Tvardovsky at the bottom of my life acting reading. Analysis of poem A

In the book “Honestly I Pulled My Cart,” named after a line by Alexander Tvardovsky and compiled by his devoted biographer Andrei Turkov, among fragments from the memoirs of contemporaries, letters, poems and diary entries of the poet himself, I came across one seemingly inconspicuous passage.
“...The first lightly frosty spring morning, a walk to Dmitrievsky, roosters in the village, a church on the steep bank of the Istra, a pine forest along a steep cliff, silence, light clean freshness and cheerfulness, a snowy floodplain of the river in the haze along the horizon, space, quiet joy, at least pray there just right."
Alexander Tvardovsky, entry in Workbook dated March 24, 1955.
This recording became for me another personal meeting with Alexander Trifonovich, whom, of course, I had never seen in my life, but about whom I have been thinking since one person close to me read a poem from memory "At the bottom of my life":

At the bottom of my life
at the very bottom
I want it
sit in the sun
On a warm foam.

And so that the foliage
the fallen one showed off
In oblique rays
not far off in the evening.
And let it be so
that there is a lot of hassle -
Your entire age
there's nothing to say about that.

I think my own
I’ll listen without interference,
I'll draw the line
with an old man's wand:
No, still not
nothing, just for the occasion
I've been here
and checked the box.

Alexander Tvardovsky, 1967

...Hearing these verses, I remember, I gasped: could it be that this humble, quiet and wise word came out of the well-baked Soviet writer, author of “Vasily Terkin” and an unbending fighter for the magazine island of freedom called “ New world»?
IN last years, thanks to the publication of his diaries, the inquisitive reader began to reveal in its entirety not only the dramatic fate of this great man, but also his soul: heroic, suffering. In relation to himself, he was extremely honest, at least in the space of poetry.

It doesn't take much work
Skills and courage,
So that the lines rhyme, no matter where,
Draw it up on paper.

It’s thick in the shape of a Christmas tree,
Although one-sided
It’s in the form of a steep ladder,
Although not high.

But you fight, you fight, this way and that -
They won't get off the paper.
As old Marshak says:
Darling, not enough traction...

The firewood seems to be dry,
The stove doesn't play.
Poems are like poetry,
Not a word of truth.

You blame for failure
To the machinations in this world:
Why not poetry? No worse than those
Poems in the “New World”.

But conscience, that sly
It will tell you soon:
No worse - little honor,
No better - that's what grief is.

Still young, little demand:
Play. But God forbid
To live to see gray hair
Serving empty fun.

He was not religious, but he was always there, no matter how high the everyday “line of life” elevated him, a living part of the soul of the people, who latently retained a longing for Eternity. He knew what it was: to appreciate the fate given to us and rejoice in every day we lived. The wisdom of his lyrics touches the thinking heart of the reader.

“At the bottom of my life...” Alexander Tvardovsky

At the bottom of my life, at the very bottom, I want to sit in the sun, on the warm foam. And so that the fallen foliage would show off in the slanting rays of the recent evening. And let it be so, that there is no small hassle - Your entire age, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll overhear my thoughts without interference, I’ll draw a line with an old man’s wand: No, still no, it’s okay that by chance I was here and checked the box.

Analysis of Tvardovsky’s poem “At the bottom of my life...”

They say that every person, to one degree or another, anticipates his death and internally prepares for the transition to another world. For some, one moment is enough for this, for others it takes years to realize own mistakes and their correction. Poets feel the approach of death especially acutely, since spirituality is the most important component of their life and creativity. It is therefore not surprising that almost every author has poems that touch on this dark topic.

Alexander Tvardovsky in this regard is no exception, since in 1967, 4 years before his death, he wrote the poem “At the Bottom of My Life...”. The poet, who celebrated his 57th birthday and by all earthly standards is considered by no means an old man, still feels himself to have approached that cherished point after which life in its physical sense ends. And it is at this stage that Tvardovsky admits that he wants to “sit in the sun, on the warm foam.”

Trying on the role of an old man, the poet sees certain advantages in it. After all, it is during this period of life that everyone has the opportunity to rethink their own actions without interference, without haste and without unnecessary emotions. “I’ll draw the line with an old man’s stick,” the poet notes, and in these lines lies such an amazing peace that death no longer seems like some kind of catastrophe and does not cause fear. Of course, the unknown still causes the poet some anxiety, because he can only guess about what will happen next. Nevertheless, Tvardovsky is convinced that after death life does not end, but only moves to a different plane. It is no coincidence that wise people claim that on earth they are just guests, and eternity awaits them ahead

The poet does not try to answer the question of why a person comes into this world. Apparently, each of us has a specific mission, after which the meaning of continuing life is lost. Tvardovsky himself is convinced that he did not do anything outstanding, but he also did not commit actions for which he could not receive forgiveness. “It’s okay that I visited here by chance and checked the box,” this is how the poet characterizes his own life. He does not seek to evaluate his own creativity, leaving this privilege to others. After all, in eternity there are no titles and awards, honors and titles. Apparently, this truth is revealed shortly before death to the poet, who begins to perceive death with calm curiosity and even some indifference, as if preparing to meet an old friend.

Every creative person has a subtle structure of his soul, therefore, he especially feels the changes taking place around him. Poets and writers are no exception. They quite often feel a connection with the other world, the presence of various mystical creatures in the human environment. Often, poets have a presentiment of their death and dedicate gloomy, however, very prophetic literary works to this event.

