To the madness of the brave we sing a song
The primary source is the prose poem "Song of the Falcon" (1898) by Maxim Gorky (pseudonym of Alexei Maksimovich Peshkov, 1868-1936):
The madness of the brave is the wisdom of life!
We sing glory to the madness of the brave.
The winged expression was formed by connecting a line from this work with its name.
Ironically: about someone brave, decisive, but unreasonable. questionable from the point of view of the result of the act.
Encyclopedic Dictionary of winged words and expressions. - M .: "Lokid-Press"... Vadim Serov. 2003.
See what "To the madness of the brave we sing a song" in other dictionaries:
A quote from the Song of the Falcon (1898), (See O brave Falcon, you bled to death in the fight against enemies.) In the early 900s, it was often cited in Bolshevik proclamations. Dictionary of winged words. Plutex. 2004 ... Dictionary of winged words and expressions
The madness of the brave is the wisdom of life! To the madness of the brave we sing a song- wings. sl. A quote from "Song of the Falcon" (1898), (See O brave Falcon, you bled to death in the fight against enemies.) In the early 900s, it was often cited in Bolshevik proclamations ... Universal Additional Practical Explanatory Dictionary of I. Mostitsky
Aphorisms can be divided into two categories: some catch our eye, are remembered and sometimes used if we want to show off with wisdom, while others become an integral part of our speech and go into the category of catch phrases. About authorship ... ...
madness-, a, cf. ** To the madness of the brave we sing a song! // Quote from “Song of the Falcon” by M. Gorky, 1898. At the beginning of the century, it was often quoted in Bolshevik proclamations /. pathet. An expression that pathetically evaluates revolutionary courage, courage ... ... Explanatory dictionary of the language of the Soviets
Aya, oh; brave, brave, brave, brave and brave. Notable for courage; brave, brave. He was brave and knew well those acute moments of the battle when the commander needed to make a joke with death for a decisive move. A. N. Tolstoy, Eighteenth year. | in the meaning ... ... Small academic dictionary
- (real name Peshkov Alexey Maksimovich) (1868 1936) Russian writer. Aphorisms, quotes Maxim Gorky biography At the bottom, 1902 *) You can't go anywhere in the carriage of the past. (Satin) Man! It's great! It sounds ... proud! Human! Necessary… … Consolidated encyclopedia of aphorisms
Courage, courage, youth, agility, fearlessness, determination, daring, daring, bravery. Civil courage. We sing a song to the madness of the brave. Bitter. Prot. courage. Cm … Synonym dictionary
Anatoly Osmolovsky Osmolovsky gives a lecture Name at ro ... Wikipedia
Wikipedia has articles about other people with this surname, see Konstantinov. Nikolay "Kol" Konstantinov Nikolay Konstantinov, 2006 Birth name: Nikolay Aleksandrovich Konst ... Wikipedia
Nikolai "Kol" Konstantinov Nikolai Konstantinov, 2006 Birth name: Nikolai Alexandrovich Konstantinov Date of birth: May 22, 1961 Place of birth: Jelly ... Wikipedia
Books
- I want each of the people to be a Human (MP3 audiobook), Maxim Gorky. The audience is offered a kind of meditation performance, in which characters from various works by Maxim Gorky take part. In front of us, as it were, are lining up two opposite ... audiobook
- I want each of the people to be a person ... (CDmp3), Maxim Gorky. The audience is offered a kind of meditation performance, in which characters from various works by Maxim Gorky take part. In front of us, as it were, two opposing lines are lining up ...
To the madness of the brave we sing a song - a phrase from the story of M. Gorky "Song of the Falcon"
... “The sea shone, everything was in bright light, and the waves beat menacingly against the shore.
“In their lion's roar, the song of a proud bird thundered,
the rocks trembled from their blows, the sky trembled from a formidable song:
“We sing glory to the madness of the brave!
“The madness of the brave is the wisdom of life!
Brave Falcon! You bled out in battle with enemies ...
But there will be time - and drops of your blood, hot, like sparks, will flash in the darkness of life
and many brave hearts will kindle with an insane thirst for freedom and light!
“Let you die! .. But in the song of the brave and strong in spirit, you will always be a living example,
a proud call for freedom, for light!
„..“»
Another line of the poem has become a catch phrase - born to crawl - cannot fly!
