“White snow is falling...” Evgeny Yevtushenko
White snows are falling
like sliding on a thread...
To live and live in the world,
but probably not.Someone's souls without a trace,
dissolving into the distance
like white snow,
go to heaven from earth.White snow is falling...
And I will leave too.
I'm not sad about death
and I don’t expect immortality.I don't believe in miracles
I'm not snow, I'm not a star,
and I won't do it anymore
never ever.And I think, sinner,
Well, who was I?
that I'm hasty in life
loved more than life?And I loved Russia
with all the blood, the ridge -
its rivers are in flood
and when under the ice,the spirit of her five-sided walls,
the spirit of her pine trees,
her Pushkin, Stenka
and her elders.If it wasn't sweet,
I didn't bother too much.
Let me live awkwardly
I lived for Russia.And I have hope,
(full of secret worries)
that at least a little
I helped Russia.Let her forget
about me without difficulty,
just let it be
forever, forever.White snows are falling
as always,
as under Pushkin, Stenka
and how after me,It's snowing big,
painfully bright
both mine and others'
covering my tracks.It's not possible to be immortal
but my hope:
if there is Russia,
that means I will too.
Analysis of Yevtushenko’s poem “White Snows Are Coming...”
Yevgeny Yevtushenko, like many poets of the Soviet era, was forced to write poems praising the communist system and preaching the ideals of a workers' and peasants' society. However, this did not prevent him from remaining a true patriot of his homeland and serving the Russian people. An example of this is the poem “White Snows Are Falling...”, written in 1965, in which the author sums up his work and expresses the hope that he did not live his life in vain.
The first part of the poem is devoted to discussions about life and death. Yevtushenko notes that he wants to “live and live in the world, but, probably, it’s impossible.” The poet emphasizes that he does not expect immortality and does not hope for a miracle. Sooner or later, his turn will come to leave for another world, so the author is worried about the thought of what exactly he will leave behind.
In this case, we are not talking about creative heritage, since during the period when this work was created, Yevtushenko’s poems were criticized by all and sundry, accusing the poet of sycophancy. Therefore, the author declares that his most valuable asset is that all his life he sincerely and devotedly loved Russia, its wooden huts, fields and forests, its amazing people, full of their own pride and fortitude. The poet emphasizes that “even though I lived hard, I lived for Russia.” And he hopes that his life was not in vain, and his work helped his native country become stronger, more successful and prosperous.
Yevtushenko does not put himself on a par with the classics of Russian literature, but emphasizes that any poet is mortal. And the fate to leave this world was destined for more famous writers than him. At the same time, the “white snows” covered up the traces of people who played an iconic role in Russian poetry, and the author will not be an exception to the huge list of iconic figures, in which he assigns the first place to Pushkin.
Yevtushenko himself does not believe in immortality in the generally accepted sense of the word; he does not consider himself higher and better than others to be awarded such an honor. Nevertheless, the author expresses the hope that “if there is Russia, then I will be there too.” With this phrase, the poet emphasizes that he cannot imagine his existence without a country, which for him is not just his homeland. Russia is key image in Yevtushenko’s civil lyrics, which the author examines not only through the prism historical events. In the poet’s concept, Russia is something eternal and unshakable: people pass away, but a great power remains, being a symbol of the power and authority of the Slavic peoples.
“White snow is falling...” - Evtushenko E.A.
Evgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko came to poetry in the wake of the “thaw of the sixties”. A bright, original talent immediately attracted the attention of readers and critics. For about forty years, Yevtushenko has been the voice of truth and conscience of Russia.
The poem “White Snows Are Coming” is one of the poet’s earliest lyric poems, but it can be considered programmatic in the work of Evgeniy Alexandrovich. Still, in essence, a young guy talks about eternal questions: life and death, creativity and immortality, the inviolability of his native land.
White snows are falling
As if sliding on a thread...
To live and live in the world, yes, it’s probably impossible.
Something of the soul, without a trace
dissolving into the distance, like white snow, coming into the sky from the earth.
The more carefully you read the poem, the more philosophical meaning is revealed behind these seemingly simple lines. Here is the connection between generations, and the understanding that immortality can only be achieved through true creativity, and the great, all-conquering love for the Motherland.
And I loved Russia
with all the blood, the ridge -
its rivers are in flood
and when under the ice,
the spirit of her five-walled,
the spirit of her pine trees,
her Pushkin, Stenka
and her elders.
It is not a contradiction, but a barely visible, timid hope that sounds about people’s memory, the opportunity to leave one’s name in the history of this great country.
