Chapter 104

When Belinsky's gaze lingered for a long time on the paper Mikhail handed him, Nekrasov and Panaev grew increasingly eager to see the text on that paper, but after quite a while, Belinsky still did not let go; instead, he appeared more and more agitated.

Seeing this scene, Nekrasov and Panaev could not help but exchange a glance, then both saw the same meaning in each other's eyes: Mikhail must have brought out one of his best-kept poems.

As poets themselves, Nekrasov and Panaev certainly knew how difficult it was to compose a good poem on the spot; even if inspiration and passion erupted at the same time, such a moment could usually only produce the embryo of a truly good work, and once calmed down, it would definitely still require serious revision and reflection.

Therefore, the two of them were indeed shocked at first, but after thinking it over, they still felt that Mikhail must have recited a work he had already written beforehand, using it as a reason to persuade Belinsky to go for convalescence.

Now it seemed even more so; after all, with Belinsky's keenness and aesthetic sense as an outstanding critic, he naturally could not be so surprised for such a long time by an ordinary poem.

However, even if it was a work written long ago, for it to be so good that it left others stunned was still very uncommon.

Just how much more did Mikhail have hidden away?

And why was it that every time he produced something, it was an excellent poem? Had he never written a bad poem?

Which poet has never written a bad poem?

Thinking of this, as poets, Nekrasov and Panaev could not help but exchange another glance, and a pang of bitterness immediately filled their hearts.

Especially Nekrasov; after all, he had published his first poetry collection at the age of seventeen, originally hoping to turn his fortunes around with that collection, but it failed to attract any attention from the Cultural Circle in Saint Petersburg and was trashed by several small newspapers until he was left with nothing.

Fortunately, Belinsky, out of curiosity, took an interest in the matter and read Nekrasov's poetry collection; then, unable to speak for a long time, he wrote a review the next day specifically to tear that collection apart, directly mocking it as "romantic doggerel."

The reason this was considered fortunate was, of course, that after reading Belinsky's review, Nekrasov felt every word was reasonable—commonly known as being scolded to his satisfaction—so he involuntarily drew closer to Belinsky, which led to the subsequent story.

But now, seeing that he would soon have money, Nekrasov had truly begun to recall his own poetry collection, preparing to concentrate and destroy it when the time came.

Now that he had become a boss, Old Nek naturally wanted to be a decent person.

While feeling that bitterness, Nekrasov and Panaev had actually privately speculated on Mikhail's poetry production; with such low output but extremely high quality, there could be only one truth! That was that Mikhail had also written many bad poems, but he felt too embarrassed, so he had simply hidden them all away!

That was the speculation, but every time Nekrasov went to Mikhail's house, he observed very carefully, yet he failed to find a single discarded draft; to protect his reputation, he had hidden them to such an extent, Mikhail, you rascal.

While these thoughts flashed rapidly through Nekrasov's mind, Belinsky finally trembled as he handed over this manuscript, which seemed freshly baked; although Nekrasov had already held great expectations, the opening of this poem still startled him:

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Just these three lines had already drawn people into an exhilarating call, both encouraging a struggle against passing time, illness, and even death, or perhaps something more.

How could "Rage, rage against the dying of the light" not also be extended to the current social reality?

The first line refers to the elderly or those whose hearts have already rotted; the following lines progress layer by layer, indicating the attitude wise men, good men, madmen, and serious men should have toward the passing light, while images like "thunder," "bays," "sun," and "meteors" further strengthened the intensity of this emotion.

Thus, starting from concrete sensory experience, the poem gradually rose to a universal, eternal, grand realm, thereby acquiring a much broader meaning!

After reading it twice with a surging heart, Nekrasov also felt a bit restless; after hastily obtaining Mikhail's consent, he recited the poem aloud with passion.

While reciting the poem, while still feeling his heart surge, Nekrasov suddenly discovered a problem: this poem seemed to have some issues with rhyme!

If it were a novice, Nekrasov would naturally think the person had made a basic error, but the one who wrote this poem was Mikhail!

His previous two poems possessed almost unparalleled perfect rhythm; how could such a person make such a basic error?

But if this poem was written in a hurry, then all of this seemed to make sense!

Could it be that Mikhail really...

Mikhail, suddenly sensing Nekrasov's fervent gaze: "???"

Although you have looked at me with such a gaze many times before, this one is simply too terrifying.

No way, no way, you really think I wrote it on the spot? Am I bragging!

In fact, Mikhail actually spent quite a bit of time on this poem; the main difficulty lay in translating English into Russian while still adhering to the rhyme scheme.

Mikhail translated it himself first, and the effect was quite good, but there were indeed a few syllables that felt slightly off; and because there were other matters, Mikhail had not yet had time to consult others.

But what was with Nekrasov's reaction?

Thinking of this, Mikhail also spoke up to explain: "It wasn't written on the spot; it had been brewing for a long time before."

Facing Mikhail's mumbled explanation, Nekrasov neither nodded nor shook his head; he simply looked at Mikhail deeply once more.

Mikhail: "???"

Just as Mikhail was completely baffled, Belinsky finally awoke from the tremor caused by the poem; he believed he had already felt the emotion Mikhail wanted to convey to him, so he said, half sighing and half excitedly:

"You know, Mikhail, it is not easy for a sick person with a weak body to admit they have a problem; moreover, I still have so many things left unfinished!

