ringing;
But the heart of women asks for glory:
Write for them; to their ears
Anacreon's flattery is pleasant:
Roses for us in younger summers
More expensive than Helikon's laurels.
Poet
Selfish dreams
Joys of crazy youth!
And I, amid the storm of noisy life
I was looking for the attention of beauty.
The lovely eyes read
Me with a smile of love:
Magic lips whispered
My sweet sounds to me...
But that's enough! to sacrifice their freedom
The dreamer will no longer bring it;
Let the young man sing them.
Dear darling of nature.
What do I care about them? Now in the middle of nowhere
Silently my life rushes by;
The moan of the lyre will not touch the faithful
Their light, windy soul:
They are not pure imagination:
It doesn't understand us
And, a sign of God, inspiration
For them it is both alien and funny.
When I involuntarily remember
The verse they inspired will come,
I'm going to burst into flames, my heart hurts:
I am ashamed of my idols.
What, unfortunate one, was I striving for?
Before whom did the proud mind humiliate?
Whose delight in pure thoughts
Aren’t you ashamed to idolize?…..
Bookseller
I love your anger. Such is the poet!
The reasons for your distress
I don’t want to know: but there are exceptions
Is it really not for lovely ladies?
Is it really not worth it?
No inspiration, no passions,
And he won’t appropriate your songs
To your omnipotent beauty?
Are you silent?
Poet
Why does the poet
Disturb your heart with a heavy dream?
He torments his memory fruitlessly.
So what? What does the world care?
I am a stranger to everyone!…..my soul
Does the image remain unforgettable?
Did I know the bliss of love?
Is it long exhausted by melancholy,
Did I hide my tears in silence?
Where was she whose eyes
How did the sky smile at me?
Whole life, is it one or two nights?
……………………………
So what? The annoying moan of love,
The words will seem mine
A madman with wild babbling.
There only one heart will understand them,
And then with a sad shudder:
Fate has already decided so.
Ah, the thought of that withered soul
Could revive youth
And the dreams of seasoned poetry
Outrage the crowd again!...
She alone would understand
My poems are unclear;
One would burn in the heart
Lamp pure love!
Alas, vain desires!
She rejected the spell
Prayers, longing of my soul:
Outpouring of earthly delights,
As a deity, she doesn’t need it!…
Bookseller
So, tired of love,
Bored with the babble of rumors,
You refused in advance
From your inspired lyre.
Now, leaving the noisy light,
And the Muses and windy fashion,
What will you choose?
Poet
Freedom.
Bookseller
Wonderful. Here's some advice for you;
Listen to the truly useful:
Our age is a huckster; in this iron age
Without money there is no freedom.
What about Slava? - Bright patch
On the singer's shabby rags.
We need gold, gold, gold:
Save up your gold until the end!
I foresee your objection;
But I know you, gentlemen:
Your creation is dear to you,
While on the flame of Labor
The imagination is boiling and seething;
It will freeze, and then
I hate your essay too.
Let me just tell you:
Inspiration is not for sale
But you can sell the manuscript.
Why hesitate? they're already coming to see me
Impatient Readers;
Journalists wander around the shop,
Behind them are skinny singers:
Who asks for food for satire,
Some for the soul, some for the pen;
And I confess - from your lyre
I foresee a lot of good things.
Poet
You are absolutely right. Here's my manuscript.
Let's agree.
Inspiration is not for sale, / But you can sell the manuscript
From the poem “Conversation between a bookseller and a poet” (1824) by A. S. Pushkin (1799-1837).
Allegorically: the artist’s commercial interest does not contradict the freedom of his creativity.
Encyclopedic dictionary of popular words and expressions. - M.: “Locked-Press”. Vadim Serov. 2003.
