Name of collections of love lyrics by Akhmatova. Love lyrics by Anna Akhmatova
Love a book, it will make your life easier, it will help you to sort out the colorful and stormy confusion of thoughts, feelings, events, it will teach you to respect a person and yourself, it inspires the mind and heart with a feeling of love for the world, for a person.
Maxim Gorky
In Akhmatova's poetry, love is presented in the whole gamut of feelings, emotions and moods. The love lyrics of the poetess were given the definition of "an encyclopedia of love."
Often readers think that the lyrical heroine of the works is Akhmatova herself. This opinion is completely wrong. Gumilyov, being Akhmatova's husband, complained that because of Anna's poems he was often accused of despotism (in particular, because of the work "My husband whipped me"). The heroine of the works of the poetess appears in different images: a simple peasant woman, a harlot, an unfaithful wife, and a thug.
Most often, the heroines of Akhmatova suffer from unrequited love. Almost never love in the works did not appear as a serene, light and idealistic feeling. In poems, Akhmatova describes moments filled with drama: parting, the death of one of her beloved, the loss of former passion and feelings. As a rule, this is either the beginning of a dramatic event or its peak, climax. Very often in the works death and funeral are mentioned. For example, the poem "The Gray-eyed King", "The Song of the Last Meeting" or "The Birds of Death at the Zenith Standing". Marina Tsvetaeva called Akhmatova's muse "The Executioner's Muse".
A distinctive feature of Anna Akhmatova's poetry is intimacy, trust, sensuality and intimacy. After a deep study of the work of the poetess, poetry began to be perceived as universal, and the poetess of the people. In her poems, Akhmatova does not describe the ideal, she betrays the entire "female essence", moreover, easily, gracefully and expressively. An excellent example is the poem "Do not love, do not want to watch?". Akhmatova attached special importance to things, household items - with the help of them, the poetess conveyed the psychology of the characters.
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova is the finest lyricist and the great Russian poetess, who revealed in her works the abundant and generous spiritual world of a woman, her suffering, experiences, subtlety and tenderness, greatness and depth. Akhmatova in poems about love showed how selflessly, brightly, sincerely, bitterly and passionately women love, unlike rational men.
Anna Andreevna wrote about the most secret and intimate - about Love - "the fifth season of the year." This is the time when the human soul soars and seeks to improve, the time when a person gains new strength, lives with enthusiasm, dawns, transforms, is ready for change, for crazy deeds, when he is able to give happiness and love. Akhmatova's poems about love showed the meaning of love, its healing power, which can change the fate of a Russian woman!
Anna Akhmatova was a Russian-born poetess, first wife Gumilyov Nikolai. At the turn of the century, when two world wars clashed, before the revolution came, poetry began to appear in Russia, probably in the form of a work written by Anna Akhmatova, which gained more importance in literature. The love theme in Anna Akhmatova's poems is more significant than traditionally in the accepted ideas.
Akhmatov's expression of lyrics is an important and indispensable part in the Russian culture of the nation. She turned out to be one of those who are overwhelmed by the desire to live, did not lose her freshness on the branches of the tree of poetry of Russian poets. Akhmatova recalls Tyutchev when reading poems about love. His turbulent passions are expressed in a fatal duel. All this was resurrected by Akhmatova. The similarities will become even more noticeable when you remember that she is an improviser, like Tyutchev, in her poems and feelings.
Akhmatova often talks about the fact that she does not imagine how it is possible to compose, having previously drawn up a plan that was previously prepared. From time to time it seemed to her that a muse visited her. The intimacy of the lyrics and Anna Akhmatova's poems about love are permeated with one unique feature.
From the lips of Akhmatova one can hear the conversation of a woman who has become a lyrical character from the object of the poet's feelings. With everything, in the intimate lyrics one can feel the manifestation of civil poetry.
Comfort? "Comfort"
During the First World War, the verse “Consolation” was very popular. Akhmatova's verse that she heard a voice that began to call, consoling, during the revolution was the brightest of her works. It expresses passion intelligent people who made mistakes, hesitated, walked in torment, searched but could not find, but as a result made a choice, not daring to leave their people and country. At the time of devastation after the revolution, when it was necessary to starve, the second period began, in which the creative activity of Anna Akhmatova developed.