I want to see our magazine's voice reach more people; I want to continue completing the work I have not yet finished. I have long been prepared to write a monumental work to analyze the current state and future trajectory of our Russian literature and society! But my physical condition often reminds me of one thing: do I really still have time and plans to complete these plans of mine?

Perhaps that is why I am afraid to see doctors, afraid to hear from them the news that I can no longer work like this! And just like the attitude in your poem, how can illness and death be eliminated through compliance and escape?

I will face my physical condition head-on: rage, face, solve, and then work even better! Moreover, I feel your poem must be more than just this..."

Mikhail: "..."

Is convalescence just to burn out even better?

And the analysis that followed sounded a bit off.

Although the development of events had exceeded his expectations, seeing that Belinsky had decided to cooperate with the treatment, Nekrasov and Panaev looked both happy and excited; Mikhail thought for a moment and naturally revealed a gratified smile.

Regardless, the outcome of the matter was ultimately good.

It was just that in the next few days...

Because poems spread quickly and the Saint Petersburg circle was small, the day after this, Mikhail heard someone say to him:

"Respected Mikhail, I heard you wrote another good poem!"

Facing such words, Mikhail, who was already somewhat accustomed to them, naturally just smiled and waved his hand modestly.

By the fourth day, Mikhail heard others say:

"I heard that to persuade Belinsky to treat his illness properly and face his physical condition more actively, you wrote a wonderful poem in just one day to counsel him; what a noble act!"

Mikhail: "?"

One day? That timeline shrank a bit too fast.

Never mind, never mind; rumors are often like this; they always change a bit when they spread.

And by the sixth day, Mikhail met a fervent young man in his office, then heard him shout:

"Respected Mr. Mikhail! I heard that in less than a minute, without even moving, you wrote a fine poem! Is this true? No! I shouldn't ask such a thing! How could I doubt you?!"

Mikhail: "???"

No, no, no, you should doubt a bit more.

In any case, Mikhail seriously explained to this young man once again that those rumors were false, unconvincing, and actually impossible to accomplish in such a short time, and he hoped the other party would help clarify things for him.

After Mikhail explained, he thought the matter would more or less end there, but unexpectedly, not long after, Nekrasov came to his door and asked straight away: "Mikhail, I saw the articles in the St. Petersburg newspapers; they all say you are attempting to create a barbaric, chaotic poetic form that destroys traditional rhythm! This poem is just a probe; in my view, it is complete nonsense; obviously, you simply didn't have time to revise it."

Mikhail: "?"

Blackening me like this?

But to be fair, recently Mikhail has become half of the top celebrity in the St. Petersburg Cultural Circle; many people are paying attention to him more or less, and for some, such a rare opportunity is naturally not something they are willing to let go of easily.

However, since the poem "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" is indeed good, even good enough for some to overlook the rhythm issues, they won't directly attack Mikhail for it: "You can't even rhyme properly, and you call yourself a poet!"

The attack effect isn't actually that good; moreover, with other rumors adding fuel to the fire, some people thought it over and simply switched to the angle of "destroying tradition" to launch their attacks.

Of course, the momentum isn't that great; after all, this poem basically conforms to the rhythm, with a distinct tempo and cadence, but for some magazines, if they can ride the wave a little, they will; after all, can't you see that after publishing such articles, the magazine's sales have increased significantly?!

Facing the somewhat angry Nekrasov, Mikhail was just about to agree, but suddenly thinking of something, he paused for a moment and casually said: "Then, Nikolai, what do you think of a poetic form that disregards rhythm? Can it also produce good works? In other words, will free verse appear?"

Whether in the East or the West, early poetry was mostly rhymed verse; in Europe, free verse only gradually began to sprout and transition after the nineteenth century, but it was not until 1855, with Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" and the works of the French poet Rimbaud a bit later, that it was more vividly embodied.

Therefore, when Mikhail said such things at this current point in time, Nekrasov was also stunned for a moment.

If someone else had said this, Nekrasov might have thought it was nonsense, but since these words came from Mikhail, Nekrasov truly had to think carefully.

Before, Mikhail seemed to have mentioned something about Symbolism; what about this time?

When Nekrasov began his brainstorming, Mikhail, who had only mentioned it casually, didn't think that much, but recalling the rumors he had heard recently, the corners of Mikhail's mouth couldn't help but twitch.

I hope the rumors stop soon; good heavens, is the person in those rumors even human?

And during the time Mikhail's poetry and the rumors about it were spreading, a young lady who always unconsciously paid attention to Mikhail's news naturally heard such news from an acquaintance.

Upon hearing the specific content of the news, this young lady couldn't help but open her mouth wide, then sat there blankly listening to her acquaintance describe the details of Mikhail writing the poem; these details were so detailed that it seemed as if he had been standing right next to Mikhail watching him write.

However, Nadia didn't think too much; she just listened to the story of Mikhail in a daze, and only after a long while did she come to her senses, a flush of excitement appearing on her pale face.

"How incredible! When we meet in a few days, I must ask him personally!"

As she said this, the young lady's face seemed to turn even redder by a shade or two.

Previously, because Mikhail was busy with various matters, he hadn't been able to find suitable time to attend any banquets, but no matter what, Mikhail, however busy, would eventually have the opportunity, so just a few days ago, thinking of how he had stood her up several times, Mikhail readily agreed to this young lady's invitation.

However, before coming, Mikhail still had to check the status of the magazine's New issue.

In that case, this young lady will soon be able to see the continuation of that long novel.

What will it be like?

I'm really looking forward to it.

(End of this chapter)