The lyrical heroine of Marina Tsvetaeva. “Characteristic features of the lyrical heroine Tsvetaeva
Marina Tsvetaeva is a poet of enormous talent and tragic fate. She always remained true to herself, to the voice of her conscience, to the voice of her muse, who never “changed her goodness and beauty.” She begins to write poetry very early, and of course, the first lines are about love:
It was not people who separated us, but shadows.
My boy, my heart!
There was not, there is no and there will be no replacement,
My boy, my heart!
About her first book, “Evening Album,” the recognized master of Russian poetry M. Voloshin wrote: “Evening Album” is a wonderful and spontaneous book...” Tsvetaeva’s lyrics are addressed to the soul, focused on the rapidly changing inner world of a person and, in the end, on life itself in all its fullness:
Who is made of stone, who is made of clay,
And I’m silver and sparkling!
I care about treason, my name is
Marina,
I am the mortal foam of the sea.
In Tsvetaeva’s poems, like colored shadows in a magic lantern, the following appear: Don Juan in the Moscow blizzard, young generals of 1812, the “long and hard oval” of the Polish grandmother, the “mad chieftain” Stepan Razin, the passionate Carmen. What probably attracts me most about Tsvetaeva’s poetry is its emancipation and sincerity. She seems to be holding out her heart to us in her palm, confessing:
With all my insomnia I love you,
With all my insomnia I listen to you...
Sometimes it seems that all of Tsvetaeva’s lyrics are a continuous declaration of love for people, for the world and for a specific person. Liveliness, attentiveness, the ability to get carried away and captivate, a warm heart, a burning temperament - these are the characteristic features of the lyrical heroine Tsvetaeva, and at the same time of herself. These character traits helped her maintain a zest for life, despite the disappointments and difficulties of her creative path.
Marina Tsvetaeva put the work of a poet at the center of her life, despite the often impoverished existence, everyday troubles and tragic events that literally haunted her. But everyday life was overcome by existence, which grew out of persistent, ascetic labor.
The result is hundreds of poems, plays, more than ten poems, critical articles, memoir prose, in which Tsvetaeva said everything about herself. One can only bow to the genius of Tsvetaeva, who created a completely unique poetic world and sacredly believed in her muse.
Before the revolution, Marina Tsvetaeva published three books, managing to preserve her voice among the motley polyphony of literary schools and movements “ silver age" Her pen includes original works, precise in form and thought, many of which stand next to the peaks of Russian poetry.
I know the truth! All former truths are gone.
There is no need for people to fight with people on earth.
Look: it’s evening, look: it’s almost night.
What are poets, lovers, generals talking about?
The wind is already creeping. The ground is already covered in dew,
Soon the starry blizzard will catch the sky,
And soon we will all fall asleep underground,
Who on earth did not let each other sleep...
The poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva requires an effort of thought. Her poems and poems cannot be read and recited casually, mindlessly sliding along the lines and pages. She herself defined “co-creativity” between the writer and the reader: “What is reading, if not unraveling, interpreting, extracting the secret that remains behind the lines, beyond the words... Reading is, first of all, co-creativity... Tired of my thing , - means he read well and - read good. The reader’s fatigue is not a devastated fatigue, but a creative one.”
Tsvetaeva saw Blok only from a distance and did not exchange a single word with him. Tsvetaev’s cycle “Poems to Blok” is a monologue of love, tender and reverent. And although the poetess addresses him as “you,” the epithets that are assigned to the poet (“gentle ghost,” “knight without reproach,” “snow swan,” “righteous man,” “quiet light”) say that Blok is for her it's not real existing person, but a symbolic image of Poetry itself:
Your name is a bird in your hand,
Your name is like a piece of ice on the tongue,
One single movement of the lips.
Your name is five letters.
How much music there is in these amazing four lines and how much love! But the object of love is unattainable, love is unrealizable:
But my river is with your river,
But my hand is with your hand
They won't get along. My joy, how long
The dawn will not catch up with the dawn.
With her characteristic aphorism, Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva formulated the definition of a poet as follows: “The equality of the gift of the soul and the verb - that’s a poet.” She herself happily combined these two qualities - the gift of the soul (“The soul was born winged”) and the gift of speech.
I am happy to live exemplary and simple:
Like the sun - like a pendulum - like a calendar.
To be a secular hermit of slender height,
Wise - like every creature of God.
Know: the Spirit is my companion, and the Spirit is my guide!
Enter without report, like a beam and like a glance.
Live as I write: exemplary and concise,
As God commanded and friends do not command.
Tsvetaeva's tragedy begins after the 1917 revolution. She does not understand or accept her, she finds herself alone with two small daughters in the chaos of post-October Russia. It seems that everything has collapsed: the husband is unknown where, those around him have no time for poetry, and what is a poet without creativity? And Marina asks in despair:
What should I do, edgewise and providentially?
Singing! - like a wire! Tan! Siberia!
According to your obsessions - like across a bridge!
With their weightlessness
In the world of weights.
Never, not in the terrible post-revolutionary years, not later in emigration; - Tsvetaeva did not betray herself, did not betray herself, the person and the poet. Abroad, she found it difficult to get close to the Russian emigration. Her unhealing pain, an open wound - Russia. Don't forget, don't throw it out of your heart. (“It’s as if my life was killed... my life is running out.”)
In 1939, Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva returned to her homeland. And the last act of the tragedy began. The country, crushed by the leaden fog of Stalinism, seemed to prove - again and again - that it did not need a poet who loved her and aspired to his homeland. Eager, as it turned out, to die.
In godforsaken Yelabuga on August 31, 1941 - a noose. The tragedy is over. Life is over. What's left? Strength of spirit, rebellion, integrity. What remains is Poetry.
Opened the veins: unstoppable,
Life is irreparably whipped.
Set out bowls and plates!
Every plate will be small.
The bowl is flat.
Over the edge - and past -
Into the black earth, to feed the reeds.
Irreversible, unstoppable,
The verse gushes irreparably.
I can write endlessly about Tsvetaeva and her poems. Her love lyrics are amazing. Well, who else could define love exactly like this:
Scimitar? Fire?
Be more modest - where is it so loud!
The pain is as familiar to the eyes as a palm,
Like lips -
Your own child's name.
In Tsvetaeva’s poems, she is all of her, rebellious and strong, and in pain continuing to give herself to people, creating Poetry out of tragedy and suffering.
I am a Phoenix bird, only I sing in the fire!
Support my high life!
I'm burning high - and burning to the ground!
And may your night be bright!
Today Marina Tsvetaeva’s prophecy has come true: she is one of the most beloved and widely read modern poets.
Tsvetaeva's poem reveals a deep inner world lyrical heroine.
First, she compares herself to “the mortal foam of the sea.” The lyrical heroine is like foam, alive and energetic. When faced with an obstacle, it calms down for a while, but then with renewed vigor it rises up in the face of difficulties and steadfastly overcomes them.
Secondly, the lyrical heroine is full of love of life, enthusiasm and optimism. Reflecting on the purpose of a poet, she sincerely believes that she can touch the heart of every person and influence him. The lyrical heroine does not consider her fate harsh: on the contrary, she goes through her path with joy and love.
Thus, the lyrical heroine of Tsvetaeva’s poem is a strong, unshakable and loyal person to her work, meeting any challenge with a smile on her face.
___________________________________________
Subject inner freedom sounds in many works of Russian poets.
For example, in the poem by A.S.
Pushkin "The Prisoner". The lyrical heroes of both poems identify themselves with natural images that most accurately personify them personal qualities. However lyrical hero“The Prisoner,” unlike Tsvetaeva’s work, is “in a damp dungeon” and is therefore limited in its physical freedom.
Also this topic sounds in Lermontov's poem “Sail”. The inner world of the lyrical hero, as in Tsvetaeva’s work, is conveyed through comparing him with another image. However, if Tsvetaeva’s poem is imbued with joy and optimism, then in Lermontov’s “Sail” feelings of loss and loneliness prevail. (Alas! He is not looking for happiness // And he is not running from happiness!)