In the verse, which says that everyone was plundered, betrayed, sold, the poetess is blessed with a new manifestation of life wisdom. The time when the thirties passed, saturated with drama, was overwhelmed by the feeling of an impending war, which was a new tragedy. Against the backdrop of terrible hostilities and personally endured suffering, the poetess decided to use sources permeated with folk lamentation from folklore and Bible motifs. So the wave passed with a stormy splash in creative activity Akhmatova, which became an exposure of the first two wars and the criminal actions of the authorities who did not support their people.
Poems about the banner of the enemy, the oath, the manifestation of courage, and others belong to this time. The theme of prayer passed through the creative activity of Akhmatova. In her first works, she asks God to give inspiration and love.
Prayer or verse?
While the era of the First World War was going on, during prayer, Akhmatova asks for all of Russia. The motif of the prayer that is used at the commemoration is noticeable in the verse where it is said that she was left alone. The verse about lamentation is included in the genre of prayer in which weep. Already before the end of her own life, when Akhmatova managed to find a state of calm within herself, she took the cross and prayer as a source for human life.
Akhmatova was able to deprive literary scholars of the opportunity to study the biography of personal lyrical love. Many people tried to guess what is the secret of poetry, so easily written, without beautiful epithets, full of sophistication, evoking the finds of innovators. They combined what is unrealistic to combine. Anna Akhmatava wrote poems about love in such a way that a catastrophe with a tectonic character burned out in them, and at the same time the wisdom of the Bible flourished.
Anna Akhmatova's poems about love have become so perfect that it may seem that what Blok called "the ascension of the soul underground" is absolutely not characteristic of her creative activity. Anna Akhmatova often recalls the tanned Muse, who dictated to her that it was only necessary to make a record “without error” on time. What Akhmatova had to go through, then in the "calendar twentieth century" and could not be dreamed of by people of the twenty-first century.
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova
“And it’s scary to guess it in a still unfamiliar smile”
They said about her - "the second great poetess after Sappho." Anna Andreevna Akhmatova was immediately recognized by poets and critics, having passed the "student" period. Having made her debut with the collection "Evening", she declared herself as a serious poet, and not "a bored wife of a poet playing poetry." In this sense, Anna Andreevna surpassed the popularity of her famous husband, the "Knight of the Silver Age" Nikolai Gumilyov.
Akhmatova's early lyrics are polyphonic and complex, she easily manages to convey the whole gamut of experiences of a woman in love and abandoned. “I taught women to speak,” she later says in one of her poems. This diversity was emphasized by a close friend of the poetess Osip Mandelstam, who believed that the origins of Akhmatova's poetry should be sought in Russian psychological prose of the 19th century.
The poetess herself easily and succinctly talks about the diversity of love:
“That snake, curled up in a ball,
At the very heart conjures
That whole days like a dove
Cooing on the white window,
It will shine in the bright hoarfrost,
Feels like a Levkoy in the slumber...
But faithfully and secretly leads
From joy and peace.
Can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a longing violin,
And it's scary to guess
In a still unfamiliar smile.
The lyrical poems of Anna Akhmatova are mostly devoted to separation, parting, discord between lovers. But at the same time emotional condition always different: it is disappointment in love, and annoyance due to a quarrel, and jealousy, and repentance. The only thing that unites the lyrical heroines of Akhmatova is the dignity with which they come to terms with the pain of loss:
And now you're heavy and dull,
Forsaken from fame and dreams
..............................
So the days go by, multiplying sorrows.
You guessed it: my love is
That even you couldn't kill her."
From this inner dignity, probably, comes the understatement of Akhmatova's lyrics. Very rarely does she talk directly about love. Even less often - it breaks into a cry, in contrast to the same Tsvetaeva (“And the cry stands along the whole earth / My dear, what have I done to you?”). As literary scholars aptly note, “Akhmatova’s furious is not pain, but memory, fiery torture is precisely the torture of silence”:
And that the memory of a violent torment,
Torture of the strong - a fiery disease! -
And in the bottomless night the heart teaches
Ask: oh, where is the departed friend?
