To fellow poets
Alister! You also think of the slaves of Narparnassus,
subduing the unruly Pegasus; pursuing the laurels through dangerous paths,
and having to deal with strict Criticize and debate boldly!
Alister, listen to me, put down your pen, forget the streams, the woods and the desolate cemetery.
Don't express your love with cold poems, hurry up Come down, lest you roll down a high mountain!
Without you, there would have been many poets; their poems were forgotten by the world as soon as they were published.
Perhaps, the author of another "Ode to Telemachus", at this moment, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city, has formed an incomprehensible relationship with the stupid Muse. Fate, hiding among the calm shadows of Minerva's Aegis.
We must take a lesson from the fate of dull-witted poets. Their poems pile up like mountains and become a disaster!
The attacks given to poets by later generations are fair and reasonable; Mount Pindus has laurels and thorns.
Don’t be infamy for eternity! If Apollo heard that you were going to Mount Helicon, he would look scornful and shake his curly head in order to reward you for your beets.
He would give you a treat What should I do if I wake up?
How is it? You frown, ready to answer me; you may say: "Please don't waste your words; once I make a decision, I will never change it. You know, I am destined to choose the strings.
I can let the world comment on whatever they want - whether I am angry or yelling, I am still a poet. "
Alister, don't think that I can only rhyme and write in one stroke. If you don't skimp on paper, you will become a poet.
It is not so easy to write good poetry, just like Wittgenstein made the French invincible.
Although Lomonosov and Tertsavin are the glory of Russia and immortal poets,
they have given us reason and earnest lessons, but how many books have just come out? It’s already been destroyed!
The famous poems of Rifmatov and Grafov, together with the obscure Byblos,
rot in the bookstores; no one reads this nonsense, no one remembers them , Phobos has already marked these books with a curse
Even if you are lucky enough to climb Mount Pindus and deserve the title of poet,
then everyone will be happy to read you works. But do you dream that as long as you become a poet, you will be responsible for the country’s taxes?
Countless wealth will come one after another, and the iron box will be filled with gold and silver.
Lying down, eating and drinking, feeling at ease? Dear friends, writers are not that rich anymore,
Fate has not given them marble palaces, nor filled their chests with gold:
The shabby underground rooms and the highest ceilings Their glorious drawing rooms and palaces were revealed only in time.
The poet is highly praised, but he can only make a living from magazines; the wheels of Fortuna always go around him;
Rousseau came naked and entered the coffin naked;
Kamonslov died silently in the ceiling, and it was fortunate that strangers took him to the grave:
Famous fame is a dream, but life is a series of pain.
You seem to be starting to realize something now. You will say: "You and I are just discussing poetry, why do you seem to be the reincarnation of Juvenal?
Commentary and harsh on everyone Since you had a quarrel with Sister Parnassus, why are you preaching to me in the form of poetry? Are you mentally disturbed?"
Ste! No need to say more, just listen to what I tell you: Remember, there once was a gray-haired priest
He got along well with the common people in the village. Although he was old, he lived a pretty good life.< /p>
Recognized as the wisest elder for a long time. Once I attended a wedding and drank a few bottles of wine.
At dusk, I walked home drunk, and met a group of farmers.
These idiots said: "Father, please, you usually teach us not to be greedy.
Always tell everyone to stop drinking and not get drunk. We listen to your words. But what happened to you today..."
The priest said to these farmers: "Listen, everyone: just do what I preach in the church.
Just live a good life. There’s no need to learn from me.”
Now, I have no choice but to reply like this; I don’t want to defend myself at all:
People who are not interested in poetry are supremely happy and live peacefully. To live a life without worries and pain,
He will not ruin other people's magazines with his odes, nor sit for weeks writing impromptu poems!
He does not like Parnassus who climbs the peaks, nor does he pursue the pure Muse and the fierce Pegasus;
Seeing Ramakov pick up the pen, he also He will not be alarmed; he will feel at ease. Ariste, because he was not a poet.
We don’t need to discuss it. I’m afraid you’ll be bored, and I’m even more afraid that this sarcastic tone will embarrass you.
Dear friend, I have given you advice, can you give up the reed flute and become indifferent from now on? …
Think about it all and take your pick: it’s good to be famous, but it’s even better to be quiet.