Thus, in many works of Russian poets the theme of inner freedom is found, but each author depicts it in his own way.
Updated: 2018-03-25
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Russian poetry is our great spiritual heritage, our national pride. But many poets and writers were forgotten, they were not published, they were not talked about. Due to big changes in our country in Lately, in our society, many unjustly forgotten names began to return to us, their poems and works began to be published. And of all these poets, the image of M. I. Tsvetaeva, a wonderful Russian poetess and, it seems to me, a very sincere person, is closer and dearer to me. Life sends some poets such a fate that, from the very first steps of conscious existence, puts them in the most favorable conditions for development natural gift. All in environment promotes rapid and full approval chosen path. And even if in the future it turns out difficult, unsuccessful, and sometimes tragic, the first note, struck with precision and fullness by the voice, is not changed until the very end. Such was the fate of Marina Tsvetaeva, a bright and significant poet of the first half of our century. Everything in her personality and in poetry (for her this is an indissoluble unity) sharply departed from the general circle of traditional ideas and dominant literary tastes. This was the strength and originality of her poetic word, and at the same time the annoying doom of living not in the main stream of her time, but somewhere next to it, outside the most pressing demands and demands of the era. With passionate conviction, the life principle she proclaimed in her early youth: to be only yourself, not to depend on time or environment in anything - later turned into insoluble contradictions of a tragic personal fate. Tsvetaeva’s creative image is unusually multifaceted: an original poet and an unexpected prose writer, an original playwright and a subtle memoirist, a literary researcher and a deep, paradoxical thinker. The origins of such creative versatility are undoubtedly in her bright individuality. A poet from birth, she was endowed with an inquisitive mind that tirelessly mastered new heights, a passionate, “immeasurable” heart, an unquenchable need to love, and a greedy, never-fading interest in life and people. She was given deep understanding historical destinies Russia and the world. The power of Tsvetaeva’s poems lies not in visual images, but in the bewitching flow of ever-changing, flexible, involving rhythms. Sometimes solemnly upbeat, sometimes colloquial and everyday, sometimes chanting, sometimes fervently sly, sometimes ironically and mocking, in their richness of intonation they masterfully convey the modulations of flexible, expressive, capacious and apt Russian speech. Not many Russian poets, contemporaries of Marina Tsvetaeva, have such an ability to use the rhythmic possibilities of traditional classical verse. The sound diversity of her poetry does not care about smooth euphony, and the flexibility of her intonation structure is completely dependent on the rhythm of her experiences. And therefore her poems are always a sensitive seismograph of the heart, thoughts, and love excitement that possesses the poet:
With all my insomnia I love you,
With all my insomnia I listen to you -
About that time, as throughout the Kremlin
The bell ringers wake up.
But my river is with your river,
But my hand is with your hand
They won’t come together, my joy, until
The dawn will not catch up with the dawn.
Art, Tsvetaeva’s amazing poetic art is loving: love is the center, the very essence of poetic language. But what kind of love?
Love as a complete symbiosis with nature, from which it comes and to which it returns. Marina claims that she does not like the sea, because it is too similar to love. “I don’t like love and I don’t honor it. I love friendship, mountains,” writes Marina. Tsvetaeva has her own special understanding of love; she never perceives it as an earthly feeling, but as a special state of the soul, in which the physical presence of the object of love is unnecessary. Possession of a loved one is carried out not in time, but in the space of a white page. Love saturates her creativity, enriches her with high stylistic tones, increasingly risky contrasts, her style becomes more and more laconic, fast, neglecting logical connections, takes the form of a recitative in a painful musical crescendo. From the wide range of lyrical themes, where everything, as if to a single center, converges on love - in various shades of this capricious feeling - it is necessary to highlight what for Marina Tsvetaeva at that period of her life remains the most basic, deep, determining everything else. She is a poet of the Russian national origin.
Ancient Rus' appears in the poems of the young Tsvetaeva as an element of violence, self-will, and unbridled revelry of the soul. An image emerges of a woman devoted to rebellion. Autocratically giving in to the whims of her heart, in selfless prowess, as if breaking free from under the age-old oppression that weighed on her. Her love is willful, does not tolerate any obstacles, is full of audacity and strength. She is either a shooter of the Zamoskvoretsky riots, or a book-reader, or a wanderer of long roads, or a participant in bandits, or almost the noblewoman Morozova. Her Rus' sings, laments, dances, prays and blasphemes to the full extent of Russian irrepressible nature. Love in the poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva is expressed as an alarming unity of contradictory feelings: it is a kind of presence-absence, attraction and repulsion, exaltation and suffering, while its constant manifestation dark side, symbolizing separation and death. Marina Tsvetaeva was given the opportunity to experience the divine feeling of love, loss and suffering. She emerged from these trials with dignity, pouring them into beautiful poems that became an example of love lyrics. Tsvetaeva is uncompromising in love, she is not satisfied with pity, but only with a sincere and great feeling in which you can drown, merge with your loved one and forget about the cruel and unfair world around you.
My! – and about what awards
Paradise - when in your hands, at your mouth -
Life: Open Joy
Say hello in the morning!
There are lucky men and women,
Those who can't sing. Them -
Shedding tears! How sweet it is to pour out
I'm burning - like a torrential downpour!
So that something would tremble under the stone. I have a calling like a whip -
Between the lamentations of the gravestone, Duty commands us to sing.
Poems about love can be a hymn to pure and bright love, elevating a person, giving him both the joy of life and the joy of creativity.
2. 1Love is a commonwealth for fellow writers.
The poet starts talking from afar.
The poet's speech goes far
He's the one who mixes the cards
Deceives the weight and the count,
He is the one who asks from his desk,
Who beats Kant headlong. ,.
The path of poets: burning, not warming,
Tearing, but not cultivating - explosion and hacking -
Your path, maned, crooked,
Not predicted by the calendar!
Tsvetaeva belongs to those artists whose contribution to world literature remains to be fully appreciated not only by readers, but also by researchers. The words that Tsvetaeva once said about Vladimir Mayakovsky can rightfully be attributed to herself: “with his swift feet, Mayakovsky walked far beyond our modern times and somewhere around some corner will be waiting for us for a long time” (article “Epic and lyrics modern Russia" 1932.) Marina Tsvetaeva was a poet - and true poet never lacking historical hearing and sight. Even if the revolutionary events, the colossal social changes that took place before her eyes, did not affect her tightly closed being, still she, a deeply Russian soul, could not help but hear the “noise of time” - albeit only in a vague subconscious. This is what makes her think about the poetry and personality of Vladimir Mayakovsky. In poems dedicated to him in 1921, she welcomes the all-crushing power of his poetic word, using a strange epithet: “archangel - heavy-footed,” without saying anything about the meaning and significance of this power. But several difficult years of migration pass, and she writes in her memoirs about the poet:
Well, Mayakovsky, what should I convey from you to Europe?
What's true is here.
What can you say about Russia after reading Mayakovsky?
That the power is there"
And a month after the Paris meeting, she writes in a letter to the poet: “Dear Mayakovsky! Do you know how my greeting to you at Eurasia ended? By taking me out of the Latest news", the only newspaper where I was published!. “If she only greeted the poet Mayakovsky, but in his person she greets the new Russia”
The second poet who attracts the keen attention of Marina Tsvetaeva is Boris Pasternak. She feels in him both poetic freshness and some kinship with herself in the very stylistic manner, in the structure of poetic speech. Both of them - like Vladimir and Mayakovsky - could count themselves among the decisive renovators of the linguistic norms of versification that traditionally existed before them, which had already become familiar. But for Mayakovsky and Pasternak - each in his own way - poetic innovation pursued different goals. Mayakovsky was looking for new semantic equivalents to express the concepts of revolutionary innovation that had come into use. Without breaking basic laws native language, he experimented with the word, giving it special energy and expressiveness. This was reflected in his sharp, bold and unexpected metaphorical word formations: “my head is clouded with philosophy”, “we don’t fly, we flash lightning”, “I went to surprise the universe with a thunderstorm”, “Chicago below is crushed by the earth”, etc. - examples taken at random from one only the poem “150,000,000! With Pasternak everything is different. His verbal innovations are subordinated to a purely impressionistic manner of conveying one or another state of his own soul, using an extremely subjective system of figurative or speech associations. It is also necessary to add the widespread use of speech prosaisms on a regular lyrical background, and the exceptional freshness of the rhyme.