In order to write like this, you need to rely on your own experience, go through the pain and have the courage, so that you can then “give it to the scolding”, to the judgment of the crowd:
“I stopped smiling
Frosty wind chills lips
One less hope
There will be one more song.
And this song I involuntarily
I will give to laughter and scolding,
Then, what is unbearably painful
Soul of love silence.
Another recognizable difference in Akhmatova's lyrics is the play on "not at all romantic" details. Weaving touches of everyday life into the canvas of works give Akhmatova’s poems a special charm, a feeling that everything described is happening here and now:
"I pray to the window beam -
He is pale, thin, straight.
Today I am silent in the morning
And the heart is cut in half.
At my washstand
Green copper,
But this is how the beam plays on him,
What fun to watch."
Without speaking directly about the innermost, it allows the surrounding objects to “whisper” for her, to complete the impression:
“So helplessly my chest grew cold,
But my steps were light.
I put on my right hand
Left hand glove.
It seemed that many steps
And I knew there were only three of them!
Autumn whisper between the maples
He asked: "Die with me!"
The glove on the left hand is both a sign of the heroine's excitement and a bad sign, which Akhmatova often listened to, beating in her poetry:
"I know that the gods have turned
People into objects without killing consciousness.
There is a lot of mystical and witchcraft in her early love poems. It was not for nothing that Akhmatova's husband, Nikolai Gumilyov, wrote "I did not take a wife, but a sorceress." Very often, with love, the poetess goes hand in hand with “hellish torments” and “dead brides”:
I don't need my legs anymore
Let them turn into a fish tail!
I swim, and the coolness is joyful,
The distant bridge turns white.
.........................
And you, my distant, really
Has he become pale and mournful?
What do I hear? For three whole weeks
You all whisper: “Poor, why ?!”
Akhmatova's love lyrics of the late period appeal to memories of the happy days of the past. The poetess survived the arrest and death of three spouses, the exile of her beloved son, for whose sake she made a deal with her conscience - she wrote a cycle of poems about Stalin, but never achieved his release. Probably from here the dialogues with the past, when the future was not seen so gloomy and something could still be changed:
And, as always happens in the days of a break,
The ghost of the first days knocked on our door,
And the silver willow burst
The hoary splendor of the branches.
We, frenzied, bitter and arrogant,
Not daring to raise their eyes from the ground,
The bird sang with a blissful voice
About how we took care of each other. AND YOU ARE NOW HEAVY AND SAD...
And now you're heavy and dull,
Forsaken from fame and dreams
But irreparably dear to me,
And the darker, the more touching you are.
You drink wine, your nights are unclean
What's in reality, you don't know what's in a dream,
But the painful eyes are green, -
Peace, apparently, did not find in wine.
And the heart only asks for a quick death,
Cursing the slowness of fate.
Increasingly, the western wind brings
Your reproaches and your prayers.
But do I dare to return to you?
Under the pale sky of my homeland
I can only sing and remember
And don't you dare remember me.
So the days go by, multiplying sorrows.
How can I pray to the Lord for you?
You guessed it: my love is
That even you couldn't kill her.
WHITE NIGHT
Ah, I didn't lock the door,
Didn't light the candles
You don't know how, tired,
I didn't dare lie down.
Watch the stripes go out
In the sunset darkness needles,
Drunk on the sound of a voice
Similar to yours.
And know that all is lost
That life is a damned hell!
Oh I was sure
What are you coming back. THAT NIGHT WE DID EACH OTHER CRAZY ...
That night we went crazy for each other
Only ominous darkness shone on us,
Ditches muttered their own,
And Asia smelled like carnations.
And we passed through a strange city,
Through the smoky song and midnight heat, -
Alone under the constellation Serpent,
Don't dare to look at each other.
It could be Istanbul or even Baghdad,
But, alas! not Warsaw, not Leningrad,
And this dissimilarity is bitter
It suffocated like the air of orphanage.
And it seemed like centuries were walking by,
And an invisible hand beat the tambourine,
And sounds like secret signs
Before us circled in darkness.
