Initially, the question of "necessity" as a condition for any art is superfluous, since nowhere else does the man, the creator, have as much leeway as in the creation of a work of art. Every art has its own laws, norms and rules, but if we look back, we will notice that these rules and rules are set precisely to break down and, beyond them, to crystallize great art. Because aren't they ultimately breaking the rhyme in the verse, getting out of the main rhythm in the music, neglecting the aesthetically beautiful in the visual arts, those manifestations of freedom on the part of the author that make the art transcend itself?


However, this question has been raised in art, and especially in poetry, for centuries. Need is a fact, and it is not a need, but a need for suffering. If we trace the history of poetry as a genre from its inception to the present, we will notice that the tragic note has always been present. Even its reach has grown at certain times, as if to mark the tragedy of today, but also to provide a starting point for solving the problems of its time. Moreover, this question is inherently eternal. Tragedy is not just a theme in art, but an inevitable and irreversible theme in our lives, from which art initially draws inspiration to transform it and then inspire living life.


Of course, not one or two poets have been criticized for writing too tragically. More than once their relatives and friends have been concerned about their state of mind, reading what comes out of their pen. It is enough to remember the darkness and decline in the poetry of the French "cursed poets"; the search for beauty during the Renaissance, which is nothing more than an escape from the same darkness that humanity yearned to shake off after the plague and misery of the Middle Ages; the search for the meaning of human existence in modernism and existentialism, again generated by the drama that accompanies each individual life from all eras known to mankind.


As we get to the poetry of the 20 century and the Bulgarian poets of tragedy - Peyo Yavorov and Atanas Dalchev, who seem to be obsessed with the idea of ​​describing the world in the darkest colors. In the creativity of both, the world is sinking in darkness, fog is covering the heavens, the soul is empty, old, doomed even, years have passed unnoticed and the lyric hero is no longer able to experience joy or is completely absent from the world - only the objects in the house remind us that someone ever lived in it. But this is not just an obsession with tragedy, but the pursuit of getting rid of it, a change in reality.

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Today, we have witnessed all kinds of attempts at poetry, and by word in general, the topics range from apocalyptic, to personal, to the most pressing. But the tendency to write about the tragic in the world and life continues. Some will say: With this tragedy, the world has seen enough sorrow and death! Didn't we get the two world wars that killed millions of men, innocent mothers, children, adults? In the name of what? To one preconceived idea of ​​failure, to one whim, and to the desire of certain parties to rule over others. Have few scientists, artists and intelligent people been brutally murdered in our camps between 1944 and 1989? Why do we read poetry, imbued with pain and hopelessness?


Then the question should be: Is poetry necessary to reflect life? Because all art is a reflection of or reaction to life. It is often thought that art is a beautiful illusion that one deliberately chooses to believe because of its original need to bind to illusions and escape from reality in search of another world - more beautiful or simply different from the familiar. And so it is, but the task of art is not simply to create illusions, but to show the invisible in the world and to tap into the face of the individual, the truth about the world and the life we ​​live, in the face of our own problems. Because in addition to the pursuit of illusion and escape from reality, there is also a striving for truth in man, much stronger than the first. Art appears as a tool to reach this truth through insight and catharsis.


In the beginning, the poet is a prophet. He sees what is beneath the surface and illuminates those places that remain hidden for the average person. His senses are highly sharpened, allowing him to look beyond the visible with the naked eye - as if he had a congenital telescope or microscope with which he could see the unseen from another. Unlike scientists who build their science entirely on the basis of physical, chemical or mathematical laws and formulas, the poet does not have all this. He has only his inner eye, which unconsciously reaches the truth and gives it to us in its purest poetic form.


Poetry, and art in general, gives human feedback on the world, its development, and the actions it performs against that world. It is that marvelous sign that draws attention to the important things that are transient, affecting not the individual, but humanity as a whole. Man is composed of time, space and spirit - in the words of Anna Akhmatova - and the poet or writer is obliged in his quest to recreate man, to depict time, space and spirit. And this statement is born at a time when the spirit is crushed beyond recognition. But if it is not the art of poisoning the eyes and of putting the truth on the stage so that even the most delusional Hamlet can see and see it, what will be the means capable of giving another course to history? Poets, and it is no accident, have always been hated by power and a threat to it. Because there is no other art that, in such a synthesized form, reveals the truth and prompts revolutionary actions.


In this regard, poetry is a kind of regulator of what is happening in reality. Possesses the ability to show wrongs, to expose crimes against humanity committed by the same humanity, to show the hidden pain in the eyes of the adult, the fear of the child, the undivided torment of the wrongfully convicted person, to point out the killers of our happiness, and to give hope, when there is none left. Poetry as a form is meaningless. If given meaning as a beautiful violin is simply a spiritless object, if it can play, tell stories and purify the soul, it compels one to realize its transience. Tragic poetry is a poetry of awareness, without which it has no value other than aesthetic. However, in order to wake up from the darkness, you must first see it. That is why this is the need for the tragic. And whoever fears tragic poetry fears the truth.

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