The third and only poet whom Tsvetaeva revered as a deity from poetry, and whom she worshiped as a deity, was Blok. For her, the block is a symbolic image of poetry. And although the conversation is conducted on a first-name basis, from all the generously scattered epithets (“gentle ghost”, “knight without reproach”, “snow swan”, “righteous man”) it is clear that for Tsvetaeva Blok is not a real poet, carrying a complex and restless peace in your soul, but an ethereal ghost created by a romantically wild imagination.
Your name is a bird in your hand,
Your name is like a piece of ice on the tongue.
One single movement of the lips.
Your name is five letters.
A ball caught on the fly
Silver bell in mouth.
Your name is a kiss on the eyes,
In the gentle cold of motionless eyelids.
Your name is a kiss in the snow.
Key, icy, blue sip.
With your name - deep sleep.
And, of course, the most beloved and most important ally in her life was Akhmatova. They met only in June 1941, both had already experienced a lot, having finally established themselves in their creative maturity and life experience. According to memoirist N. Ilyina, the meeting took place in a long conversation. There is no information about the content of this conversation. It is difficult to imagine that it took place in full understanding of each other - these two poets were too different in their creative aspirations and in character. The memoirist, however, got the impression that Akhmatova reacted very reservedly to her guest at that time. In any case, recalling this meeting in 1963, Ilyina conveyed Akhmatova’s words about Tsvetaeva’s early poetry: “Rostand loved bad taste in many ways. And she managed to become a great poet!” Ilyina shared this brief response with the poet’s daughter, Ariadna Sergeevna Efron. And she received a letter from her, which contained the following lines: “On bad taste” of the early Tsvetaeva: there was no bad taste, it always was, “with this immensity in the world of measures.” Marina Tsvetaeva was immense, Anna Akhmatova was harmonious; hence the difference in their attitude towards each other. The immensity of one accepted the harmony of the other, but harmony is not capable of perceiving immensity; This is a little bit not comme il faut from the point of view of harmony.” This is very typical of Tsvetaeva - she willfully and imperiously subordinates everything to her own dream. The same is true in the “Akhmatova” cycle, where the conversation is also on a first-name basis, although there was no personal communication. And the author’s definitions are just as unusual, even strange: “a crazy fiend of the white night”, “alone like the moon in the sky”, “I am a prison guard, you are a guard”. And at the same time, a proud statement: “We are crowned because we trample the same ground with you, that the sky is the same above us!” The works of Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva had a lot in common: Akhmatova’s love affair included the era - she voiced and altered the poems in her own way, introduced into them a note of anxiety and sadness that had a broader meaning than her own fate. Against this rumbling background, which did not recognize halftones and shades, in the vicinity of thunderous marches and “iron” verses of the first proletarian poets, Akhmatova’s love lyrics, played on stupid violins, should, according to all the laws of logic, get lost and disappear without a trace, but this is not happened.
Akhmatova’s hero, like Tsvetaevsky’s, is complex and multifaceted. In fact, it is even difficult to define him in the same sense as, say, the hero of Lermontov’s lyrics is defined. It is he who is a lover, a brother, a friend, presented in an infinite variety of situations: insidious and generous, killing and resurrecting, first and last.
The center of the heroines Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva, which, as it were, brings the rest of the world of her poetry to itself, turns out to be its main nerve, its idea and principle. This is Love. The element of the female soul inevitably had to begin with such a declaration of itself in love. Herzen once said that a woman is “driven into love” as a great injustice in the history of mankind. In a certain sense, all the lyrics of Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva are “driven into love.” But here is a view of the world that allows us to talk about the poetry of Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva as a new phenomenon in the development of Russian poetry of the twentieth century. There is both “divinity” and “inspiration” in their poetry.
Anna Chrysostom - All Rus'
And this is my heavy sigh.
Tell me, burning sky,
About eyes that are black with pain,
And about the quiet bow to the ground
In the middle of a golden field.
You, green-water forest stream,
Tell me how it was tonight
I looked into you - and whose
I saw the face in you with my own eyes.
You, in the thunderous heights
Rediscovered!
You! - Nameless!
Bring my love
Zlotoustoy Anna - all Rus'!
2. 2 Mother's love.
Children are the views of the fearful. The sound of playful feet on the parquet. Children are the sun in cloudy motifs, a whole world of hypotheses of joyful sciences; children are rest, a short moment of peace. A reverent vow to God at the crib, Children are the world’s tender riddles, and in the riddles themselves lies the answer! The wonderful times of childhood and early youth left a bright trace in Marina Ivanovna’s soul, and then love came, big, for life, and Tsvetaeva boldly and decisively stepped towards her. Tsvetaeva clearly separates the world of adults and Child's world- polysyllabic, multi-colored and huge. The natural world of children is also “our kingdoms.” “Trees, fields, slopes” become the possessions of their souls. And the “dark forest”, and the white cloud “in the heights of heaven”, and the very freshness of the summer morning - all these are precious treasures of children’s lives. The delight of learning is associated for children with the rich world of books. Children's perception of books is deep and unique. The world transformed by the “magical power of chants”, with early years was dear to Tsvetaeva. It is no coincidence that her poetry contains so many references to what she has read, and literary characters often appear actors her works. “The Paradise of Childhood” is illuminated by the presence of the world of books in the heroine’s life. Reading and the mother’s playing the piano merge the world of words and the world of music: “Under Grieg, Schumann and Cui, I learned the fate of Tom.” It was a kind of school of feelings: “Oh, golden times,/Where the gaze is bolder and the heart is purer!” However, it is impossible to return this pristine sensation, just as it is impossible to return past years and return to the past. The heroine can only exclaim after the days gone by: “Where did they go, how far?” I wear his ring defiantly! - Yes, in eternity - a wife, not on paper! - his excessively narrow face is like a sword in his face, I am faithful to chivalry - to all of you who lived and died without fear! Such people - in fatal times - compose stanzas - and go to the chopping block. Very early and amazingly correctly, she assessed the character of Sergei Efron, her lover and husband, a strong and noble man. The light of this love helped Tsvetaeva survive the cold and hungry revolutionary years in Moscow, steadfastly, without giving up her creativity, living in anticipation of a meeting. And when she had to leave Russia for this, Marina Tsvetaeva had no doubts. She did not leave her homeland, but went to her beloved, who needed her, but by the will of fate ended up in a foreign land. Like right and left hand- your soul is close to my soul. We are adjacent, blissfully and warmly, like right and left wings. But the whirlwind rises - and the abyss runs from the right to the left wing. There are many poems dedicated to his daughter Ariadne (Ale).
I don’t know where you are and where I am.
The same songs and the same worries.
You are such friends!
You are such orphans!
And it’s so good for the two of us -
Homeless, sleepless and orphaned
Two pages: feeding on the world.
