Pushkin's genius always manifested itself in the most acute, critical periods of his life. Anyone who wants to get acquainted with the philosophical lyrics of the great poet should read the poem “Demons” by Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, written during the first “Boldino autumn”.
The poem was written in 1830, when Alexander Sergeevich again wooed N.N. Goncharova and received consent. Autumn found him in Boldino, where the poet arrived to settle matters related to inheritance. Due to cholera quarantines that began in the capital, Pushkin was forced to stay on the estate for three months. This is how the first “Boldino autumn” began, which became the highest point of the work of the great Russian poet.
In “Demons” Pushkin returns to the topic of Russian folklore that interests him. The main theme of this work is a journey into a blizzard, which causes true horror even in a brave person. The lyrical hero, frightened by the rampant elements, asks the coachman to drive the horses without sparing. The man's answer is typical of a Russian peasant in the first half of the 19th century. It is the evil spirit that fools travelers; it is she who lured them into a snow trap.
The coachman tells the master about how he repeatedly encountered demons on the road. In the end, the lyrical hero himself “sees” the eyes of evil spirits burning in the darkness.
Pushkin's works of the 30s differ markedly from his “rebellious” early work. This is already a mature Pushkin, condescending towards the obscurantism of the common people, but sharply speaking out against demons in human form - representatives of the ruling elite.
The mysticism of “Demons,” a poem taught in a 6th grade lesson, is closely intertwined with realism. There are no notes of abstract spiritualism in it, which is rich in foreign literature of those times. According to A. Herzen, Pushkin’s muse is “too rich in true feelings to look for imaginary ones.” In this poem, the poet draws an analogy between the rampant evil spirits and the secular Moscow balls, which do not stop even during a cholera epidemic.
This poem is quite easy to learn. Like all of Pushkin’s poetry, it easily evokes vivid images, and therefore is quickly remembered.
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
I'm driving, driving in an open field;
Bell ding-ding-ding.
Scary, scary involuntarily
Among the unknown plains!
“Hey, let’s go, coachman!” - “No urine:
It’s hard for the horses, master,
The blizzard blinds my eyes,
All roads were skidded;
For the life of me, there is no trace;
We've lost our way. What should we do?
The demon leads us into the field, apparently
Yes, it circles around.
Look: there he is playing,
Blows, spits on me,
There - now he’s pushing into the ravine
Wild horse;
There's an unprecedented mileage there
He stood in front of me
There he sparkled with a small spark
And he disappeared into the darkness empty.”
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling,
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy
We don’t have the strength to spin around anymore;
The bell suddenly fell silent;
The horses began... “What’s there in the field?” –
“Who knows? stump or wolf?
The blizzard is angry, the blizzard is crying,
Sensitive horses snore,
Now he's galloping far away;
Only the eyes glow in the darkness;
The horses rushed again;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
I see: the spirits have gathered
Among the white plains.
Endless, ugly,
In the muddy game of the month
Various demons began to spin,
Like leaves in November...
How many are there? where are they being driven?
Why are they singing so pitifully?
Do they bury the brownie?
Do they marry off a witch?
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
Demons rush swarm after swarm
In the infinite heights,
With plaintive squeals and howls
Breaking my heart...
Now the project is being aired on Echo of Moscow
Clouds are rushing, clouds are hovering over the empty plain.
Not to say that things have gotten better, but the stagnation has ended.
The President told China the main phrase of the year -
Like, I don’t rule out the possibility of going to the polls.
Here the prime minister's eyes sparkled and in response he said to the doctors -
Like, I don’t rule it out either! And who would rule it out?
And although I consider the word given to the doctor an oath,
But I don’t want to belittle what’s given to China either!
Will both really decide to offer themselves to the country?
Why not rule it until the grave, as happened in Astana?
Someone retreated from the role in our near-zero -
A swamp was discovered where there was solid ground.
Unsteady, viscous, muddy, embarrassing and funny at times.
The demon leads us into the field, apparently, and circles us around.
The demons rush on their full journey, as has happened from time immemorial,
And above them is the most powerful one, nicknamed Besogon.
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are curling, the moon is invisible...
Who is now more important and cooler is not clear to a damn.
The old temptations resurfaced, like freedom in the yard.
Various demons began to swirl, like leaves in November!