See what “Inspiration is not for sale, / But you can sell a manuscript” in other dictionaries:
MANUSCRIPT, manuscripts, many. and, manuscripts of manuscripts, women. 1. Scripture, handwritten (rare). A clear scribe's manuscript. Manuscript in script. 2. A document containing handwritten text. Department of Ancient Manuscripts. Historical Museum in Moscow. Manuscripts... ... Dictionary Ushakova
- (1799 1837) Russian poet, writer. Aphorisms, quotes Pushkin Alexander Sergeevich. Biography It is not difficult to despise the court of people, but it is impossible to despise your own court. Slander, even without evidence, leaves eternal traces. Critics... ... Consolidated encyclopedia of aphorisms
- (lat. honorarium remuneration for a service), author's remuneration is a monetary reward paid for work to persons of liberal professions (writers, artists, performers, philosophers, lawyers). IN Ancient Rome it was an honor... ... Wikipedia
PUSHKIN A.S.- Great Russian writer, founder of new Russian literature, creator of Russian literary language. Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin was born into a noble family (see nobleman*) on May 26, 1799, in Moscow*, where he spent his childhood. Great-grandfather of Pushkin... ... Linguistic and regional dictionary
- - born on May 26, 1799 in Moscow, on Nemetskaya Street in Skvortsov’s house; died January 29, 1837 in St. Petersburg. On his father’s side, Pushkin belonged to an old noble family, descended, according to genealogies, from a descendant “from ... ... Large biographical encyclopedia
As stated by A.S. Pushkin, inspiration is a “sign of God.” And now, centuries later, the voice called inspiration still accompanies humanity and is also forced “to be dependent on the good or bad digestion of this or that boss.”
This problem A.S. Pushkin touched upon in his letter to A.I. Treasurer (June 1824, Odessa). But let's see what has changed after 191 years?
I have more than once agreed with K.G.’s thoughts. Paustovsky that at least once in his life a person experienced a feeling of elation, felt that he had something to say to humanity, and his thoughts were full of freshness, as well as “a new perception of reality.” However, will he have enough self-confidence and fullness of thought?
Poets and writers are prophets, revealing the tears of society and eras. But is this necessary? modern society? The classics are gradually being replaced by their popularity by works that are easier to understand, which can be consumed casually, without spending a lot of time on it, and at the same time consider oneself a reader, and therefore involved in culture. Russian TV presenter and pop singer Bogdan Petrovich Titomir, in an official interview, ironically commented on the emergence of the wretched, primitive taste of consumers of mass culture with such an expression, which later became popular, “people eat.”
A book, a manuscript today is a product. The simpler and more understandable this “product” is for the consumer, the more in demand it is and, therefore, sold.
I found Nikolai Kofyrin’s opinion in the article “Russian Literature in the 21st Century” very relevant that “the profession of “writer” will gradually disappear. The author’s success will be determined not by circulation, but by his idea itself.” And this trend is scary. Indeed, it is much easier to use free versions of online books. So-called gadgets are becoming more and more fashionable " e-books" But, refusing the usual, printed publications, we deprive ourselves of the pleasure of turning the pages, feeling the smell of the era and the rustle of the sheets. Books borrowed from the library, what a mystery they carry! Think about how many people before us had it in their hands for hours, taking it into the world of imagination. And it's valuable. This is a kind of generational connection.
Still, a lot has changed since Pushkin’s times: culture, lifestyle, new means have appeared mass media in addition to the newspapers and magazines already available then. However, I believe that these factors will only contribute to the further prosperity of Russian literature. It just takes time for humanity to feel the vital need for books that carry deep meaning and life wisdom, in books that will help the average person find himself, and then not lose himself in the future.
(Anastasia Kibets)
Bookseller
Poems are just fun for you,
You should sit down a little,
Glory has already divulged
The most pleasant news is everywhere:
The poem, they say, is ready,
The fruit of a new mental invention.
So, decide; I'm waiting for the words:
Set your own price for it.
Rhymes of the favorite of muses and graces
We will instantly replace it with rubles
And in a bunch of cash notes
Let's turn your leaves...
Why did you take such a deep breath?