An attempt to look into the future can be called a small poem, permeated with a feeling of peace and tranquility: “Girl! – Queen of the Ball” In 1912, her collection of poems “The Magic Lantern” was published. The address to the reader that opened this collection is typical: Dear reader! Laughing like a child, it's fun to meet my magic lantern. Your sincere laughter - may it be ringing and unaccountable, as of old. In Tsvetaeva’s “Magic Lantern” we see sketches of family life, sketches of the sweet faces of mother, sister, acquaintances, there are landscapes of Moscow and Tarusa:
There is evening in the sky, clouds in the sky, a boulevard in the blue twilight. Our girl was tired and stopped smiling. Small hands are holding a blue ball. In this book, the theme of love appeared for the first time in Marina Tsvetaeva. Many of Tsvetaeva’s current collections open with the poem “To my poems, written so early,” created in 1913, during her youth, it became programmatic and prophetic: To my poems, written so early that I didn’t even know that I was a poet, who broke out like splashes from the fountain, like sparks from rockets, bursting like little devils into the sanctuary, where sleep and incense, my poems, like precious wines, will have their turn.
“Early Bells” meets the humble and meek soul. From a young age, Alya is her mother’s faithful friend, supporting her in the most difficult moments. “My secret adviser is my daughter,” Tsvetaeva writes in her essay “The Story of One Initiation” (1931). The cycle “Ale” (1918) is dominated by the motif of a deep spiritual relationship between mother and daughter (she is six years old). As in an adult, the mother sees with bitter joy similarities with herself. The feeling of inner kinship, kinship of souls has always been one of the most joyful for Tsvetaeva.
2. 2 Love as the law of life.
Tsvetaeva's first poetic steps were immediately noticed and appreciated. Her lyrical heroine is a person with an unusually refined vision and sense of beauty. Those around her are also attractive real world, and a distant dream world. She is familiar with both the exciting joy of the present and the foggy “region of legends”, be it the legends of history or dreams of what has not come true. “I crave all roads at once!” exclaims Tsvetaeva’s lyrical hero, striving to “understand everything and survive for everyone!” Tsvetaevskaya’s heroine values every impression she has.
Mine! - and about what awards
Paradise - when in your hands, at your mouth -
Life: Open Joy
Say hello in the morning!
For a poet it becomes extremely important to “stop the moment” and capture it. She urges: “Write down more accurately!” Nothing is unimportant!” Then she says: “My poetry is a diary, my poetry is the poetry of proper names.” Tsvetaeva does not separate the “external” from the “internal”, seeing in the “external” the expression and manifestation of the inner essence. Later, recalling the times of her childhood and youth, she writes: “I want to resurrect that whole world - so that they all don’t live in vain - and so that I don’t live in vain!” In this, Tsvetaeva sees her duty as an artist, dictated by love. accepting life as a gift from the Creator, Tsvetaeva speaks of the incredible, almost exorbitant value of the gift for mere mortals to understand.
The fervor of the heroine’s nature is captured in the poem “In Paradise,” where the heavenly and the earthly confront each other. Eternal, heavenly, divine world-peace, where worries and sorrows are unknown. Yes, he is harmonious, but at the same time he is immensely alien, which is what he feels
Seeing off visions of heaven with a smile,
Alone in a circle of innocently strict maidens,
I will sing, earthly and alien,
Earthly tune!
The rebellious soul of Tsvetaeva’s heroine has no peace and tranquility. Her earthly feelings are still too strong, the memories of the abandoned, earthly things are too precious. “I will cry for earthly things in paradise” - this is the charm of everything earthly - be it sad or joyful - it is impossible to forget. With her characteristic maximalism, Tsvetaeva immediately addresses “all of you.” She is waiting to be loved - for her independent and proud disposition, for her dignity and generosity, for the disappointments and pain she has experienced, an alloy of heterogeneous principles that are intricately united in her loving, but vulnerable, heart.
A number of Tsvetaeva’s poems are dedicated to her daughter Ariadne. Here is an example of a short poem, reminiscent of an expressive diary entry, permeated with a feeling of peace and tranquility:
Girl! - queen of the ball!
Or a schema monk - God knows! –
How much time? - It was getting light.
Someone answered me: - Six.
To be quiet in sadness,
So that the tender one grows, -
My girl was met
Early bells.
From childhood, Alya became her mother’s devoted companion, supporting her in the most difficult moments. “My secret adviser is my daughter,” Tsvetaeva calls her. The motive of the deep spiritual kinship between mother and daughter - kinship not only by blood, but also by inner essence is very clearly expressed. The poet addresses his six-year-old daughter as her peer, in whom she sees with bitter joy similarities with herself: “I don’t know where you are and where I am. /the same songs and the same worries!” "Two Pages", deprived of the protection of home, nevertheless do not feel deprived:
And it’s so good for the two of us -
Homeless, sleepless and orphaned
Two birds: just got up - let's eat,
Two pages: feeding on the world.
The feeling of spiritual kinship has always been one of the most important, most joyful for Tsvetaeva. All the more precious for Tsvetaeva was any manifestation of attention and kindness. For her heroine, even a little is enough - be it a “tender name” or “letters to kiss at night.” She knows how to be grateful for the bright things that life gives her, for every bit of warmth and compassion. And this is the only asset of her suffering soul:
And that's all flattery and entreaty
I begged from the happy ones.
And that's all I'll take with me
To the land of silent kisses.
Marina Tsvetaeva experienced a lot of grief in her life.
But Tsvetaeva proudly walked through life, bearing everything that befell her lot. And only poetry reveals the abyss of her heart, which contains the seemingly unbearable. Having left her homeland, she doomed herself to a hopeless and impoverished existence in an emigrant environment, which very soon realized that Marina was not only a foreign, but also a hostile phenomenon for her. From now on, she, who previously declared that “politics does not interest her in any way,” becomes a fierce denouncer of emigrant spiritual emptiness, emasculation, idle talk and generally bourgeois philistinism in spirit and life. “Fecit indignati versum” - “Indignation gives birth to verse,” said Juvenal, and these words are fully applicable to many of Tsvetaeva’s poems of the foreign period. All the work of these terrible years for her is imbued with feelings of anger, contempt, and the deadly irony with which she stigmatizes the emigrant world. Depending on this, the entire stylistic character of poetic speech changes dramatically. The impetuous and intermittent nature of the speech is unusual simply because it reflects the poet’s state of mind with the rapid spontaneity of the moment. Even in print, the Tsvetaevas seem to have not yet cooled down from the internal heat that gave birth to them. Hence their breathless abruptness, the fragmentation of phrases into short, explosive emotional pieces and a continuous stream of unexpected, but at the same time convincing associations.
A direct heir to the traditional melodic and even chanting structure, Tsvetaeva resolutely rejects any melody, preferring aphoristic conciseness, as if spontaneously born speech, only conditionally subordinated to the breakdown into stanzas. And at the same time, he widely uses the technique of sound repetitions and generous alliteration, not to mention fresh, unexpected rhyming, or, better said, a system of terminal consonances.
In one of her private letters, Marina will say: “They are fiercely mocking me here, playing on my pride, my need and my lack of rights. You cannot imagine the poverty in which I live, but I have no means of living except writing. My husband is sick and cannot work. The daughter of a knitted cap earns 5 francs a day, the four of us live on it, that is, we are just slowly dying of hunger.” But here is a characteristic confession: “I don’t know how long I have left to live, I don’t know if I’ll ever be in Russia again, but I know that I will write strongly until the last line, that I won’t give weak poems.” Then Tsvetaeva’s book “After Russia” was published, in which her loneliness in emigration was clearly outlined. The tragic paradox of her fate was that the more bitter her restless loneliness was, the higher she grew as a poet. And when, in subsequent years, her incantatory voice happened to fly to Moscow, it sounded with hypnotic power, arousing sympathy, compassion, and rejoicing. Even if he didn’t fly very often, even if very few people had a chance to read and appreciate Marina’s poems, the matter, in essence, does not change! Be that as it may, the return of the wonderful poet to his homeland began already then. It was decided irrevocably by her own homesickness. Reviewing not so long life path Marina Tsvetaeva - she did not live to see forty-nine years.
You throw your head back -
Because you are proud and a liar.
