Александр Пушкин — Стишки для вас одна забава (Разговор книгопродавца с поэтом)

Stishki dlya vas odna zabava,
Nemnozhko stoit vam prisest,
Uzh razglasit uspela slava
Vezde priatneyshuyu vest:
Poema, govoryat, gotova,
Plod novy umstvennykh zatey.
Itak, reshite; zhdu ya slova:
Naznachte sami tsenu yey.
Stishki lyubimtsa muz i gratsy
My vmig rublyami zamenim
I v puk nalichnykh assignatsy
Listochki vashi obratim...
O chem vzdokhnuli tak gluboko?
Nelzya l uznat?

Ya byl daleko:
Ya vremya to vospominal,
Kogda, nadezhdami bogaty,
Poet bespechny, ya pisal
Iz vdokhnovenya, ne iz platy.
Ya videl vnov priyuty skal
I temny krov uyedinenya,
Gde ya na pir voobrazhenya,
Byvalo, muzu prizyval.
Tam slashche golos moy zvuchal;
Tam dole yarkiye videnya,
S neizyasnimoyu krasoy,
Vilis, letali nado mnoy
V chasy nochnogo vdokhnovenya!..
Vse volnovalo nezhny um:
Tsvetushchy lug, luny blistanye,
V chasovne vetkhoy buri shum,
Starushki chudnoye predanye.
Kakoy-to demon obladal
Moimi igrami, dosugom;
Za mnoy povsyudu on letal,
Mne zvuki divnye sheptal,
I tyazhkim, plamennym nedugom
Byla polna moya glava;
V ney grezy chudnye rozhdalis;
V razmery stroynye stekalis
Moi poslushnye slova
I zvonkoy rifmoy zamykalis.
V garmonii sopernik moy
Byl shum lesov, il vikhor buyny,
Il ivolgi napev zhivoy,
Il nochyu morya gul glukhoy,
Il shopot rechki tikhostruynoy.
Togda, v bezmolvii trudov,
Delitsya ne byl ya gotov
S tolpoyu plamennym vostorgom,
I muzy sladostnykh darov
Ne unizhal postydnym torgom;
Ya byl khranitel ikh skupoy:
Tak tochno, v gordosti nemoy,
Ot vzorov cherni litsemernoy
Dary lyubovnitsy mladoy
Khranit lyubovnik suyeverny.

No slava zamenila vam
Mechtanya taynogo otrady:
Vy razoshlisya po rukam,
Mezh tem kak pylnye gromady
Lezhaloy prozy i stikhov
Naprasno zhdut sebe chtetsov
I vetrenoy yee nagrady.

Blazhen, kto pro sebya tail
Dushi vysokiye sozdanya
I ot lyudey, kak ot mogil,
Ne zhdal za chuvstvo vozdayanya!
Blazhen, kto molcha byl poet
I, ternom slavy ne uvity,
Prezrennoy cherniyu zabyty,
Bez imeni pokinul svet!
Obmanchivey i snov nadezhdy,
Chto slava? shepot li chtetsa?
Gonenye l nizkogo nevezhdy?
Il voskhishcheniye gluptsa?

Lord Bayron byl togo zhe mnenya;
Zhukovsky to zhe govoril;
No svet uznal i raskupil
Ikh sladkozvuchnye tvorenya.
I vpryam, zaviden vash udel:
Poet kaznit, poet venchayet;
Zlodeyev gromom vechnykh strel
V potomstve dalnom porazhayet;
Geroyev uteshayet on;
S Korinnoy na kifersky tron
Svoyu lyubovnitsu voznosit.
Khvala dlya vas dokuchny zvon;
No serdtse zhenshchin slavy prosit:
Dlya nikh pishite; ikh usham
Priatna lest Anakreona:
V mladye leta rozy nam
Dorozhe lavrov Gelikona.