We were with you in the mysterious darkness,
As if walking on no man's land
But the moon is a diamond felucca
Suddenly floated over the meeting-separation...
And if that night comes back to you
In your incomprehensible fate for me,
You know that someone dreamed
This sacred moment.
EVENING CLOCK BEFORE THE TABLE...
Evening hours in front of the table,
Irreparably white page
Mimosa smells of Nice and warmth,
A large bird flies in the beam of the moon.
And, braiding tight braids for the night,
As if braids will be needed tomorrow
I look out the window, no longer sad,
On the sea, on sandy slopes.
What power does a person have
Which does not even ask for tenderness ...
I can't lift tired eyelids
When he says my name. INSTEAD OF DEDICATION
(from the cycle "Midnight Poems")
I wander along the waves and hide in the forest,
I dream of pure enamel,
Separation, probably, I’ll take it well,
But meeting with you - hardly.
EVERYTHING IS TAKEN: POWER AND LOVE...
Everything is taken away: both strength and love.
An abandoned body in an ugly city
Not happy with the sun. Feel like blood
I'm already quite cold.
I don’t recognize the Merry Muse’s temper:
She looks and does not utter a word,
And bows his head in a dark wreath,
Exhausted, on my chest.
And only conscience every day worse
He rages: he wants a great tribute.
Covering my face, I answered her...
But there are no more tears, no more excuses. THERE IS A cherished feature in the proximity of people...
There is a cherished trait in the proximity of people,
It does not go beyond love and passion, -
Let the lips merge in a terrible silence,
And the heart is torn from love to pieces.
And friendship is powerless here, and years
High and fiery happiness,
When the soul is free and alien
Slow languor of voluptuousness.
Those who seek her are mad, and her
Those who have achieved are stricken with longing...
Now you understand why my
The heart does not beat under your hand.
EVERY DAY IS A NEW ANXIETY...
Every day is a new worry
The smell of ripe rye is getting stronger.
If you are at my feet,
Sweet, lie down.
Orioles scream in wide maples,
Nothing to calm them until the night.
I love from your green eyes
Wasps fun to drive away.
On the road, the bell tinkled -
We remember this light sound.
I'll sing to you so that you don't cry
A song about the evening of parting. LOVE
That snake, curled up in a ball,
At the very heart conjures
That whole days like a dove
Cooing on the white window,
It will shine in a bright hoarfrost,
It will feel like a left-handed man in a dream ...
But faithfully and secretly leads
From joy and peace.
Can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a longing violin,
And it's scary to guess
In an unfamiliar smile.
MUSE
When I wait for her arrival at night,
Life seems to hang by a thread.
What honors, what youth, what freedom
In front of a nice guest with a pipe in her hand.
And so she entered. Throwing back the cover
She looked at me carefully.
I say to her: "Did you dictate to Dantu
Pages of Hell?" Answers: "Me".
The music went down the road
Autumn, narrow, steep,
And there were swarthy legs
Sprinkled with large dew.
I asked her for a long time
Wait for winter with me
But she said: "After all, here is the grave,
How can you still breathe?"
I wanted to give her a dove
The one that is whiter than everyone in the dovecote,
But the bird itself flew
For my slender guest.
I, looking after her, was silent,
I loved her alone
And the dawn was in the sky,
Like a gateway to her country.
NO, TSAREVICH, I AM NOT THAT...
No, prince, I'm not the one
Who do you want to see me
And for a long time my lips
They do not kiss, but prophesy.
Don't think you're delirious
And tormented by sadness
Loudly I cry trouble:
This is my craft.
And I can teach
For the unexpected to happen
How to permanently tame
The one I loved a little.
Do you want glory? - I have
Ask for advice then
This is just a trap
Where there is neither joy nor light.
Well now go home
Forget about our meeting
And for your sin, my dear,
I will answer to the Lord.
NO, IT'S NOT ME, IT'S SOMEONE ELSE SUFFERING...
No, it's not me, it's someone else suffering.
I couldn't do that, but what happened
Let black cloth cover
And let them take the lanterns.
Night.
THE MEMORY OF THE SUN IN THE HEART WEAKES...