What a cheerful companion
This February brought me!
Whose hands touched
Your eyelashes, beauty,
When, and how, and with whom, and how much
Your lips are kissed - I don’t ask.
Marina Tsvetaeva wrote a lot, wrote with passion. Her inherent pride did not allow her to humiliate herself to the point of complaining about her personal mental and material hardships, and yet she, too, had to experience all the difficulties of everyday life during the transitional period. Her poems at that time sounded life-affirming and major. Only in the most difficult moments could the following words escape from her: “Give me peace and joy, let me be happy, you will see how I can do this!” According to Pushkin’s famous statement, inspiration “is the disposition of the soul to the liveliest acceptance of impressions, and consequently to the rapid understanding of concepts, which contributes to the explanation of others.”
This is a theoretical aspect. And in “Autumn” Pushkin figuratively recreated that state when the “soul” is embarrassed by lyrical excitement, trembles and sounds, and seeks, as in a dream, to finally pour out in free manifestation.”
In one case it is reason, in the other it is poetry. They do not contradict each other.
And here is Tsvetaeva:
In the black sky - words are written -
And my beautiful eyes went blind
And we are not afraid of the deathbed,
And the passionate bed is not sweet for us.
In sweat - one who writes, in sweat - one who plows!
We know a different kind of zeal:
A light fire dancing over the curls -
A breath of inspiration!
2. 4. Love - admiration for the beloved - the knight.
The heroine of Tsvetaeva is unthinkable without admiring admiration for the one she loves. This makes her love all-encompassing. A true, unclouded feeling lives not only in the innermost depths of the soul, but also permeates all existence. This is exactly what Tsvetaeva’s lyrics are about. Therefore, the very phenomena of this world in the minds of her heroine are often inseparable from the image of her beloved. She is convinced that feelings have unprecedented power; they are subject to distance and time. Tsvetaeva could really foresee - both in her own destiny and in the destiny of loved ones. One of her prophecies that came true is in the poem “I wear his ring with defiance,” dedicated to her husband Efron:
I wear his ring defiantly!
Yes, in Eternity - a wife, not on paper. -
His overly narrow face
Like a sword. ()
It is thin with the first thinness of its branches.
His eyes are beautiful and useless! –
Under the wings of outstretched eyebrows -
Two abysses.
In his face I am faithful to chivalry,
To all of you who lived and died without fear!
Such - in fatal times -
They compose stanzas and go to the chopping block.
He feels pride in another person, admiration for the nobility of his soul and, at the same time, a presentiment of his terrible fate. Soon the recipient will actually have to go “on the chopping block” and pay with his life for his own ideals and delusions, gains and losses. Love for Tsvetaeva and her heroine is “a fire in the chest,” that very “only news that is always new.” This love is all-encompassing. Love reveals the poetry of the world. It liberates, “disenchantes.” It is impossible to get used to the ever-new miracle of love. Where does such tenderness come from?” exclaims the heroine of the 1916 poem.
2. 4. 1Love in Tsvetaeva’s lyrics is tender and heartfelt:
Angel-like knight -
Duty! - Heavenly sentinel!
White gravestone monument
Alive on my chest.
Winged behind me
The growing sergeant,
Nightly spy
Morning bell ringer
Passion, and youth, and pride -
Everything surrendered without a riot,
Because you are a slave
The first one said: - Madam!
Love for Tsvetava and her heroine is “a fire in the chest,” that very “only news that is always new.” This love is all-encompassing. Love reveals the poetry of the world. It liberates, “disenchantes.” It is impossible to get used to the ever-new miracle of love:
Where does such tenderness come from?
Not the first - these curls
I smooth out my lips
I knew - darker than yours.
The stars rose and went out
(Where does such tenderness come from?),
The eyes rose and went out
Right before my eyes.
Not the same songs yet
I listened in the dark night
(Where does such tenderness come from?)
On the very chest of the singer.
2. 4. 2Love is eternal; according to the poet, it is fused with the world of nature and art, since it is the embodiment of the creative principle of existence.
This is a boundless sea, an uncontrollable element that completely captures and absorbs. Tsvetaeva’s lyrical heroine dissolves in this magical world, suffering and tormented, grieving and sad: “Yesterday I looked into your eyes”
Yesterday I looked into your eyes,
And now everything is looking sideways!
Yesterday I was sitting before the birds, -
All larks these days are crows!
I'm stupid and you're smart
Alive, but I'm dumbfounded.
O cry of women of all times:
“My dear, what have I done to you?!”
And her tears are water, and her blood is
Water, washed in blood, in tears!
Not a mother, but a stepmother - Love:
Expect neither judgment nor mercy.
2. 4. 3 love is by no means a serene pleasure. In love, the lyrical heroine asserts her right to act. Love, according to Tsvetaeva, liberates the soul, gives a feeling of inner freedom, and rediscovers a person himself. Hence the proud confidence: love reveals enormous spiritual strength that can withstand death itself. The heroine is decisive and uncompromising in her statement:
“I will conquer you from all lands”
I will conquer you from all lands, from all heavens,
Because the forest is my cradle and the forest is my grave,
Because I stand on the ground with only one foot,
Because I will sing about you like no one else.
I will win you back from all times, from all nights,
All the golden banners, all the swords,
I'll throw in the keys and chase the dogs off the porch -
Because in the earthly night I am more faithful than a dog.
I will win you away from all the others - from that one,
You will not be anyone's groom, I will not be anyone's wife,
And in the last argument I will take you - shut up! –
The one with whom Jacob stood in the night.
But until I cross my fingers on your chest -
O curse! – you remain – you:
Your two wings, aimed at the ether, -
Because the world is your cradle, and the grave is the world! 2. 4. 4A peculiar oath of allegiance to love - the poem “Love! Love!" - 1920).
Love! Love! And in convulsions, and in the coffin
I’ll be wary - I’ll be seduced - I’ll be embarrassed - I’ll rush.
Oh honey! Not in a grave snowdrift,
I won’t say goodbye to you in the clouds.
And that’s not why I need a pair of beautiful wings
Given to keep poods in my heart.
Swaddled, eyeless and voiceless
I will not increase the miserable settlement.
No, I’ll stretch out my arms - my body is elastic
Death, I'll knock you out! - miles per thousand in the area
The snow has melted - and the forest of bedrooms.
And if everything is a bee, wings, knees
Squeezing, she let herself be taken to the graveyard, -
Then only to laugh at decay
Rise up in verse - or bloom like a rose!
For the heroine, endowed with a warm heart, love is also an opportunity for complete self-expression and self-disclosure. This is the wealth of the soul that she is ready to generously and recklessly share, seeing this as the purpose and meaning of her existence.
Love reveals enormous spiritual strength - strength that can withstand death itself. Love is eternal, fused with the world of nature and art, as it is the embodiment of the creative principle of existence.
Love cannot die - it is eternally reborn. Love reveals colossal spiritual forces - forces that resist death itself:
The body is elastic
With a single wave from your shrouds,
Death, I'll knock you out! – Miles per thousand in the area
The snow has melted - and the forest of bedrooms. (“I have an inclination of hearing towards you”), reckless and devout (“Two suns are freezing, - oh Lord! - / One is in the sky, the other is in my chest”). It can be a crafty game (the “Comedian” cycle) and a severe test (“Pain is as familiar as the palm of your hand to the eyes”). She is enlightened and wise (“No one has taken anything away - / It’s sweet to me that we are apart!”) and tragic (“Gypsy passion of separation!”). It can show fortitude (“No, our girls don’t cry”) and a sense of doom (“Poem of the End”). However, it always signifies the generosity and richness of the soul.
2. 4. 5 The movement of one human heart to another is a natural part of existence, an immutable law of life (“The world began in me - 1917”).
The world nomadism began in the darkness:
It's roaming around night earth- trees,
These are fermenting golden wine - clusters,
It is the stars who wander from house to house,
These are the rivers starting their journey - backwards!