Gleb Pavlovsky, Stas Belkovsky and Chadaev the spoiled man
Together they took out the cast-offs of the former priestly tunics.
You can hear the screech of “United Russia” with the howls of the youths,
“Ours” rush, “Ours” curl, Nemtsov invisible...
Woe, little one, I’m not strong! The ghoul will eat me completely!
What will happen to Russia if the tandem splits?
Division across the Urals, as has been a dream for centuries,
So that the West is for the liberal, and the East is for the security forces?
Mironov is overthrown - the first victim, so to speak...
But it’s more important for millions to know exactly who to lick!
With a furious squeal and howl, as if the Cossacks were attacking,
We run to our heroes, our tongues hanging out in unison.
It’s scary, involuntarily scary, among the unknown plains.
Neither the poet nor the citizen can see anything anymore.
These are being brought in, those are being dispersed - in general, the comfort is over.
Either they bury their homeland, or they give them away in marriage.
Dm. Bykov
Pushkin’s poem “Demons” itself is the original
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
I'm driving, driving in an open field;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
Scary, scary involuntarily
Among the unknown plains!
“Hey, off you go, coachman!...” - “No urine:
It’s hard for the horses, master;
The blizzard blinds my eyes;
All roads were skidded;
For the life of me, there is no trace;
We've lost our way. What should we do?
The demon leads us into the field, apparently
Yes, it circles around.
Look: there he is playing,
Blows, spits on me;
There - now he’s pushing into the ravine
Wild horse;
There's an unprecedented mileage there
He stuck out in front of me;
There he sparkled with a small spark
And disappeared into the darkness empty.”
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
We don’t have the strength to spin around anymore;
The bell suddenly fell silent;
The horses began... “What’s there in the field?” -
“Who knows? stump or wolf?
The blizzard is angry, the blizzard is crying;
Sensitive horses snore;
Now he's galloping far away;
Only the eyes glow in the darkness;
The horses rushed again;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
I see: the spirits have gathered
Among the white plains.
Endless, ugly,
In the muddy game of the month
Various demons began to spin,
Like leaves in November...
How many of them! where are they being driven?
Why are they singing so pitifully?
Do they bury the brownie?
Do they marry off a witch?
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
Demons rush swarm after swarm
In the infinite heights,
With plaintive squeals and howls
Breaking my heart...
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
I'm driving, driving in an open field;
Bell ding-ding-ding.
Scary, scary involuntarily
Among the unknown plains!
"Hey, let's go, coachman!" - "No urine:
It’s hard for the horses, master,
The blizzard blinds my eyes,
All roads were skidded;
For the life of me, there is no trace;
We've lost our way. What should we do?
The demon leads us into the field, apparently
Yes, it circles around.
Look: there he is playing,
Blows, spits on me,
There - now he’s pushing into the ravine
Wild horse;
There's an unprecedented mileage there
He stood in front of me
There he sparkled with a small spark
And disappeared into the darkness empty."
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling,
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy
We don’t have the strength to spin around anymore;
The bell suddenly fell silent;
The horses began... "What's there in the field?" -
"Who knows? A tree stump or a wolf?"
The blizzard is angry, the blizzard is crying,
Sensitive horses snore,
Now he's galloping far away;
Only the eyes glow in the darkness;
The horses rushed again;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
I see: the spirits have gathered
Among the white plains.
Endless, ugly,
In the muddy game of the month
Various demons began to spin,
Like leaves in November...
How many are there? where are they being driven?
Why are they singing so pitifully?
Do they bury the brownie?
Do they marry off a witch?
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
Demons rush swarm after swarm
In the infinite heights,
With plaintive squeals and howls
Breaking my heart...
Alexander Pushkin, 1830
"Demons"
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
I'm driving, driving in an open field;
Bell ding-ding-ding.
Scary, scary involuntarily
Among the unknown plains!
"Hey, let's go, coachman!" - "No urine:
It’s hard for the horses, master,
The blizzard blinds my eyes,
All roads were skidded;
For the life of me, there is no trace;
We've lost our way. What should we do?
The demon leads us into the field, apparently
Yes, it circles around.
Look: there he is playing,
Blows, spits on me,
There - now he’s pushing into the ravine
Wild horse;
There's an unprecedented mileage there
He stood in front of me
There he sparkled with a small spark
And disappeared into the darkness empty."