The memory of the sun in the heart is weakening,
Yellow grass.
The wind blows with early snowflakes
Barely.
It no longer flows in narrow channels -
Water freezes.
Nothing will ever happen here
Oh never!
Willow in the sky spread like a bush
Fan through.
Maybe it's better that I didn't
Your wife.
The memory of the sun in the heart is weakening.
What's this? Dark?
Maybe! .. During the night he will have time to come
Winter.
And slender reapers have short hemlines,
Like flags on a holiday, they fly in the wind.
Now the ringing of merry bells,
Through dusty eyelashes a long look.
I'm not waiting for affection, not love flattery
In anticipation of inevitable darkness,
But come take a look at the paradise where together
We were blessed and innocent.
I COME TO THE POET TO VISIT ...
Alexander Blok
I came to visit the poet.
Exactly noon. Sunday.
Quiet in a spacious room
And outside the windows frost
And crimson sun
Above the shaggy blue smoke...
Like a silent master
Clearly looking at me!
He has eyes like
What should everyone remember?
I better be careful
Don't look at them at all.
But the conversation will be remembered
Smoky afternoon, Sunday
In a gray and high house
At the sea gates of the Neva.
I DONT ASK FOR YOUR LOVE...
I'm not asking for your love.
She's in a safe place now.
Believe that I am your bride
I don't write jealous letters.
But wise take advice:
Let her read my poems
Let her keep my portraits, -
After all, grooms are so kind!
And these fools need
Consciousness full of victory,
Than friendship bright conversations
And the memory of the first tender days ...
When happiness is pennies
You will live with a dear friend
And for the weary soul
Everything will immediately become so shameful -
On my solemn night
Do not come. I don't know you.
And how could I help you?
I don't heal from happiness.
YOU COULD ME DREAM AND LESS...
You could dream of me less often
After all, we often meet
But sad, excited and tender
You are only in the sanctuary of darkness.
And sweeter than the praise of a seraph
Your sweet flattery to me...
Oh, there you do not confuse the name
My. You don't sigh like you do here.
PRIVACY
So many stones are thrown at me
That none of them is scary anymore
And the trap became a slender tower,
High among the high towers.
Thanks to the builders
Let their care and sorrow pass.
From here I see the dawn earlier,
Here the last ray of the sun triumphs.
And often through the windows of my room
The winds of the northern seas fly in,
And the dove eats wheat from my hands...
And not the page I added -
Divinely calm and light,
A swarthy hand will add the Muses.
BLUE EVENING. THE WINDS HAVE BEEN SILLED...
Blue evening. The winds subsided,
The bright light is calling me home.
I wonder who is there? - not the groom,
Isn't this my fiancé?
On the terrace the silhouette is familiar,
A quiet conversation can be heard.
Oh, such captivating languor
I didn't know until now.
The poplars rustled anxiously,
Tender dreams visited them.
Blue steel skies
The stars are opaque.
I am carrying a bouquet of white lions.
For this, a secret fire is hidden in them,
Who, taking flowers from the hands of the timid,
Touches a warm hand.
a) Love - "The Fifth Season"
“Great earthly love” is the driving principle of all her lyrics. She made me see the world in a different way. In one of her poems, Akhmatova called love "the fifth season of the year." Of this - that unusual, fifth, time she saw the other four, ordinary. In a state of love, the world is seen anew. All senses are sharpened and tense. And the unusualness of the ordinary is revealed. A person begins to perceive the world with a tenfold strength, really reaching peaks in the sensation of life. The world opens in a different reality: “After all, the stars were larger, After all, the herbs smelled differently ...”
"That fifth season,
Just praise him.
Breathe the last freedom
Because it is love.
The sky flew high
Lighten the outlines of things
And no longer celebrates the body
Anniversary of sadness."
Love in Akhmatova almost never appears in a calm stay. The feeling, in itself sharp and extraordinary, acquires additional sharpness and unusualness, manifesting itself in the ultimate crisis expression - a rise or fall, the first awakening meeting or a completed break, mortal danger or death anguish.