And I want to sleep on your chest.
Joseph Brodsky: “Art, Tsvetaeva’s amazing poetic art, lovingly, is the center, the very essence of poetic language. But what kind of love?
Love as a complete symbiosis with nature, from which it comes and to which it returns. Marina has her own special understanding of love; she never perceives it as an earthly feeling, but as a special state of the soul, in which the physical presence of an object is unnecessary. Love saturates her creativity, enriches her with high stylistic tones and increasingly risky contrasts.”
The gravity of hearts, the search for protection and peace, the search for warmth is compared to the journey of stars and trees. The heroine shows pride of spirit: “No, our girls don’t cry.” 2. 4. 6. The absence of love for the lyrical heroine Tsvetaeva would mean being outside of life. Premonition of love, anticipation of it, disappointment in a loved one, jealousy, pain of separation - all these states of Tsvetaeva’s heroine are captured in the lyrics in numerous nuances. Love can be quiet, reverent, reverent, tender - and reckless, spontaneous. At the same time, she is always internally dramatic. The heroine feels with particular acuteness the variability, the captivating nature of every moment, the desire to remain in the memory of her loved one (“Inscription in an Album” - 1909, “I have an ear for you”).
Valery Bryusov wrote that her poems sometimes make you feel awkward, as if you were peeping through a keyhole. And indeed, her whole life is in poetry. Our hall yearns for you, - You could barely see her in the shadows. Those words that I did not tell you in the shadows yearn for you. With the independence of her creativity and her entire life behavior, Marina Tsvetaeva defended a woman’s right to have a strong character, rejecting the established image of femininity. She preferred the happiness of freedom to the happiness of being loved and loving: Like a right and left hand - Your soul is close to my soul. We are adjacent blissfully and warmly, like right and left wings. But the whirlwind rises - and the abyss runs from the right to the left wing! With all her pride and “treachery,” Tsvetaeva can give herself up to a short moment of love: Mine! – and about what awards. Paradise - when in your hands, at your mouth - Life: open joy. Say hello in the morning! Love never becomes a serene delight for the lyrical heroine. In love, she asserts her right to act. Decisive and uncompromising both in affirmation (“I will win you back”) and in denial (“Gypsy passion of separation”), “About this.”
Love can be a severe test (“The pain is as familiar to the eyes as the palm of your hand”).
In the poem “To Joy,” the heroine gleefully proclaims the joy of being: love sharpens the perception of the world. The lover sees poetry in everything. Love gives her a feeling of fullness of life. For lovers, home is everywhere. Home is the whole world. Love brings back the childhood feeling of power over the world. The heroine is captured and enchanted by love, everything else is unimportant and insignificant. I don’t want any captivity - except for the happy, selfless captivity of love.
5. Love - “clearing souls”
Premonition, expectation of love, disappointment in a loved one, jealousy, pain of separation - all this is captured in love lyrics Tsvetaeva in numerous nuances.
Tsvetaeva's love lyrics are lyrics of the strongest passions and deep suffering.
The lyrical heroine is destined to remain lonely and misunderstood, but this only strengthens in her the consciousness of her destiny for another, higher freedom and another happiness - the happiness of creating.
Parting with a loved one is also liberation from humiliating and enslaving passion.
The contrast between the high feeling of the heroine and the insidious betrayal of her beloved is in the very structure of the verse, in the abundance of antitheses so characteristic of romantic poetry. This typically romantic technique of contrasts determines the style of individual poems. The contrast between a high ideal and a low reality in which love cannot exist.
Love is a touch to eternity, and not a path to earthly happiness. The years passed, and the bitterness of personal experiences became more and more intertwined with other pain - for the homeland left behind, for people whom it seemed destined to no longer see:
Through the slums of the earth's latitudes
They sent us away like orphans.
I bow to Russian rye,
Niva, where the woman sleeps
To part is to be apart,
We are fused
("Poem of the End")
Rails stretching into the distance - this is the visual image that appears again and again in Tsvetaeva’s poems, tirelessly varying, acquiring different shades, becoming, as it were, a part of the soul - her dreams, her constant pain, evoking painful memories.
Railway tracks
Scissors cutting buzzer.
Spread in vain dawn,
Red, vain spot!
Young women sometimes
They are flattered by such a canvas.
("Rails")
MI Tsvetaeva was given the opportunity to experience the divine feeling of love, loss and suffering. She emerged from these trials with dignity, pouring them into beautiful poems that became an example of love lyrics. She foresaw a lot - both in her own destiny and in the destiny of the people she loved. One of her prophecies that came true is in the poem “I wear his ring with defiance” (1914), dedicated to her husband, SY Efron. There is pride in another person, admiration for the chivalry of his soul. The tremulous and tender sounding note (He is thin with the first thinness of the branches) gives way to a tragic one (Under the wings of outstretched eyebrows there are two abysses).
6. Love can be a severe test (“The pain is as familiar to the eyes as the palm of your hand”).
The most important motive in Tsvetaeva’s love lyrics is the motive of “clearing away” kindred spirits, the motive of “non-meeting”. In the cycle “Two” (1924), an immutable law is deduced: “It is not destined that the strong with the strong / Would unite in this world.” The poet perceives this separation as global injustice, which can threaten the world with innumerable disasters.
This theme also achieves a tragic sound in the dramas “Ariadne” (1924) and “Phaedra” (1927). Tsvetaeva’s heroine always hears in the “twitter of meetings” the “clatter of separations.” And only poetry makes it possible to resist the inexorable law of “clearing up” and parting. Despite earthly separations, the word will forever preserve the memory of a dear person.
She knew how to be happy, but she also knew how to suffer (Ships take away the dear ones).
The dear ships are taking away,
The white road leads them away
And there is a groan all along the earth:
“My dear, what have I done to you?”
Yesterday I was lying at my feet!
Equated with the Chinese state!
At once he unclenched both hands, -
Life has fallen - like a rusty penny!
Child killer on trial
I stand - unkind, timid.
Even in hell I will tell you:
“My dear, what have I done to you?”
I'll ask for a chair, I'll ask for a bed:
“Why, why do I suffer and suffer?”
“Kissed - wheeled:
Kiss the other one,” they answer.
I learned to live in the fire itself,
He threw it himself - into the frozen steppe!
That's what you, dear, did to me!
My dear, what have I done to you?
I know everything - don’t contradict me!
Sighted again - no longer a mistress!
Where Love retreats
Death, the gardener, approaches there.
It’s like shaking a tree!
In time the apple falls ripe
Forgive me for everything, for everything,
My dear, what have I done to you!
*So love can be quiet, reverent, reverent, tender, and at the same time it is spontaneous, reckless and internally dramatic. True feeling lives not only in the innermost depths of the soul, but also permeates the entire the world. Therefore, the very phenomena of this world in the heroine’s mind are often connected with the image of her beloved (“String Builder” - 1923)
Builder of Strings - I'll String
And this one. Wait
Get upset! (This June
You cry, you are the rain!)
And if there is thunder on our roofs,
Rain in the house, downpour - all the time -
So you are writing a letter to me,
Which you don't send.
Your brain is moving like poetry.
(The most capacious of postal
It won’t fit any boxes!)
You, looking out into the distance with your forehead,
Suddenly the bread is like a flail
Silver (Is it possible to interrupt?
Child! You'll waste your bread!)
* Tsvetaevskaya’s heroine is convinced that feelings have enormous power; they can be beyond the control of distance and time (“Nobody took anything away - 1916)
E Yevtushenko:
Nobody took anything away -
It's sweet to me that we are apart!
I kiss you through hundreds
Disconnecting miles.
What do you need, young Derzhavin,
My ill-mannered verse!
I baptize you for a terrible flight:
Fly, young eagle!
You endured the sun without squinting -
Is my youthful look heavy?