"The modern poet ... sings" the madness of the brave. "But even from a bird's point of view, what is the bravery of the mad Falcon? etc. According to Mr. Gorky's allegory, it turns out that ducks and partridges tyrannize falcons, and so they have to defend their freedom and “thirst for light.” This is very funny. But the public and young people do not notice the comic features of “Song” and applaud it wildly When they hear from the stage. Here, you see, "struggle", and even if it is a struggle, then it does not matter for what purpose and by what means - from one sound "struggle" in some strata it is customary to delight. Our young people who are all on a salary, all of them striving to get on state bread, still love to tickle their nerves with this strange phrase ... once in the tone of its time, in the tone of society, where h read Nietzsche. Struggle ... I remember poor, meek Nadson, who not only never offended a fly, but to whom the very thought of a bloody struggle seemed terrible. In a friendly conversation, he rejected all terrorism, and in his poems the "struggle" is scattered in almost every poem, sometimes several times. And there is no doubt that this "struggle", which sounded differently to the public, was one of the main springs of Nadson's unheard-of success. Something similar is repeated with Mr. Gorky "(newspaper" Novoye Vremya ", 1900, author M.O. Menshikov (1859-1918) - publicist, critic)
"Song of the Falcon"
"Samarskaya Gazeta" yesterday and today
The poem "Song of the Falcon" M. Gorky first published in the "Samarskaya Gazeta" March 5, 1895... He got a job at Samarskaya Gazeta two weeks earlier. I had the task of preparing reviews of nonresident newspapers and, on a weekly basis, presenting a story, an essay, a poem. He worked in Samara for a year, of which he served as editor-in-chief for five months, and published 63 issues of the newspaper. In 1896 he went as a correspondent to Nizhny Novgorod talk about the events of the All-Russian fair, regularly held there, and returned to Samara only on the day of August 30, 1896 to get married to Ekaterina Pavlovna Volzhina, his first wifeThe use of phraseological units in literature
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“My sister is looking for a vein for the fifth day, and he:“ pop ”and“ pop ”! "We sing a song to the madness of the brave." But simply madness - no"(Vladimir Vysotsky" Life without sleep ")
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"Because" we sing a song to the madness of the brave "because it, like nothing else, by the great power of example awakens noble feelings in people, makes hearts beat faster"(Vladimir Sanin "Do not tell the Arctic - goodbye")
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“Feats! We sing a song to the madness of the brave! - Lantsov raised his hands to the ceiling with a cry "(Victor Astafiev "Shepherd and shepherdess. Modern pastoral")
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“We argued a lot about Marina - many felt sorry for her, referred to her madness, and many condemned and asked: why her madness was expressed in cowardice and betrayal, and not vice versa: after all, they say that we sing a song to the madness of the brave!”(Vladimir Soloviev "Three Jews, or Consolation in Tears")
And again, a literary source of domestic production. This time Maxim Gorky. Or rather, his "Song of the Falcon". Let's go through the original source for a short time, talk about the merger of the name and the line from it, as well as the meaning and application of the catch phrase “We sing a song to the madness of the brave”. Go…
A source
Gorky's early work is aphoristic, the same "Song of the Falcon" is replete with various symbols and metaphors, the subtext of which is not at all difficult to discern through the prism of the past century. The inspiration of the author's prose and poetry (and this work is a representative of the border genre - a prose poem) late XIX century caused by a passionate desire for change, which burned in those days, the future Bolshevik leaders.
"Song of the Falcon", the analysis of the main characters of which quickly makes it clear the main thing. The reader is pushed to take an active position in life, to begin the struggle for his happiness, to drive the philistine into the neck and generally to search for the meaning of the frailty of his own existence, to quickly discover it and forge iron without leaving the cash register. In fact, the poem is really beautiful and quite unambiguous.
Finally, do not forget that the line from the poem sounds like "We sing glory to the madness of the brave", but the catch phrase walks through the open spaces in the version with the word "song" at the end. Well, the line accidentally stuck together with the title of the work, with phraseological units, and this does not happen.
Meaning
The expression "To the madness of the brave we sing a song" in itself is winged already by virtue of the three- or even four-level subtext embedded in it. Here you can get both real insanity and dissent, which propels progress. If we get lucky.
However, the general meaning is clear. Someone has created something on the verge of rationality, or even beyond it, the result raises certain doubts among others, as is often the case in a conformal society, and this is what a song is howling about this act. Can be used both portable and direct. Nice expression. Both poetry and prose in one bottle are suitable for everyday life, and in a high syllable will not spoil the note.