That love theme in the works of Akhmatova are much wider and more significant than their traditional framework, the young critic and poet N.V. Nedobrov. In fact, he was the only one who understood before others the true scale of Akhmatova's poetry, pointing out that the distinguishing feature of the poetess's personality is not weakness and brokenness, as was usually believed, but, on the contrary, exceptional willpower. In Akhmatova's poems, he saw a lyrical soul rather harsh than too soft, rather cruel than tearful, and clearly dominating rather than oppressed.
In Akhmatov's lyrics always we are talking about something more than what is directly said in the poem
“Everything is taken away, both strength and love.
An abandoned body in an ugly city
Not happy with the sun.
Feel like blood
I'm already quite cold.
I don’t recognize the Merry Muse’s temper
She looks and does not utter a word,
And bows his head in a dark wreath,
Exhausted, on my chest.
And only conscience every day worse
Raging great wants tribute.
Covering my face, I answered her
But there are no more tears, no more excuses.
Everything is taken away, both strength and love.
In the 1920s and 30s, Akhmatova published two books Plantain and Anno Domini. Compared with the early books, the tone of that love novel changes noticeably, which before the revolution at times covered almost the entire content of Akhmatova's lyrics, and which many wrote about as the main discovery and achievement of the poetess. Usually her poems are the beginning of a drama, or only its culmination, or even more often the finale and ending. And here she relied on the rich experience of Russian not only poetry, but also prose. Akhmatova's verse is objective: it returns things to their original meaning, it draws attention to what we are normally able to pass by indifferently, not to appreciate, not to feel. Therefore, the opportunity opens up to feel the world in a childishly fresh way. Poems such as “Murka, don’t go, there’s an owl ...” are not thematically given poems for children, but they have a feeling of completely childish immediacy
“Murka, don’t go, there is an owl
Embroidered on the pillow
Murka is gray, not a purr,
Grandpa will hear.
Nanny, the candle is not burning,
And the mice are scratching.
I'm afraid of that owl
What is he embroidered for?
b) Big and restless love
Akhmatova's poems are not fragmentary sketches, not disparate sketches: the sharpness of the gaze is accompanied by the sharpness of thought. Their generalizing power is great. A poem may begin as a song:
"I'm at sunrise
I sing about love
On my knees in the garden Swan field ... "
“... There will be a stone instead of bread
I am an evil reward.
The poet all the time strives to take a position that would allow him to reveal his feelings to the maximum, to aggravate the situation to the end, to find the last truth. That is why Akhmatova has poems that seem to be uttered even from behind a death line. But no afterlife mystical secrets they don't carry. And there is no hint of something otherworldly.
Akhmatova's poems are, indeed, often sad: they carry a special element of love - pity. There is in the Russian folk language, in the Russian folk song, a synonym for the word "love" - the word "pity"; "I love" - "I'm sorry."
Already in the very first poems of Akhmatov, not only the love of lovers lives. It often turns into another, love is pity, or even opposed to it, or even supplanted by it:
"Oh no, I didn't love you,
Burning with sweet fire
So explain what power
In your sad name.
This sympathy, empathy, compassion in love - pity makes many of Akhmatova's poems truly folk, epic, makes them related to Nekrasov's poems so close to her and beloved by her. Akhmatova's love in itself carries the possibility of self-development, enrichment and expansion of the infinite, global, almost cosmic.
c) Loyalty in the theme of love in the work of Akhmatova in the 20s - 30s
In the difficult 1920s, Anna Akhmatova remained true to her subject matter. Despite its loud fame and the terrible era of war and revolution, Akhmatova's poetry, true to its feelings, remained restrained and retained the simplicity of its forms. This was precisely the hypnotic power of her poems, due to which Akhmatova's stanzas, heard or read only once, were often remembered for a long time.
The lyrics of the poetess constantly expanded. During these years, in her work, she turns to civil, philosophical lyrics, but continues her love orientation. She portrays love, love confession in a new way; the desperation and plea that make up the poem always seem to be a snippet of some conversation, the end of which we will not hear:
“Oh, you thought I was like that too,
That you can forget me.
And that I will throw myself, praying and sobbing,
Under the hooves of a bay horse.
Or I'll ask the healers
In spoken water spine
And I'll send you a scary gift
My treasured fragrant handkerchief.