Is it possible to find out?
Poet
I was far away:
I remembered that time
When, rich in hopes,
Carefree poet, I wrote
From inspiration, not from payment.
I saw the rock shelters again
And the dark shelter of solitude,
Where am I for the feast of imagination,
Sometimes I called upon the muse.
My voice sounded sweeter there;
There are some bright visions there,
With inexplicable beauty,
They hovered and flew over me
In the hours of night inspiration!..
Everything worried the tender mind:
Blooming meadow, shining moon,
There is a noise in the chapel of the old storm,
The old ladies are a wonderful legend.
Some demon possessed
My games, leisure;
He followed me everywhere,
He whispered wonderful sounds to me,
And a serious, fiery illness
My head was full;
Wonderful dreams were born in her;
Slender sizes flocked to
My obedient words
And they closed with a ringing rhyme.
In harmony my rival
There was the noise of the forests, or a violent whirlwind,
Or the orioles sing a living tune,
Or at night there is a dull roar of the sea,
Or the whisper of a quiet river.
Then, in the silence of labor,
I wasn't ready to share
With the crowd of fiery delight,
And muses of sweet gifts
He did not humiliate himself with shameful bargaining;
I was their stingy keeper:
That's right, in silent pride,
From the eyes of the hypocritical mob
Gifts from a young lover
A superstitious lover keeps it.
Bookseller
But fame has replaced you
Dreams of secret joy:
You've gone hand in hand
Meanwhile, as dusty hulks
Stale prose and poetry
They wait in vain for their readers
And her windy rewards.
Poet
Blessed is he who hid to himself
Souls are high creatures
And from people, as from graves,
I didn’t expect any reward for the feeling!
Blessed is he who was silently a poet
And, not entwined with thorns of glory,
Forgotten by the despised mob,
Left the world without a name!
Hope is more deceptive than dreams,
What's glory? Is it the reader's whisper?
Is it the persecution of a lowly ignoramus?
Or the admiration of a fool?
Bookseller
Lord Byron was of the same opinion;
Zhukovsky said the same thing;
But the world found out and bought it up
Their mellifluous creations.
Indeed, your destiny is enviable:
The poet executes, the poet crowns;
Villains with the thunder of eternal arrows
In distant offspring it strikes;
He consoles the heroes;
From Corinna to the Cythera throne
He elevates his mistress.
Praise be to you the annoying ringing;
But the heart of women asks for glory:
Write for them; to their ears
Anacreon's flattery is pleasant:
Roses for us in younger summers
More expensive than Helikon's laurels.
Poet
Selfish dreams
Joys of crazy youth!
And I, amid the storm of noisy life,
I was looking for the attention of beauty.
The lovely eyes read
Me with a smile of love;
Magic lips whispered
My sweet sounds to me...
But that's enough! to sacrifice their freedom
The dreamer won't bring it;
Let the young man sing them,
Dear darling of nature.
What do I care about them? Now in the middle of nowhere
Silently my life rushes by;
The groan of the lyre will not touch the faithful
Their light, windy soul;
They are not pure imagination:
It doesn't understand us
And, a sign of God, inspiration
For them it is both alien and funny.
When I involuntarily remember
The verse they inspired will come,
I'm going to burst into flames, my heart hurts:
I am ashamed of my idols.
What, unfortunate one, was I striving for?
Before whom did the proud mind humiliate?
Whose delight in pure thoughts
Aren't you ashamed to idolize?..
Bookseller
I love your anger. Such is the poet!
The reasons for your disappointments
I can't know; but there are exceptions
Is it really not for lovely ladies?
Is it really not worth it?
No inspiration, no passions,
And he won’t appropriate your songs
To your omnipotent beauty?
Are you silent?
Poet
Why does the poet
Trouble the heart with a heavy dream?
He torments his memory fruitlessly.
So what? What does the world care?
I am a stranger to everyone!.. my soul
Does the image remain unforgettable?