The sea - huge, sighing lazily near the shore - fell asleep and motionless in the distance, bathed in the blue radiance of the moon. Soft and silvery, it has merged there with the blue southern sky and is fast asleep, reflecting in itself the transparent fabric of cirrus clouds, motionless and not hiding the golden patterns of stars. It seems that the sky is leaning lower and lower over the sea, wanting to understand what the restless waves whisper about, sleepily crawling to the shore. The mountains, overgrown with trees, ugly curved north-east, with sharp strokes raised their peaks into the blue desert above them, their harsh outlines rounded, dressed in the warm and gentle mist of the southern night. The mountains are importantly thoughtful. Black shadows have fallen from them onto the lush greenish crests of the waves and dress them, as if wishing to stop the only movement, to drown out the incessant splash of water and sighs of foam - all sounds that break the secret silence poured around together with the blue silver of the glow of the moon, still hidden behind the mountain peaks. - A-ala-ah-a-akbar! .. - Nadyr-Rahim-oglu, an old Crimean shepherd, a tall, gray-haired, dry and wise old man burnt by the southern sun, sighs quietly. He and I are lying on the sand by a huge stone that has broken away from our native mountain, dressed in shadow, overgrown with moss - by a sad, gloomy stone. On the side of it, which faces the sea, the waves threw mud, algae, and the stone hung by them seems to be tied to a narrow sandy strip separating the sea from the mountains. The flame of our fire illuminates it from the side facing the mountain, it shudders, and shadows run along the old stone, cut by a frequent network of deep cracks. Rahim and I cook fish soup from just caught fish, and we are both in that mood when everything seems ghostly, spiritualized, allowing us to penetrate into ourselves, when the heart is so pure, it is easy and there are no other desires but the desire to think. And the sea flies to the shore, and the waves sound so affectionate, as if asking to let them warm up by the fire. Sometimes, in the general harmony of the splash, a more elevated and playful note is heard - this is one of the bolder waves, crawling closer to us. Rahim lies with his chest on the sand, head to the sea, and looks thoughtfully into the muddy distance, leaning on his elbows and resting his head on his palms. A shaggy lamb hat slid down on the back of his head, freshness blows from the sea into his high forehead, all covered with fine wrinkles. He philosophizes, not wondering if I am listening to him, as if he is talking to the sea: - A man faithful to God goes to heaven. And who does not serve God and the prophet? Maybe he's in this foam ... And those silver spots on the water, maybe he's ... who knows? The dark, mighty swinging sea brightens, in places on it casually cast reflections of the moon appear. She has already swam out from behind the shaggy peaks of the mountains and now pours its light thoughtfully on the sea, quietly sighing towards her, on the shore and the stone at which we are lying. - Rahim! .. Tell a story ... - I ask the old man. - Why? - asks Rahim, not turning to me. - So! I love your fairy tales. - I've already told you everything ... I don't know anymore ... - It is he who wants me to ask him. I ask. - Do you want me to tell you a song? - agrees Rahim. I want to hear the old song, and with a dull recitative, trying to preserve the original melody of the song, he tells.I
“Uh crawled high into the mountains and lay down there in a damp gorge, curled up in a bundle and looking out to sea. “The sun was shining high in the sky, and the mountains breathed heat into the sky, and the waves below beat against the stone ... “And along the gorge, in the darkness and splashes, the stream rushed towards the sea, thundering with stones ... “Covered in white foam, gray-haired and strong, he cut a mountain and fell into the sea, howling angrily. “Suddenly, into the gorge where Already curled up, the Falcon fell from the sky with a broken chest, blood on his feathers ... “With a short cry, he fell to the ground and beat his chest in impotent rage against a solid stone ... “I got scared, crawled away quickly, but I soon realized that the life of a bird was two or three minutes ... “He crawled closer to the broken bird, and he hissed right into her eyes: “- What, dying? “- Yes, I'm dying! - answered the Falcon, taking a deep breath. - I lived gloriously! .. I know happiness! .. I fought bravely! .. I saw the sky ... You will not see it so close! .. Oh, you poor fellow! “- Well, what is the sky? - empty space ... How can I crawl there? I feel great here ... warm and damp! “So Already answered the free bird and chuckled in my soul at her for these nonsense. “And so I thought:“ Fly or crawl, the end is known: everyone will fall into the ground, everything will be dust ... ” “But the brave Falcon suddenly roused himself, got up a little and led his eyes along the gorge. “Water oozed through the gray stone, and it was stuffy in the dark gorge and smelled of rot. “And the Falcon shouted with anguish and pain, gathering all his strength: “- Oh, if only once to rise to the sky! .. I would press the enemy ... to the wounds of my chest and ... he would choke on my blood! .. Oh, the