Samolyubivye mechty,
Utekhi yunosti bezumnoy!
I ya, sred buri zhizni shumnoy,
Iskal vnimanya krasoty.
Glaza prelestnye chitali
Menya s ulybkoyu lyubvi;
Usta volshebnye sheptali
Mne zvuki sladkiye moi...
No polno! v zhertvu im svobody
Mechtatel uzh ne prineset;
Puskay ikh yunosha poyet,
Lyubezny baloven prirody.
Chto mne do nikh? Teper v glushi
Bezmolvno zhizn moya nesetsya;
Ston liry vernoy ne kosnetsya
Ikh legkoy, vetrenoy dushi;
Ne chisto v nikh voobrazhenye:
Ne ponimayet nas ono,
I, priznak boga, vdokhnovenye
Dlya nikh i chuzhdo i smeshno.
Kogda na pamyat mne nevolno
Pridet vnushenny imi stikh,
Ya tak i vspykhnu, serdtsu bolno:
Mne stydno idolov moikh.
K chemu, neschastny, ya stremilsya?
Pred kem unizil gordy um?
Kogo vostorgom chistykh dum
Bogotvorit ne ustydilsya?..

Lyublyu vash gnev. Takov poet!
Prichiny vashikh ogorcheny
Mne znat nelzya; no isklyucheny
Dlya milykh dam uzheli net?
Uzheli ni odna ne stoit
Ni vdokhnovenya, ni strastey,
I vashikh pesen ne prisvoit
Vsesilnoy krasote svoyey?
Molchite vy? Zachem poetu
Trevozhit serdtsa tyazhky son?
Besplodno pamyat muchit on.
I chto zh? kakoye delo svetu?
Ya vsem chuzhoy!.. dusha moya
Khranit li obraz nezabvenny?
Lyubvi blazhenstvo znal li ya?
Toskoyu l dolgoy iznurenny,
Tail ya slezy v tishine?
Gde ta byla, kotoroy ochi,
Kak nebo, ulybalis mne?
Vsya zhizn, odna li, dve li nochi?
I chto zh? Dokuchny ston lyubvi,
Slova pokazhutsya moi
Bezumtsa dikim lepetanyem.
Tam serdtse ikh poymet odno,
I to s pechalnym sodroganyem:
Sudboyu tak uzh resheno.
Akh, mysl o toy dushi zavyaloy
Mogla by yunost ozhivit
I sny poezii byvaloy
Tolpoyu snova vozmutit!..
Ona odna by razumela
Stikhi neyasnye moi;
Odna by v serdtse plamenela
Lampadoy chistoyu lyubvi!
Uvy, naprasnye zhelanya!
Ona otvergla zaklinanya,
Molby, tosku dushi moyey:
Zemnykh vostorgov izlianya,
Kak bozhestvu, ne nuzhno yey!..

Itak, lyubovyu utomlenny,
Naskucha lepetom molvy,
Zarane otkazalis vy
Ot vashey liry vdokhnovennoy.
Teper, ostavya shumny svet,
I muz, i vetrenuyu modu,
Chto zh izberete vy? Svobodu.

Prekrasno. Vot zhe vam sovet;
Vnemlite istine poleznoy:
Nash vek — torgash; v sey vek zhelezny
Bez deneg i svobody net.
Chto slava? — Yarkaya zaplata
Na vetkhom rubishche pevtsa.
Nam nuzhno zlata, zlata, zlata:
Kopite zlato do kontsa!
Predvizhu vashe vozrazhenye;
No vas ya znayu, gospoda:
Vam vashe dorogo tvorenye,
Poka na plameni truda
Kipit, burlit voobrazhenye;
Ono zastynet, i togda
Postylo vam i sochinenye.
Pozvolte prosto vam skazat:
Ne prodayetsya vdokhnovenye,
No mozhno rukopis prodat.
Chto zh medlit? uzh ko mne zakhodyat
Neterpelivye chtetsy;
Vkrug lavki zhurnalisty brodyat,
Za nimi toshchiye pevtsy:
Kto prosit pishchi dlya satiry,
Kto dlya dushi, kto dlya pera;
I priznayus — ot vashey liry
Predvizhu mnogo ya dobra.

Vy sovershenno pravy.
Vot vam moya rukopis.
Uslovimsya.

Razgovor knigoprodavtsa s poetom