More tender and irrevocable
No one looked after you
I kiss you - through hundreds
Years of separation.
Mutual dissolution of two in each other. Self-dissolution in the character of a loved one
(Mine! – and about what awards). Rebel? Prideful?
*The heroine is characterized by the desire to overcome all the obstacles that stand in the way of feelings, to overcome the influence and pressure of circumstances. Focused soul, immersion in love is an important feature of the lyrical heroine. Love can be a crafty game (“The Comedian”):
Not love, but fever!
An easy fight is cunning and deceitful.
Today is sickening, tomorrow is sweet.
Dead today, alive tomorrow(.)
A mouth like honey, trust in the eyes -
But an eyebrow is already rising.
Not love, but hypocrisy,
Hypocrisy is not love!
12. However, Tsvetaeva’s love lyrics reveal to us a soul that is not only rebellious, self-willed, but also unprotected, vulnerable, yearning for understanding (“Friend! Unlived tenderness - suffocating - 1918)
13. NON-meeting What separates?
“Race” - a furious cry.
Distance: versts, miles
We were placed, we were placed,
To be quiet
At two different ends of the earth.
Distance: miles, distance
We were unstuck, unsoldered,
They separated him in two hands, crucified him,
And they didn’t know that it was an alloy
Inspirations and tendons
They didn’t quarrel - they quarreled,
Exfoliated
Wall and moat.
They settled us like eagles -
Conspirators: miles, distances
If they didn’t upset me, they shot me.
Through the slums of the earth's latitudes
They treated us like orphans.
Which one, oh which one – March?!
They smashed us like a deck of cards!
She demanded dignity in love and demanded dignity when parting, proudly pushing her feminine cry inside and only sometimes not holding it back, writes Yevgeny Yevtushenko about her. Here are the lines from the “poem of the end”: Without remembering, without understanding, as if taken away from the holiday - Our street! - Not ours anymore - How many times along it - Not us anymore - Tomorrow the sun will rise from the west! – David will break with Jehovah! What are we doing? - We're breaking up. And although she sometimes regarded parting as “the most supernatural game”, as “a sound from which the ears are torn,” she always remained true to herself: No one, rummaging through our letters, understood to the depths how treacherous we are, that is, how we ourselves are true. Marina Tsvetaeva said that “the depth of suffering cannot be compared with the emptiness of happiness”; this depth was fully enough in her life. Tsvetaeva’s theme of failed love takes on a tragic sound.
The main drama of love is the “clearing up” of souls: two people destined for each other are forced to part.
Many things can separate THEM - circumstances, people, time, lack of sensitivity, mismatch of aspirations. (“Separation” - 1921).
The joy of being. There is poetry in everything. A feeling of fullness of life, a feeling of power over the world. The motive of “clearing away” kindred spirits, the motive of “non-meeting”.
This disunity is a global injustice that can threaten the world with untold disasters. "Two" (1924).
There are rhymes in this world:
If you disconnect it, it will tremble.
Homer, you were blind.
Night - on the brow mounds.
The night is your rhapsodist's cloak,
The night is a veil before our eyes.
Would I have separated it by sight?
Helen and Achilles?
Elena. Achilles.
Name the sound more consonantly.
Yes, contrary to chaos
Built on harmonies
The world is disconnected
Takes revenge (built on consent!)
Wives' infidelity
Revenge - and with burning Troy!
Rhapsode, you were blind:
The treasure fell apart like junk.
There are rhymes - in that world
Selected. Will collapse
This one - you'll get divorced. What needs
In rhyme? Elena, get old!
Ahei the best husband!
The sweetest of Sparta!
Only the rustle of trees
Mirtov, sleep of the cithara:
"Helen: Achilles:
A separated couple."
The lyrical heroine is resolute in denial (“Gypsy Passion of Separation”).
Gypsy passion of separation!
As soon as you meet him, you’re already rushing away.
I dropped my forehead into my hands
And I think, looking into the night:
Nobody, rummaging through our letters,
I didn’t understand deeply
How treacherous we are, that is -
How true to ourselves we are.
Only in other ways better world– the world of “intentions” - it is possible to gain the fullness of feeling (Not here, where I’m twisting, but where I’m straightening it)
Not here, where it is connected,
And where it is ordered.
Not here where Lazari is
They wander from the bed,
Pack humps
O rubble of days.
There are no little hands here
You are mine.
Not here, where it's crooked,
And where it is set,
Not here, where with wings
They decide - with sabers,
Where is the vociferous flesh
On us: finish it off!
There is no deed of gift here
You are mine.
Not here where asked
Where it is answered.
Not here, where Krosheva is
Between - and mash
Death is a wormhole
And jealousy is a snake.
There is no fiefdom here
You are mine.
And he won't look back
Life is steep!
There is no date here!
There are only farewells here
Too confused here
Belt ends
There is no Matins here
You are mine.
Not a yard with cleaning -
Paradise!
Not here, where it is collected,
Where it is released
Where everything is spilled
Change of days.
Where there are not even words:
To you - mine
In spite of earthly separations, the word will forever preserve the memory of a dear person (1918:
"But inspired -
Winged –
About how they lived on earth
You are so forgetful
So unforgettable."
"Love love"
The theme of love reaches a tragic sound in the dramas “Ariadne” (1924),
"Phaedra" (1927). In the “twitter of meetings” one can always hear the “clatter of separations”. But despite earthly separations, the word will forever preserve the memory of a dear person.
He prefers the misfortune of freedom to the happiness of submission to love.
(“Like the right and left hand, your soul is close to my soul”).
Like the right and left hand -
Your soul is close to my soul.
We are adjacent, blissfully and warmly,
Like the right and left wing.
But the whirlwind rises - and the abyss lies
From right to left wing!
Loyalty is not in submission, but in freedom (Nobody, rummaging through our letters).
No one has written so much about separation: she demanded dignity during parting, proudly pushing her feminine cry inside.
Those separating are representatives of two states of equal size, but the woman is still superior.
Even her most beloved person in the world - Pushkin - refused to lean on his hand on an imaginary date to climb the mountain.
“I’ll get up myself!” - the rebel said proudly, almost an idolater inside. Tsvetaeva’s poems radiate love and are permeated with love. They are eager for peace and, as it were, trying to embrace the whole world. This is their main charm. These poems were written out of spiritual generosity, out of heartfelt extravagance. Tsvetaeva is a true and even rare poet, in each of her poems there is a single integral feeling of the world, that is, an innate consciousness that everything in the world - politics, love, religion, poetry, history, absolutely everything is one ball, not decomposed into separate sources. Touching on one topic, Tsvetaeva always touches on the whole of life.
Tsvetaeva’s emotional pressure is so strong that the author seems to barely keep up with the flow of this lyrical flow. Tsvetaeva seems to value every impression, every emotional movement so much that her main concern becomes to consolidate greatest number them in the strictest sequence, without evaluating, without separating the important from the unimportant, seeking not artistic, but rather psychological authenticity. Her poetry strives to become a diary.
From time immemorial, the feminine essence has been manifested more deeply and brightly in love lyrics. Marina Tsvetaeva is no exception. Her poetry is extremely rich in this regard. Happy and unhappy love, divided and rejected, fleeting and lifelong, chaste and passionate, separation, jealousy, despair, hope - the whole chromatic gamut of love relationships, no matter what Marina Tsvetaeva writes or speaks about, somewhere next to the foreground theme is implied , breathes with bated breath, otherwise love joy or love longing drowns out everything else. When she speaks directly about her love, when love itself dictates to her openly, Marina’s voice acquires an incantatory and witchcraft power.
The lyrical heroine of Marina Tsvetaeva. Poem “I will conquer you from all lands, from all heavens...”
I'M GOING TO CLASS
Evgeniy PRIYMA,
secondary school No. 2,
Dorogobuzh,
Smolensk region
The lyrical heroine of Marina Tsvetaeva
Poem “I will conquer you from all lands, from all heavens...”
