Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev (November 9 [O.S. October 28] 1818 – September 3 [O.S. August 22] 1883) was a Russian novelist, short story writer, and playwright. His first major publication, a short story collection entitled A Sportsman's Sketches, is a milestone of Russian Realism, and his novel Fathers and Sons is regarded as one of the major works of 19th-century fiction. more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Ivan Turgenev Poems
I was returning from hunting, and walking along an avenue of the garden, my dog running in front of me.
I stood before a chain of beautiful mountains forming a semicircle. A young, green forest covered them from summit to base.
The last days of August…. Autumn was already at hand. The sun was setting. A sudden downpour of rain, without thunder or
I saw myself, in dream, a youth, almost a boy, in a low-pitched wooden church. The slim wax candles gleamed, spots of red, before the old pictures
I fancied I was somewhere in Russia, in the wilds, in a simple country house.
The Two Brothers
It was a vision… Two angels appeared to me… two genii. I say angels, genii, because both had no clothes on their
Friend And Enemy
A prisoner, condemned to confinement for life, broke out of his prison and took to head-long flight…. After him, just on his heels flew his
I was walking along the street… I was stopped by a decrepit old beggar. Bloodshot, tearful eyes, blue lips, coarse rags, festering
'Neither the Jungfrau nor the Finsteraarhorn has yet been trodden by the foot of man!'
I had a comrade who was my adversary; not in pursuits, nor in service, nor in love, but our views were never alike on any subject, and whenever we
How Fair, How Fresh Were The Roses ...
Somewhere, sometime, long, long ago, I read a poem. It was soon forgotten … but the first line has stuck in my memory-
A Contented Man
A young man goes skipping and bounding along a street in the capital. His movements are gay and alert; there is a sparkle in his eyes,
Near a large town, along the broad highroad walked an old sick man. He tottered as he went; his old wasted legs, halting,
A peasant woman, a widow, had an only son, a young man of twenty, the best workman in the village, and he died.
Comments about Ivan Turgenev
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I was returning from hunting, and walking along an avenue of the garden, my
dog running in front of me.
Suddenly he took shorter steps, and began to steal along as though tracking
I looked along the avenue, and saw a young sparrow, with yellow about its
beak and down on its head. It had fallen out of the nest (the wind was
violently shaking the birch-trees in the avenue) and sat unable to move,
helplessly flapping its half-grown wings.
My dog was slowly approaching it, when, suddenly darting down from a tree
close by, an old dark-throated sparrow ...