On the right of memory
In the genre-thematic plan – this lyrical and philosophical meditation, “road diary”, with a weakened plot. The characters of the poem are an immense Soviet country, its people, a swift turn of their deeds and accomplishments. The text of the poem contains a joking recognition of the author – a passenger of the train “Moscow-Vladivostok”. Three gave the artist a glimpse: the unimaginability of the geographical expanses of Russia; historical distance as the continuity of generations and the realization of the inseparable connection of times and destinies, and finally, the bottomlessness of the moral storehouses of the soul of the lyric hero.
The poem “By right of memory” was originally conceived by the author as one of the “additional” chapters to the poem “For the distance – the distance,” acquired in the course of the work an independent character. Although “By right of memory” does not have a genre designation in the subtitle, and the poet himself, who is true to the notions of literary modesty, sometimes called this work a poetic “cycle,” it is quite obvious that this is a lyric poem, the last major work of the author, Vasily Terkin. It was finished and the poet himself was prepared for printing two years before his death.
In the introduction Tvardovsky declares that these are frank lines, the confession of the soul:
In the face of the departed,
You can not blame the soul, –
After all, we were paid by the
pay the biggest…
The poem compositionally breaks up into three parts. In the first part, the poet with a warm feeling, a bit ironically recalls his youthful dreams and plans.
And where, who of us will have,
In which year, in which edge
Behind the cock, that hoarse To hear
These dreams are pure and high: to live and work for the good of the Motherland. And if necessary, you will give your life for it. Beautiful youthful dreams. The poet remembers with a bitter bitterness those naive times and the youngsters who could not even imagine how much severe and severe trials fate is preparing for them:
We were ready for the campaign.
What could be easier:
To love your motherland, To love
her for fire and water.
And if –
Only from ourselves we will add.
Which is easier – yes.
But what is more difficult?
The second chapter, “Son for father is not responsible,” is the most tragic in the poem, and in all of his work. Illegally dekulakized Tvardovsky family was exiled to Siberia. In Russia there was only Alexander Trifonovich because he lived separately from his family in Smolensk. He could not alleviate the fate of those exiled. In fact, he refused the family. This tormented the poet all his life. This non-healing wound Tvardovsky turned into a poem “By the right of memory.”
End your dashing adversity,
Hold on, do not hide your face.
Thank the father of the peoples.
That he forgave your father.
A difficult time, which philosophers can not understand here fifty years later. And what about the young man who believes in official propaganda and ideology. The duality of the situation is reflected in the poem.
Yes, he knew how to do without reservations,
Suddenly – how can he care –
Any heap of his miscalculations
Transfer to someone’s account:
To someone’s enemy distortion of the one
who proclaimed the covenant.
On someone’s dizzy
From their predicted victories.
The poet seeks to comprehend the course of history. Understand what was the fault of the repressed peoples. Who allowed this state of affairs, when one decided the fate of peoples. And all were guilty before him already in that they were alive.
In the third chapter of the poem, Tvardovsky affirms the human right to memory. We have no right to forget anything. As long as we remember, our forefathers, their deeds and exploits are “alive”. Memory is a person’s privilege, and he can not voluntarily give up God’s gift to please anyone. The poet says:
Who hides the past jealously,
He is hardly with the future in harmony…
This poem is a kind of Tvardovsky’s repentance for his youthful deeds, mistakes. We all make mistakes in our youth, sometimes fatal, but the poem does not give birth to us. In a great poet, even grief and tears flow into brilliant poems.
And you that now try to
restore the former grace,
So you really call Stalin –
He was God –
He can get up.