And I'm hopeful
(full of secret worries),
that at least a little bit I
Helped Russia. Let her forget
about me without difficulty, just let it
she will be forever, forever.
Following his great predecessors: Pushkin, Lermontov, Nekrasov, Yevtushenko expresses his wish and hope for the immortality of Russia, and therefore his own.
It's not possible to be immortal
but my hope:
if there is Russia
that means I will too.
In the poem, the poet uses his favorite technique - a ring composition. The phrase “white snow is falling” sounds like a refrain. This is a lucky find of the master, helping him to show the inviolability of nature and Russia over the centuries, and the connection of times, and the transience of time.
It's snowing big,
painfully bright
both mine and others'
covering my tracks...
This is one of the best poems in the mature work of Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko - a gifted, bright, original poet.
Read by E. Kindinov
Evtushenko, Evgeniy Alexandrovich
Poet, screenwriter, film director; co-chairman of the writers' association "April", secretary of the board of the Commonwealth of Writers' Unions; born July 18, 1933 at the station. Winter in the Irkutsk region; graduated from the Literary Institute. A. M. Gorky in 1954; began publishing in 1949; was a member of the editorial board of the magazine "Youth" (1962-1969); member of the Union of Writers of the USSR, author of the poems "Bratsk Hydroelectric Power Station", "Kazan University", "Under the Skin of the Statue of Liberty", "Fuku", "Mom and the Neutron Bomb", the novel "Berry Places" and many other prose and poetic works.
Yevtushenko wrote that in his youth he was “a product of the Stalin era, a mixed-mixed creature in which revolutionary romance, an animal instinct for survival, devotion to poetry, and its frivolous betrayal at every step coexisted.” Since the late 50s, his popularity has been fueled by numerous performances, sometimes 300-400 times a year. In 1963, Yevtushenko published his “Premature Autobiography” in the West German magazine “Stern” and in the French weekly “Express”. In it, he spoke about existing anti-Semitism, about Stalin’s “heirs”, wrote about the literary bureaucracy, about the need to open borders, about the artist’s right to a variety of styles outside the rigid framework of socialist realism. The publication abroad of such a work and some of its provisions were sharply criticized at the IV Plenum of the Board of the Union of Writers of the USSR in March 1963. Yevtushenko made a repentant speech in which he said that in his autobiography he wanted to show that the ideology of communism was, is and will be the basis of his entire life. Subsequently, Yevtushenko often made compromises. Many readers began to be skeptical about his work, which received, in many respects, a journalistic, opportunistic orientation. With the beginning of perestroika, which Yevtushenko warmly supported, his social activities intensified; he spoke a lot in print and at various meetings; Within the Writers' Union, the confrontation intensified between it and a group of "soil writers" led by S. Kunyaev and Yu. Bondarev. He believes that the economic prosperity of a society should be harmoniously combined with the spiritual.
Everything is quite natural. Every time I sit on the sofa, looking at my bookcase, the book “White Snow is Falling” by Evgeniy Yevtushenko catches my eye. She looks at me challengingly, testing my patience. And so, literally, the other day I couldn’t resist the temptation and opened it, stumbling upon a poem with the same name. After reading to the end, I was very upset. There were many unclear points left after reading that haunted me, so I decided to conduct a little “literary investigation.” I tried to understand the author, about whom Evgeny Vinokurov wrote in the introductory article: “a detailed poet, Yevtushenko likes to tell stories slowly, he loves the plot.”
“White snow is falling,
like sliding on a thread...
To live and live in the world,
Yes, probably not.”
Personally, for me the word “snow” raises deep doubts, or rather doubts about the existence of this word as such. Perhaps the author uses it in the plural to show that snow is falling everywhere. In addition, the poem was dated about half a century ago and it is difficult to say anything clearly. Already in the first quatrain there is a repetition of “to live and live in the world.” There is a feeling that the author writes quickly and casually. You can think and find more precise words to convey the meaning, for example: “I wish I could live forever in the world.”
"Someone's souls, without a trace
Dissolving into the distance
like white snow,
they go to heaven from the earth.”
A very subtle and figurative metaphor about souls that, like white snow, go to heaven after leaving their corporeal shell. The problem is that it is difficult for the average reader to understand. Here it is worth considering that Yevtushenko is a poet with a social orientation of “a tenfold sense of the day of life, of being,” for which snow must certainly fall to the ground, and not fly up to the heavens. This goes against his writing style.
“I don’t believe in miracles.
I'm not snow, I'm not a star,
and I won't do it anymore
never ever".