Lesson 1.
1. A. Akhmatova and M. Tsvetaeva.
General impression. The energy of the verse.
Student.
Both are “engulfed in the fire of passion.”
For both, love is “not these shackles,” “love torture.” How do you see the lyrical heroine of these poets?
What is love to her? What is she like in love?
For both, love is a “fatal duel,” but the lyrical heroine:
Tsvetaeva, too, in her own way, “taught women to speak...”, expressed another aspect of the female soul.
2. The personality of the poet.
As homework students prepared a portrait of Tsvetaeva, compiled from the memories of contemporaries. During the lesson, the most vivid ones are read, representing the appearance of the poet from the memoirs of A. Efron: “The integrity of her character, the integrity of her human personality was implicated in contradictions; she was characterized by duality of perception and self-expression.”
Read the entire chapter “How did she write?” We especially highlight: “She was deaf and blind to everything that was not the manuscript, which she literally stared at. With the sharp edge of thought and pen” “... she achieved precise unity of meaning and sound”; “...I tried the words by sound.”
Reading a poem from the cycle “Poems for Blok”: “Your name is a bird in your hand.”
Excerpts from I. Ehrenburg’s article “The Poetry of M. Tsvetaeva” are heard. We especially highlight: “Loneliness, or rather, rejection hung over her all her life like a curse, but she tried to pass off this curse not only to others, but to herself as the highest good.”
3. This material allows us to compare the fate of the poet with the fate of her lyrical heroine. I would like to note that they do not always coincide. Possible options:
The lyrical hero is a role mask (many heroes of Vladimir Vysotsky);
The lyrical hero is a double (there is no absolute identity, similarity - the poetry of A. Akhmatova);
The lyrical hero is the absolute “I” of the poet.
What do you think, what are Tsvetaeva and her heroine like? Remember the words of A. Efron. The students’ answer is clear: Tsvetaeva’s poetry is “absolute self-expression.”
4. “Immersion” in the poem “I will win you from all lands, from all heavens...”.
“I will conquer you from all lands, from all heavens...”
First line- already heated to the limit, burning, scorching. It amazes with its extreme audacity, scope, and challenge:
“I” declares war against (“I’m going against you...”).
Compare: with Akhmatova there is no such beginning, and there cannot be. She has a chamberness, intimacy.
What about Tsvetaeva?
Rivals - all (we name the dominant words: “earth”, “heaven” - This is no longer a room - this is the Universe).
First line- the application has been made; challenge thrown.
What is the semantic center?
Now let’s try to penetrate into Tsvetaev’s “everything” (based on the first lines). Together with the students, we ultimately come to the following:
I page Earth - Heaven - Space
II page“I will win you back from all times, from all nights...”
III page“I will win you away from all the others...”
What happens? Tsvetaeva’s lyrical heroine enters the “fatal duel.” One against All (and God is not her judge).
Can you imagine this in Akhmatova? The lyrical heroine Akhmatova, of course, could not present “such an account” for love, and such a thing would not have occurred to her - from a “humble woman”, from a “nun”. But here - yes.
Lesson 2.
Lesson-laboratory, lesson-workshop. “Immersion” in Tsvetaeva’s word.
Reference. The artistic word is multifunctional: the word is a sign; word - symbol; the word is a metaphor; the word is life, being. Let us note right away that Tsvetaeva’s predominant noun is
forest - cradle
forest - grave
the world is a cradle
the world is a grave
golden banners
keys, dogs
Each noun is a carrier of some specific essential reality and at the same time a symbol.
Let's try together to determine the content (semantic) of these nouns:
(We remember “Olesya” by A.I. Kuprin: the forest - Olesya’s cradle - created her, determined her essence - freedom.)
Students prompt:
Katerina Ostrovsky - a dream of freedom - Volga, space;
Pushkin's Prisoner - to where the mountain turns white behind the clouds...
Mtsyri Lermontov - freedom - nature.
And the cradle? They rock in the cradle, lull to sleep, tell fairy tales, learn about the world, cry, find solace and peace.
Let's unite: the forest rocked, lulled, told.
Therefore, the forest is my beginning. Then the following image is clear: “forest-grave” - this is my end.
The beginning and end are the forest. This means: I will not change my nature; as I came, so I will leave; I won't change.
I'll drop off the keys...
I'll drive away the dogs...
(remember Katerina (“Thunderstorm”) – the key to the gate).
key- home, comfort, peace, warmth, hearth, happiness.
(A. Pushkin: “happiness is only on ordinary paths”)
dogs- guard, protection, protection from strangers, devotion, fidelity (“forest and red dogs” from Bazarov’s dream).
Thus, “keys”, “dogs” are words that represent certain capabilities of the lyrical heroine in the fight for him.
The next part of the lesson is independent creative work in groups. Each group receives nouns to “decipher” them.
I. banners, swords;
II. last dispute;
III. wings, ether;
IV. world-cradle, world-grave.
It's hard to find more tragic fate poet than the fate of Marina Tsvetaeva. Such a bright, cheerful, rebellious savage in her poems is completely different in life. It seems that she was created only for a bright, radiant existence, and lived her life as a “homeless, lonely bird.” She wandered through cities and villages in search of love, a piece of bread, shelter. But everywhere it was inappropriate. And yet the heroine of her poems is so full of life and happiness...
In one of her first poems, she stated: I am a poet, and this is true. Every word is a sentence, a truth revealed by the All-Seeing One! What kind of hypostases did her heroine take on! Either she is the “tavern queen,” or “your passion,...your seventh day, your seventh heaven.” Already at nineteen, she thinks about death, but speaks about it somehow lightly and carelessly: “Think about me easily, forget about me easily.” The image of a voice from underground combined with cemetery strawberries does not look blasphemous. She even speaks exquisitely about her sadness: “my day is disorganized and absurd...” Now she is sea foam, now she is sacred fire:
Everything must burn in my fire!
I beckon life, I beckon death too
As a light gift to my fire...
... I am a Phoenix bird, but I sing in the fire!
Support my high life!Often in her poems the image of a pagan appears:
I poured it into your glass
A handful of burnt hair...It’s as if she is casting a spell, bewitching her beloved, and if he cheats, then he sends curses. In the poem “An Attempt of Jealousy,” speaking about herself as an empress, about Lilith, claiming that she was created from Carrara marble, calling her rival dust, a market commodity, a toll of immortal vulgarity. But sometimes a moment comes and she dreams of peace:
I am happy to live exemplary and simple:
Like the sun - like a pendulum - like a calendar.
To be a secular hermit of slender height,
Wise - like every other creature of God...
...To live as I write: exemplary and concise, -
As God commanded and friends do not command.The years of emigration are filled with such sadness, which pours out in the poem “Longing for the Motherland.” It seems that the lyrical heroine is on the verge of hysteria, the entire poem is permeated with despair, this is evidenced by the syntax, inversions, enchanbement:
I don't care at all -
Where all aloneTo be on what stones to go home
Wander with a market purse
To the house, and not knowing that it is mine,
Like a hospital or a barracks.Years pass - carelessness and gaiety are replaced by sadness and sadness: “the gold of my hair quietly turns into gray,” but even death has no power over the heroine Tsvetaeva
When I die, I won’t say: I was.
And I’m not sorry, and I’m not looking for the guilty.
There are more important things in the world
Passionate storms and exploits of love.Bright, bold, daring - she left as hysterically and impulsively as she lived. In the poem by N. Krandievskaya-Tolstaya, the image of the poet and her heroine merges:
Life, like a mangy dog, whined at my feet,
Howled into the sky about the death of the black one.
And this land ended with Elabuga,
That I have stretched out into endless distances.
And still the same Russian noose tightened
The throat of mellifluous poetry.Years pass, but Tsvetaeva’s lyrical heroine is as bright as the memory of her.