Monument to the writer

Having learned the topic of the composition, I immediately realized the monument to which writer I would like to write. Of course, about the monument to Lermontov. Why him? I’ll try to explain.

The name of the remarkable Russian poet Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov is familiar to us for a long time. And we already know a lot about him, but every meeting with a poet always brings something new, because he was not just a poet or a prose writer-he played the violin, piano, sang, composed music for his own poetry. He painted with colors from nature and from memory, did pencil sketches. Lermontov spoke many languages: French, German, English, and read Latin. Living in the Caucasus, he studied the Azerbaijani language. He remembered by heart thousands of lines from the works of big and small poets.

Lermontov was an extremely gifted man! He was destined to become an enduring grief and favorite writer of many generations of readers. Why? Because, probably, that each of us is

familiar with a feeling of sadness and tenderness, melancholy and pride that inevitably arises, you barely open a volume of his poems, barely glance at a sad young face with sad clever eyes, at the same time such an ugly and such beautiful face doomed to long suffering and the short life of man.

Lermontov was the lyrical hero of almost all his poems. As a true great poet, he confessed in his poetry, and, leafing through the volumes of his writings, each of us seeks to read the history of his soul and understand him as a poet and a person. And, of course, each of us has his own, close to him, Lermontov.

I think the monument to the poet should stand in the Caucasus, where there are so many colors, sounds of life, where something always perishes and is born again. In the sky ragged clouds rush or quietly float clouds – celestial wanderers, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. Below with a roar, huge waves of the terrible Black Sea crash down to the shore, or, in quiet hours, quietly caress the coastal boulders. But the mountains are always majestic – they rise above the sea, raging and roaring

or azure and calm, they stop the swift running of the clouds or allow them to throw a fluffy veil over their proud shoulders.

It is in the mountains where the movement of the forces of nature never ceases, where the snow shafts roll down or the rock falls, in the mountains whose beauty so captivated the imagination of the poet, the grandeur of which he so admired, should stand the majestic granite monument to Lermontov. Granite – the stone of the mountains – is the most suitable material to convey the most important thing in the character of the poet. I think the poet should stand on the pedestal, in full growth, in military uniform. Gathered, energetic. Figure – looking forward. The wind that follows the waves, as it were, waves the hair and the floors of the open uniform. A slight smile plays on his lips, and the sight of strict intelligent eyes is directed into the distance-forward, into the future. So much he could still see, feel, say.

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Monument to the writer