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling,
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy
We don’t have the strength to spin around anymore;
The bell suddenly fell silent;
The horses began... "What's there in the field?" -
"Who knows? A tree stump or a wolf?"
The blizzard is angry, the blizzard is crying,
Sensitive horses snore,
Now he's galloping far away;
Only the eyes glow in the darkness;
The horses rushed again;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
I see: the spirits have gathered
Among the white plains.
Endless, ugly,
In the muddy game of the month
Various demons began to spin,
Like leaves in November...
How many are there? where are they being driven?
Why are they singing so pitifully?
Do they bury the brownie?
Do they marry off a witch?
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
Demons rush swarm after swarm
In the infinite heights,
With plaintive squeals and howls
Breaking my heart...
Poem by A.S. Pushkin - Demons
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
I'm driving, driving in an open field;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
Scary, scary involuntarily
Among the unknown plains!
“Hey, off you go, coachman!..” - “No urine:
It’s hard for the horses, master;
The blizzard blinds my eyes;
All roads were skidded;
For the life of me, there is no trace;
We've lost our way. What should we do?
The demon leads us into the field, apparently
Yes, it circles around.
Look: there he is playing,
Blows, spits on me;
There - now he’s pushing into the ravine
Wild horse;
There's an unprecedented mileage there
He stuck out in front of me;
There he sparkled with a small spark
And disappeared into the darkness empty.”
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
We don’t have the strength to spin around anymore;
The bell suddenly fell silent;
The horses began... “What’s there in the field?” —
“Who knows? stump or wolf?
The blizzard is angry, the blizzard is crying;
Sensitive horses snore;
Now he's galloping far away;
Only the eyes glow in the darkness;
The horses rushed again;
Bell ding-ding-ding...
I see: the spirits have gathered
Among the white plains.
Endless, ugly,
In the muddy game of the month
Various demons began to spin,
Like leaves in November...
How many of them! where are they being driven?
Why are they singing so pitifully?
Do they bury the brownie?
Do they marry off a witch?
The clouds are rushing, the clouds are swirling;
Invisible moon
The flying snow illuminates;
The sky is cloudy, the night is cloudy.
Demons rush swarm after swarm
In the infinite heights,
With plaintive squeals and howls
Breaking my heart...
Analysis of the poem “Demons” by Pushkin
The year 1830 was marked in Pushkin’s work by one of the “Boldino autumns,” characterized by a powerful surge of inspiration. During this period, he wrote a large number of diverse works. These include the poem “Demons”.
The plot is based on the story of a traveler who gets lost in a winter field at night. Pushkin repeatedly found himself in such a situation, and it was very familiar to him. The central image of the poem is demons, personifying evil forces that seek to lead a person astray and lead him to death.
At the beginning of the poem, the traveler has been on the road for a long time. The clouds gathering overhead do not bode well. The endless “unknown plains” in Rus' in such weather only inspire fear.
The coachman explains that they lost their way in an impenetrable blizzard. He is sure that this is the work of evil spirits. An educated gentleman, of course, understands perfectly well that such an explanation is based on folk tales and legends. But in a hopeless situation, under the pressure of horror that grips the soul, you can believe in anything. The driver's assurances that he really sees and hears the demons surrounding them seem plausible.
The slow movement of the carriage and the ringing of the bell somehow restrained fear and reminded us that the travelers were still alive. When the horses stood up from fatigue, a huge feeling of hopelessness came over them. Intense attempts to see anything in the darkness only irritate the imagination. Vague outlines lead to the most terrible guesses.
The author has already forgotten about his mental superiority. Misfortune reduced him to a simple man. The horses are also gripped by fear; they also sense danger. With the last of their strength they broke free and carried away, not making out the road. Moving without a goal is still better than waiting in place for the unknown. Childhood memories of terrible fairy tales and legends emerge in the master’s soul. He is already seriously thinking about what causes the appearance of demons (“whether the brownie is buried”).
The poem does not describe the end of the journey. The final lines are dedicated to the desperate melancholy in the master’s heart, who is surrounded by demonic “plaintive squeals and howls.” Pushkin leaves the reader in uncertainty about the fate of his heroes. Any of the poet’s contemporaries could find themselves in such a situation and seek protection from demons only in prayer.