A. Tvardovsky was no exception. A few years before his death, he creates the poem “At the Bottom of My Life...”. At that time, the poet was 57 years old, and he did not yet consider himself an old man. However, at some point, Tvardovsky realized that his life’s journey was coming to an end.

Trying to imagine himself in the role of an old man, Tvardovsky understands that this has its advantages. When there is no longer any rush around, when you can calmly reflect on your former life, you understand what the beauty of that very old age is. A period of peace and silence begins. And at this moment death ceases to seem scary and frightening.

Of course, the author’s soul still feels a slight excitement from the unknown that awaits him ahead. However, these are completely reasonable emotions. Tvardovsky is one of those people who believe in life after death, so he is sure that after death, a person moves to a different, unknown plane.

Anticipating his death, A. Tvardovsky rethinks the essence of life. He does not try to evaluate his work and the literary legacy that will remain after him. According to the poet, other people - critics and fans - should do this. The understanding that life will soon end rewards A. Tvardovsky with peace of mind and tranquility, and a respectful attitude towards death.

Alexander Tvardovsky “At the bottom of my life...”

At the bottom of my life

At the very bottom

I want it

Sit in the sun

On a warm foam.

And so that the foliage

The fallen one showed off

In oblique rays

Not far off in the evening.

And let it be so

What a considerable hassle -

Your entire age

There's nothing to say about that.

I think my own

I can listen without interruption,

I'll draw the line

With an old man's wand:

No, still not

Nothing, just for the occasion

I've been here

And checked the box.

A. Tvardovsky’s poem “At the Bottom of My Life...” was written shortly before his death, during a difficult time of persecution of the poet, once favored by the authorities, beloved by the people, the author of the poem “Vasily Terkin” and piercing poems about the war. Meanwhile, Tvardovsky was not old at all then, he was full of creative ideas. But, apparently, the time has come to take stock of my life. Unusually demanding of himself and others, Tvardovsky was tormented by a feeling of guilt that he did not help someone, did not notice a spark of talent in someone and did not publish in the magazine “New World”, of which he was the editor, was cunning somewhere, agreed with the authorities . But it was he who discovered the terrible truth about Stalin’s camps, publishing in his magazine A. I. Solzhenitsyn’s story “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich”; the first poets of the Khrushchev Thaw were published in Novy Mir. A. T. Tvardovsky did a lot for Russian literature, for culture as a whole, for awakening people's conscience and memory, and civic responsibility. And in the poem, the poet modestly sums it up: “I visited here and checked the box.”

The first impression when reading the poem is that any old person, at the same time simple, honest, conscientious, can reason like this. Tvardovsky wrote nothing about his creative activity, she remained outside the brackets. Apparently, the human, moral component is more important to him, and even this is not said. He writes very sparingly, extremely laconically about his thoughts. The poem is written with Tvardovsky’s usual “inconspicuous skill”; there is no sense of “madeness”, no pathos. It is very simple in form. Somehow quietly, as if to oneself, but at the same time they speak sincerely and confessionally about the life they have lived. The poet seems to be asking himself: what did he live for? Is it worthy? And he doesn’t sum up his life now, but only intends to do so in the future. It is no coincidence that the verbs are used in the future tense: “I want to sit in the sun”, “I will overhear my thoughts without interference, I will draw the line with an old man’s stick.” But the reader understands that Tvardovsky may feel that his days are numbered, so he rushes to say something important for himself and others. At the same time, the fear of death is not felt, the intonation is outwardly calm, but hidden sadness shines through in every line. The poet seems to be saying goodbye to everything that is dear to him. Perhaps that is why Tvardovsky calls familiar things so affectionately, in a homely way, using diminutive suffixes: “at the very bottom,” “to sit in the sun, on a warm foam.” But how bitter are the words “at the bottom of my life, at the very bottom”! It hurts to realize that your stay on earth is limited to such a small thing. And yet, one feels peace and tranquility, justified by one’s entire honest life, the belief that it was not in vain that one “was here.”

It is no coincidence that the poet, living through his autumn, writes so brightly about this time of year. He dreams “that the fallen foliage would show off in the slanting rays of the not-too-distant evening.” So little and so much! “Not far off evening” is a metaphor that also refers to the decline of a person’s life. There must have been a lot of hard and bitter things, a load of grievances, doubts and disappointments weighing on our shoulders:

And let it be so

What a considerable hassle -

Your entire age

There's nothing to say about that.

Tvardovsky wisely interrupts the sad flow of thoughts, because you can’t cross out your life, then it will become hateful and meaningless - “but there’s no point in talking about that.” Therefore, the pace of the poem in the last stanza seems to get lost, speeds up, the poet, like a spell, repeating the words of denial and doubt: “no, still no, nothing,” finally comes to the thought - life has not been lived in vain. And in the last lines, the poet remains true to himself, his honesty and modesty - having done so much for Russian literature, he sums it up: “I’ve been here and checked the box.” Just a tick on the list of people who have passed into eternity. But for us, readers, this is not so; it is no coincidence that we re-read the lines over and over again:

And among the dead, the voiceless,

there is one consolation:

We fell for our homeland, but it was saved.

________

Without us they will sum up perfectly

And maybe they will lie less than ours.

_________

And I still don’t hide my confession:

I need it, dear to the point of tears

As a result - a firm consciousness,

That honestly I pulled my cart.

And this is all Tvardovsky is - great in his simplicity, humane, sincere, a true citizen of his Russia.