happiness of battle! .. “And I thought:“ It must be really nice to live in the sky, if he groans like that! .. ” “And he suggested to the free bird: 'And you move to the edge of the gorge and throw yourself down. Perhaps your wings will lift you up and you will live a little more in your element. " “And the Falcon trembled and, shouting proudly, went to the precipice, sliding its claws on the mucus of the stone. “And he came up, spread his wings, sighed with all his chest, flashed his eyes and rolled down. “And he himself, like a stone, sliding over the rocks, he quickly fell, breaking his wings, losing feathers ... “The wave of the stream seized him and, having washed his blood, dressed him in foam, rushed into the sea. “And the waves of the sea beat against the stone with a sad roar ... And the corpse of the bird was not visible in the sea space ...II
“In the gorge, lying, I thought for a long time about the death of the bird, about the passion for the sky. “And then he looked into the distance that always caresses his eyes with the dream of happiness. “- And what did he see, the dead Falcon, in this desert without bottom and edge? Why do people like him, who died, confuse the soul with their love for flying into the sky? What is clear to them there? And I could have learned all this by taking off into the sky even for a little while. “He said and - did. Curled up in a ring, he threw it into the air and gleamed in the sun with a narrow ribbon. “Born to crawl, he cannot fly! .. Forgetting about this, he fell on the stones, but did not kill himself, but laughed ... “- So that's the beauty of flying into the sky! She is in the fall! .. Funny birds! Not knowing the earth, yearning for it, they strive high into the sky and seek life in the sultry desert. It's just empty. There is a lot of light, but there is no food and there is no support for a living body. Why pride? Why reproaches? Then, in order to cover up with it the madness of your desires and hide behind them your unfitness for the cause of life? Funny birds! .. But now their speeches will not deceive me any more! I know everything myself! I saw the sky ... I flew into it, measured it, knew the fall, but did not crash, but only more firmly I believe in myself. Let those who cannot love the earth live by deception. I know the truth. And I will not believe their calls. Creation of the earth - I live by the earth. “And he curled up into a ball on a stone, proud of himself. “The sea shone, everything was in bright light, and the waves beat menacingly against the shore. “In their lion's roar, a song about a proud bird thundered, the rocks trembled from their blows, the sky trembled from a formidable song: “We sing glory to the madness of the brave! “The madness of the brave is the wisdom of life! Brave Falcon! In battle with enemies you bleed ... But there will be time - and drops of your blood, hot, like sparks, will flash in the darkness of life and many brave hearts will kindle with an insane thirst for freedom and light! “Let you die! .. But in the song of the brave and strong in spirit, you will always be a living example, a call to the proud to freedom, to light! "To the madness of the brave we sing a song! .." " ... The opal distance of the sea is silent, the waves splash melodiously on the sand, and I am silent, looking into the distance of the sea. There are more and more silver spots on the water from moonbeams ... Our kettle is quietly boiling. One of the waves playfully rolls onto the shore and, making a defiant noise, crawls towards Rahim's head. - Where are you going? .. Go! - Rahim waves his hand at her, and she obediently rolls back into the sea. I am not in the least funny and not afraid of the trick of Rahim, who inspired the waves. Everything around looks strangely lively, softly, affectionately. The sea is so impressively calm, and one can feel that in its fresh breath on the mountains, which have not yet cooled down from the heat of the day, there is a lot of powerful, restrained force hidden. On the dark blue sky, with a golden pattern of stars, something solemn is written, enchanting the soul, confusing the mind with the sweet expectation of some kind of revelation. Everything slumbers, but slumbers intensely, and it seems that in the next second everything will start up and sound in a harmonious harmony of inexplicably sweet sounds. These sounds will tell about the secrets of the world, explain their mind, and then extinguish it, like a ghostly light, and carry the soul with them high into the dark blue abyss, from where the quivering patterns of the stars will also sound the wondrous music of revelation towards it ...He crawled high into the mountains with a kayak
and lay down there dead in a gloomy gorge,
curled up in a knot your tongue is red
and choking on a heavy burden.
The sun was shining high in the sky
and the mountains breathed heat into the sky
and people climbed higher to the sun
and the people below were beating against the stone.
And along the gorge in the darkness and splashes
the stream rushed towards the sea,
thundering stones. All in white foam
gray-haired and strong, he cut the mountain,
hissing on barrels and falling into the sea,
howling angrily.
And in that gorge where Kayaker slept,
suddenly fell from the sky climber
with a broken chest, blood on the straps.