Be damned.
I won't touch the cursed soul with a groan or a look,
But I swear to you by the garden of angels
I swear by the miraculous icon
And our fiery child of nights
I will never return to you.
Poems of the poetess are full of inconsistencies, hints hiding in the subtext. They are peculiar. The lyrical heroine most often speaks as if to herself in a state of impulse, semi-delusion. She does not explain, does not explain further what is happening:
"Somehow managed to separate
And put out the hateful fire.
My eternal enemy, it's time to learn
You really love someone.
I am free. Everything is fun for me
At night, the muse will fly to comfort,
And in the morning glory will drag
Rattle over the ear to crackle.
Don't even pray for me
And when you leave, look back...
The black wind will calm me.
Amuses the golden leaf fall.
As a gift, I will accept separation
And oblivion is like grace.
But, tell me, on the cross
Would you dare to send another?
Akhmatova is not afraid to be frank in her confessions and pleas, as she is sure that only those who have the same font of love will understand her. The form of a randomly and instantly escaping speech that everyone passing by or standing nearby can overhear, but not everyone can understand, allows it to be uncommon and significant.
In the lyrics of the 20s-30s, the ultimate concentration of the content of the episode itself, which underlies the poem, is also preserved. Akhmatova's love poems are always dynamic. The poetess has almost no calm and cloudless feeling, her love is always culminating: she is either betrayed or fades away:
“... I wasn’t nice to you,
You shamed me. And the torture continued
And how the criminal languished
Love full of evil.
It's like a brother.
Silent, angry
But if we meet eyes
I swear to you by heaven
Granite will melt in the fire.
Love is a flash, lightning, sizzling passion, piercing the whole being of a person and echoing through the great silent spaces.
The writer often associated the excitement of love with the great “Song of Songs” from the Bible:
“And in the Bible there is a red wedge leaf
Laid down on the Song of Songs…”
The poems of the 1920s and 1930s do not subdue all life, as they used to, but all life, all existence acquires a mass of nuances. Love has become not only richer and multicolored, but also more tragic. Genuine feeling takes on a biblical solemn elation:
"Unprecedented autumn built a high dome,
There was an order to the clouds not to darken this dome.
And people marveled: the September deadlines are passing,
And where did the cold, wet days go?
The water of the muddy channels became emerald,
And the nettles smelled like roses, but only stronger.
It was stuffy from the dawns, intolerable, demonic and scarlet,
We all remember them until the end of our days.
The sun was like a rebel who entered the capital,
And spring autumn caressed him so greedily,
It seemed that a transparent snowdrop would now get sick ...
That's when you approached, calm, to my porch.
Akhmatova's lyrics are reminiscent of Tyutchev: a violent clash of passions, a "fatal duel." Akhmatova, like Tyutchev, improvises both in feeling and in verse.
In the poem "Muse" (1924) from the cycle "Secrets of the Craft" she wrote:
“When I wait for her coming at night,
Life seems to hang by a thread.
What honors, what youth, what freedom
In front of a lovely guest with a pipe in her hand.
And so she entered. Throwing back the cover
Looked at me carefully
I tell her: “Did you dictate to Dante
Page of Hell? Answers: "I am".
Passion for improvisation was preserved in the later period of creativity. In the 1956 poem "Dream", the poetess says:
“How will I repay a royal gift?
Where to go and with whom to celebrate?
And now I write as before, without blots,
My poems in a burnt notebook.
Of course, the work of Anna Akhmatova is not only improvisation. Many times she altered her poems, was precise and scrupulous in the choice of words and their arrangement. The “Poem without a Hero” was supplemented and revised, for decades they improved, and sometimes the lines of old poems changed.
The “fatal” Tyutchev duel is an instant flash of passions, a deadly single combat of two equally strong opponents, of which one must either surrender or die, and the other must win.
"No secrets and no sorrow,
Not the wise will of fate
These meetings always left
The impression of a struggle.
I, in the morning, guessing the minute when you come to me,
Felt in the hands of bent
Weakly stabbing trembling ... "
“Oh, how deadly we love” - Akhmatova, of course, did not pass by this side of Tyutchev's worldview. It is characteristic that often love, its victorious power, turns out to be in her poems, to the horror and dismay of the heroine, who is turned against love itself!