This unnecessary repetition of “never, never” negates the meaning of the entire written quatrain, or rather, it simply becomes unclear what the author is talking about, what he wants to convey with these lines, what idea he was going to convey to the reader. We can only guess and assume. Why does the author deliberately use repetitions, when you can think, and a new line will definitely appear, more accurate, more clear. It may take an hour or half a day, but it's worth it. The reader will be grateful.
"If it was hard,
I didn't bother too much.
Let me live awkwardly -
I lived for Russia.”
It is impossible to ignore these lines; it is very precisely and wisely said: “Even though I lived awkwardly, I lived for Russia.” The imprecise rhyme indicates that the author paid special attention to the meaning, and not to the external facet of the poem, and was right. The lines turned out to be extremely memorable and life-like.
"Let her forget
About me without difficulty,
Just let it be
Forever, forever..."
It is obvious that the author emphasizes repetition. Perhaps this is a kind of refrain and a wonderful line for a song, but I’m talking about poetry now. This is not the first time in the course of the poem that such lines appear. I would like to draw attention to this, since again the meaning that the author puts into this quatrain is lost. Even though the meaning is clear even without the last line, the reader is still left slightly perplexed, unsure of his guesses. Of course, you can think and compose a more precise line, for example: “just let her always be in my heart,” but the author does not set such a goal.
In addition, the size of the poem is confusing. Usually in such situations, the reader, having read the poem to the end, begins to intensively scratch his head, remembering what happened at the beginning. In this poem the situation is the opposite. It seems that thanks to the same lines we are marking time in one place. Here lines emerge about Pushkin and Stenka, about immortality. What can be contained in one quatrain, the author manages to stretch it into several, and completely without reason.
Summing up the results of my little “literary investigation”, I would like to note that repetitions brought a special discord into the poems, thanks to which a seemingly simple poem was filled with many unnecessary and incomprehensible riddles to the reader, which there was no longer any energy or time left to solve.
Evgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko died... My favorite poet... I remember his poems, piercing, eternal:
"White snow is falling,
As if sliding on a thread...
To live and live in the world,
But probably not.
Someone's soul without a trace,
Dissolving into the distance.
Like white snow
They go to heaven from earth.
White snow is falling...
And I will leave too.
I'm not sad about death
And I don’t expect immortality.
I don't believe in miracles
I am not snow, not a star.
And I won't do it anymore
Never ever.
And I think, sinner,
Well, who was I?
That I'm hasty in life
Did you love more than life?
And I loved Russia
With all the blood, the ridge-
Its rivers are in flood.
And when under the ice.
The spirit of her five-walled.
The spirit of her pine forests.
Her Pushkin, Stenka
And her old people.
If it wasn't sweet,
I didn't bother too much.
Let me live awkwardly.
I lived for Russia.
And I'm hopeful
(full of secret worries)
That at least a little
I helped Russia.
Let her forget
About me without any difficulty.
Just let it be.
Forever, forever.
White snows are falling
As always,
Like under Pushkin, Stenka
And like after me.
It's snowing big,
Painfully bright
Both mine and others'
Covering my tracks.
It's not possible to be immortal
But my hope
If there is Russia,
So, I will too..."
Thank you, Evgeniy Alexandrovich, for this confessional, sincere poem, for your creativity...
Your Russia will not forget you... And you will always be with us...
You felt it yourself: our love, gratitude during your last visit to your country.
Thank you for deciding to find your last refuge in your homeland, in Peredelkino... Next to Pasternak... So they believed in our love, for you, your creativity...
Your readers will have the opportunity to come and venerate your ashes...
You will forgive us... The Lord gave you a long life... You were needed on this Earth... Your creativity is immortal.. This means you can live forever... You were wrong about this...
You, our great poet, have said many things that excite and touch the soul... Bows to you and recognition... Eternal memory...
Thank you for the truth... Yesterday I listened to your conversations with Solomon Volkov all evening.. Not a shadow of guile... You had a presentiment of your departure... That's why the meeting took place, according to your desire.. And you put it off for so long... Good that we managed...
You said that you had to tell us... About yourself, your contemporaries... And bad things about no one... Thank you.. They only blamed themselves for everything... Piercing frankness is worth a lot..
And in the White Studio... Only the truth... Compliments to the presenter... Until the end of your life - You are a ladies' man... The same, young, irresistible, Zhenya Yevtushenko...
Your poems remained with us... Life is reflected in books, films... Documentary footage... We will not forget... We will read and re-read... And when we leave, following you, your poems will remain for our children.. Thank you for everything... You are still with us...
I said goodbye... My soul is a little bit lighter... Although there are tears in my eyes... And next to me are poems...