He got scared, crawled nimbly,
but I soon realized that it was Aunt,
to be afraid of her - he should not.
And He went up to the broken Aunt
and He whispered right in her ear:
"Need a first aid kit?" "Fuck you!" -
said Aunt, taking a deep breath, -
"I climbed for a long time! I know happiness!
I am a master of sports! You won't see
those mountains are so close! Eh you, water fellow! "
"Well - the mountains? - an empty place ...
I am also a master. How do I ride
there on a kayak? How to cut me
in stormy streams, if their sun
paired for a long time? Go to the mountains!
I feel great here - warm and damp! "
So He answered that Mountaineer
and grinned at her in my heart
for these nonsense. And so I thought:
"Walk or swim, water or mountains -
the end is known: family and children,
yes PeVeDeshki once a year at least ... "
But the climber, suddenly startled,
the detsl got up, and along the gorge
with an insolent grin, she walked her eyes.
Water oozed through the gray stone
and it was stuffy in the gloomy gorge
and it smelled like a fight.
And she screamed, gathering all her strength:
"Oh, if only once to climb the mountains,
il traverse, il rappel!
I would press Tibet ... to my chest wounds and ...
he used to choke on my blood!
Oh, Chomolungma! Oh, Himalayas !!! "
And He thought: "In the mountains there must be
and indeed it is pleasant to live,
if this Aunt groans so brutally!
And there are glaciers and cracks in the sea, and there are streams ...
In the streams of the sun! "- He choked
from this thought, but did not even show it.
And He suggested to that Mountaineer: "Come on,
get off my platform, otherwise it flies
there are a lot of different - after them skirts
suddenly disappear ... "
The Aunt shuddered and shouted proudly:
"Ha ha!" (three times), went to the cliff,
sliding "vibram" on the mucus of the stone.
And she came, but all in ecstasy, sighing all
chest, then the other, flashing eyes,
shrugging her shoulders and began to hammer the bolt with an icebay.
Looking at this, Kayaker thought: "Ah, climbers
end climbing! Why fucking hard
stone, when water rushes into the gorge? "
And he gave her a rescuer with a sly grin, and so
told her: "You go autonomously, try -
here is the joy of the world, here is the happiness of life! "
And the Climber, all in carbines,
in terrible jumars, in different ropes,
put on a vest, with the last cry,
darted into the river, believing him.
The wave of the stream grabbed her, dressed her in foam,
rushed off to the sea, splashing saliva, washing the snot.
And the barrels beat with a sad roar,
shivers crawled steadily under the sun
and the waterfalls sparkled brightly. And climbers
was not visible in the "six" water ...
In the gorge lying, kayaker long
I couldn't stop laughing ...
And then He looked into the distance that is eternal
caresses the eyes with a dream of happiness.
"What did she see, Climber,
in this desert without bottom and edge?
Why such confuse souls
your love of hiking in the mountains?
What is clear to them there? But I could
learn it all by climbing higher,
for a little while? "
He said and did. In your hydrach
in torn patches, with a faithful kayak,
with an iron oar. He, gasping for breath,
rushed into the mountains, bent over into the ring
and flashed in the sun as a wet savior.
Born water worker - in the mountains he cannot!
Forgetting it, He slipped
and fell on a stone, but was not killed,
but laughed ...
"So that's the beauty of hiking in the mountains!
Yes, in masochism! Here are the climbers!
Funny people! Without knowing the water
they aim high into the mountains
and seek happiness in the sultry desert.
It's just dry there. As in Always Classic.
There is a lot of snow, but there is no water there
and there is no support for a living body.
Why pride? Why reproaches?
Then, to cover up the madness with it
their desires and hide behind them
its unsuitability for water rafting?
But they won't deceive me anymore
now their speeches! I know everything myself!
I saw the mountains ... I measured them,
knew the fall, but did not break,
but only stronger in the kayak, I believe.
Let those who cannot love water,
live in mountains. Creation of water -
I live by water! "
And He, straightening his skirt on the slide,
drove off the ledge and set off,
proud of myself ... 
And the waves beat menacingly against the shore,
the spray glittered all in the bright light.
A song sounded in their lion's roar
and because of the noise He did not hear
already that song.
"We sing glory to the madness of the brave!"
the rocks trembled from the formidable song.
"The madness of the brave is the wisdom of life!"
sang the Caver in a deep hole.
"Let there be no place for life here
and there is no sun, but let it be carbid,
how sparks will spark in the darkness of life
and many brave hearts will light up
insane thirst for freedom, light!
We sing a song to the madness of the brave!