“I called death to my dear,
And they died one by one.
Oh, woe to me! These graves
Foretold by my word.
Like crows circling, sensing
Hot, fresh blood
Such wild songs, rejoicing,
Mine sent love.
With you, I feel sweet and sultry.
You are close, like a heart in the chest.
Give me your hand, listen calmly.
I conjure you: go away.
And let me not know where you are
O Muse, do not call him,
May it be alive, unsung
My unrecognized love.
The love lyrics of Akhmatova in the 1920s and 1930s, to an incomparably greater degree than before, are directed to the inner, secretly spiritual life. One of the means of comprehending the secret, hidden life of the soul is to turn to dreams, which makes the poems of this period more psychological.
But if we meet eyes
I swear to you by heaven
Granite will melt in the fire.
Not without reason, in one of the poems dedicated to her by N. Gumilyov, Akhmatova is depicted with lightning bolts in her hand:
"She is bright in the hours of languor
And holds lightning bolts in his hand,
And her dreams are clear, like shadows
On heavenly fiery sand.
The creative path of Anna Akhmatova began in 1912 with the collection "Evening", and the vast majority of early poems were devoted to love. But in this eternal, repeatedly beaten theme, the poetess of the "Silver Age" proved to be an innovator. Almost every work of hers is a novel in miniature. The poetess seems to pull out a small episode from the whole story, shows love in a state of crisis, and the feeling becomes extremely acute.
Akhmatova's poems about love are most often poems about a gap.
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They contain tense silence, and a cry of pain, and the anguish of a broken heart, and the feelings of an abandoned woman. However, in her poems there is no weakness and brokenness, on the contrary, the lyrical heroine shows incredible fortitude. She is both feminine and masculine at the same time.
This deep and complex image requires great skill from the poet. But Akhmatova seems to handle it easily. Just a few short quatrains she manages to convey the psychologism of the lyrical heroine in great detail. And the main means of creating the character's image are things. Little things, such as, for example, a glove put on the other hand, green copper on the washstand, a forgotten whip, the reader remembers immediately and for a long time. Description of items shows the internal state lyrical hero, therefore, not a single thing in Akhmatova’s poems is accidental: “So helplessly my chest grew cold, // But my steps were light.// I put on my right hand// The glove from my left hand.” This is an excerpt from their poem "The Song of the Last Meeting", but how surprisingly this imagery of Akhmatova's poetic speech manifests itself here. The author seems to say one word, and the reader himself finishes the phrase. The heroine put the glove on the wrong hand, and this gesture showed confusion, helplessness, detachment of the unfortunate woman from the outside world. All this is difficult to convey in ordinary words, it only needs to be imagined and felt.
Love in Akhmatova's lyrics never appears in its calm state. Very often, along with despair, pain, hopelessness, thoughts of death wake up in the lyrical heroine. Then Akhmatova conveys the inner state of her character through the landscape. In the same “Song of the Last Meeting”, the lyrical heroine feels unity with nature, she sees a kindred spirit in the “autumn whisper”. The wind softly whispers: “I will be deceived by my dull, / Changeable, evil fate…”, and she understandingly replies “Darling, dear, - and so am I. I'll die with you!" The death of the human soul occurs in parallel with the death of nature, so the image of autumn is not uncommon in Akhmatova's poems. In the work “Tearful Autumn, Like a Widow…”, the season is personified, appears before us “in black clothes” and sobs incessantly, “sorting out her husband’s words”. The merging of the lyrical heroine with autumn also speaks of the inner dying of the offended woman.
With her poems, Akhmatova proves that autumn can also come in the soul with its piercing cold and endless rains. Love in the lyrics of the poetess is always disharmonious, it is filled with the deepest drama, a sense of hopelessness and a premonition of an approaching catastrophe. But this shows strong-willed and brave female face. In one of her poems, Akhmatova writes: "I taught women to speak." Indeed, her work frankly and truthfully shows the depth inner world simple woman.
Updated: 2018-03-02
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