Did I know the bliss of love?
Is it long exhausted by melancholy,
Did I hide my tears in silence?
Where was she whose eyes
How did the sky smile at me?
Whole life, is it one or two nights?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
So what? The annoying moan of love,
The words will seem mine
A madman with wild babbling.
There only one heart will understand them,
And then with a sad shudder:
Fate has already decided so.
Ah, the thought of that withered soul
Could revive youth
And the dreams of seasoned poetry
Disturb the crowd again!..
She alone would understand
My poems are unclear;
One would burn in the heart
A lamp of pure love!
Alas, vain desires!
She rejected the spell
Prayers, longing of my soul:
Outpouring of earthly delights,
As a deity, she doesn’t need it!..
Bookseller
So, tired of love,
Bored with the babble of rumors,
You refused in advance
From your inspired lyre.
Now, leaving the noisy light,
And muses and windy fashion,
What will you choose?
Poet
Bookseller
Wonderful. Here's some advice for you;
Hear the useful truth:
Our age is a huckster; in this iron age
Without money there is no freedom.
What is glory? - Bright patch
On the singer's shabby rags.
We need gold, gold, gold:
Save up your gold until the end!
I foresee your objection;
But I know you, gentlemen:
Your creation is dear to you,
While on the flame of labor
The imagination is boiling and seething;
It will freeze, and then
I hate your essay too.
Let me just tell you:
Inspiration is not for sale
But you can sell the manuscript.
Why hesitate? they're already coming to see me
Impatient Readers;
Journalists wander around the shop,
Behind them are skinny singers:
Who asks for food for satire,
Some for the soul, some for the pen;
And I confess - from your lyre
I foresee a lot of good things.
Poet
You are absolutely right. Here's my manuscript. Let's agree.
Analysis of the poem “Conversation between a bookseller and a poet” by Pushkin
The poem “Conversation of a Bookseller with a Poet” was written by Pushkin in 1824, and first appeared in print as an introduction to. It reflects the poet’s complex spiritual struggle between earthly and spiritual ideals.
Pushkin experienced financial difficulties almost throughout his life. They escalated after the poet refused civil service. The only source of income became literary activity. It was unpleasant for Pushkin to subordinate his creativity to money, but he was forced to do it. In 1824, he stated in one of his letters that he “overcame his disgust ... to sell his poems.”
The poem “Conversation between a Bookseller and a Poet” describes a completely possible frank dialogue. The bookseller symbolizes a soulless huckster, for whom “rhymes” are just a commodity that can bring significant profits. Pushkin himself plays the role of the poet. He talks about the happy times of his youth, when he first met his creative muse. The whole world was open before him, his soul was excited by dreams and sweet hopes. The poet listened with reverence to the sounds and images of the surrounding nature. He valued his divine gift and did not allow the “hypocritical rabble” to access it.
The bookseller objects that, albeit involuntarily, the poet nevertheless achieved fame and fame. He cites the example of Pushkin’s romantic teachers - and. They did not betray their ideals, but they did not disdain fame. Both romantic poets were fairly wealthy people.
Further dialogue increasingly resembles the temptation of a righteous man by the devil-tempter. The bookseller finds practical arguments for all the poet’s lofty aspirations. He claims that any topic will find its buyer. The poet's last ideal remains freedom. But he instantly hears in response: “without money there is no freedom.” The bookseller generally constructs his speech very skillfully. He does not deny the poet’s right to choose a theme and methods of its implementation and does not try to interfere with creative process(“Inspiration is not for sale”). But when the work is ready, it acquires physical embodiment and a certain price. The bookseller equally despises both “journalists” and “skinny singers,” but they are real buyers who are ready to give their money. Therefore, the poet is simply obliged to enter into a deal with him.
In the last prosaic phrase (“let’s agree”), the poet admits his complete defeat before the “Iron Age.” In reality, Pushkin also began to consider his creativity as work for which a decent reward was due.