Osip Mandelstam's poem is dedicated to the Russian poetess, his contemporary, Marina Tsvetaeva, with whom he was connected, according to Tsvetaeva's memoirs, by "platonic love". The feeling was strong, mutual, however, doomed to an unhappy end. Beloved was married to another and raised a daughter.

The work is a poem-a confession of feelings. The lyrical hero seeks to show how he is delighted, attached, bewitched by the woman to whom these lines are dedicated. Such conclusions can be defined as the theme and idea of ​​this poem.

Tautology

“softer than tender” and “whiter than white” emphasizes the significance of what was said. It also suggests that it is difficult for a lyrical hero to find words to show what exactly he feels that attracts him in his beloved:

More tender than your tender face,

Whiter than white is your hand

You are far from the whole world,

And all yours - From the inevitable.

Beautiful confessions, the exaltation of a woman over those who were before her, who will be after her - this is true, all-consuming, blinding, "platonic love." Like Petrarch, Mandelstam idolizes Marina Tsvetaeva.

The first stanza of the poem

He speaks of the beautiful, according to the lyrical hero, the appearance of his beloved, as well as her uniqueness, remoteness from the whole world. Well, love is inevitable!

The second part of the work “More Tender Tender” flows smoothly from the first and is connected with it by the repetition of the word “inevitable”, which also emphasizes the hopelessness of these relations and the position of Marina Tsvetaeva. She is between two fires - two men, with one of whom she is connected by a child, with the other - by love.

In Osip Mandelstam's poem, the most feminine features and images are sung: face, hands, fingers, speech and eyes. And each of them - special attention. Poetic speech is beautifully built: repetition of words, imposing accumulation of vowels, romantic inconsistency, achieved through a special construction of verse stanzas.

Jerky, as if in sketches, strokes, draws lyrical hero the image of the beloved, carving it in his memory, hence such a periodicity. The thought contained in one or two words is fully disclosed, each word accurately and capaciously, without unnecessary renunciations, conveys a high feeling - love.

The poem is small in volume, concise, but very sincere and timid. The poet was really carried away by Tsvetaeva, but demanded changes from her. Probably this is highest degree adoration and respect for another person, called love.

1. * * * The sound of a cautious and deaf Fruit, torn from a tree, Amidst the unceasing melody of the deep silence of the forest ... 1908 2. * * * Christmas trees burn with golden leaf In the woods; In the bushes, toy wolves look with terrible eyes. Oh, prophesying my sadness, Oh, my quiet freedom And the inanimate firmament Always laughing crystal! 1908 3. * * * From the dimly lit hall, suddenly, You slipped out in a light shawl - We didn't bother anyone, We didn't wake the sleeping servants... 1908 4. * * * Only children's books to read, Only children's thoughts to cherish. Everything big is far to scatter, From deep sadness to rise. I am mortally tired of life, I do not accept anything from it, But I love my poor land Because no one else has seen it. I swung in a distant garden On a simple wooden swing, And tall dark firs I remember in a foggy delirium. 1908 5. * * * More tender than your tender face, Your hand is whiter than white, You are far from the whole world, And all yours - From the inevitable. From the inevitable Your sadness, And the fingers of the hands of the Never-cooling, And the quiet sound of the Cheerless Speech, And the distance of Your eyes. 1909 6. * * * On pale blue enamel, Which is conceivable in April, Birch branches lifted And imperceptibly grew evening. The pattern is honed and small, A thin grid has frozen, Like on a porcelain plate A drawing drawn aptly, When its dear artist Displays it on a glassy firmament, In the consciousness of momentary power, In oblivion of a sad death. 1909 7. * * * There are chaste charms - A high harmony, a deep world, Far from the ethereal lyres I have installed lares. At carefully washed niches In the hours of attentive sunsets I listen to my penates Always enthusiastic silence. What a toy destiny, What timid laws The chiseled torso commands And the coldness of these fragile bodies! Other gods do not need to be praised: They are equal to you, And, with a careful hand, It is allowed to rearrange them. 1909 8. * * * Given me a body - what should I do with it, So single and so mine? For the quiet joy to breathe and live Who, tell me, should I thank? I am a gardener, I am also a flower, In the dungeon of the world I am not alone. My breath, my warmth, has already settled on the glass of eternity. A pattern will be imprinted on it, Unrecognizable recently. Let the dregs flow for a moment - The cute pattern cannot be crossed out. 1909 9. * * * Inexpressible sadness Opened two huge eyes, Flower vase woke up And splashed out its crystal. The whole room is drunk with Istoma - sweet medicine! Such a small kingdom So much sleep swallowed up. A little red wine, A little sunny May - And, breaking a thin biscuit, The whiteness of the thinnest fingers. 1909 10. * * * On a mother-of-pearl shuttle Stretching silk threads, O flexible fingers, begin Charming lesson! Ebb and flow of hands - Monotonous movements, You conjure, without a doubt, Some kind of solar fright, When a wide palm, Like a shell, flaming, It goes out, gravitating towards the shadows, Then the fire will go pink! 1911 11. * * * There is no need to talk about anything, Nothing should be taught, And the dark animal soul is sad and good: It does not want to teach anything, Does not know how to speak at all And swims like a young dolphin Through the gray abysses of the world. 12. * * * When blow meets blows And the fatal one is above me, The indefatigable pendulum swings And wants to be my fate, It hurries, and stops roughly, And the spindle falls - And it's impossible to meet, to agree, And it's not given to evade. Sharp patterns intertwine, And faster and faster, Poisoned darts rise In the hands of brave savages... 1910 13. * * * The snow hive is slower, The crystal windows are more transparent, And the turquoise veil is casually thrown on a chair. Fabric, intoxicated with itself, Pampered by the caress of light, It experiences summer, As if untouched by winter; And, if in icy diamonds Eternity frost flows, Here is the fluttering of dragonflies Fast-living, blue-eyed. 1910 14. Silentium) She has not yet been born, She is both music and the word, And therefore all living things An unbreakable bond. The seas of the chest breathe calmly, But, like a mad day, the day is bright, And pale lilacs foam In a cloudy-azure vessel. ) May my lips acquire Initial dumbness, Like a crystalline note, Which is pure from birth! Remain foam, Aphrodite, And return the word to music, And be ashamed of the heart of the heart, Merged with the fundamental principle of life! 1910 ) 15. * * * Hearing sensitive sail strains, Expanded gaze empties, And silence swims Midnight birds unsound choir. I am as poor as nature, And as simple as heaven, And my freedom is illusory, Like midnight bird voices. I see a lifeless month And a sky deader than a canvas; Your world, painful and strange, I accept, emptiness! 1910 16. * * * Like a shadow of sudden clouds, The sea guest swooped in And, slipping through, rustled Confused past the shores. The huge sail hovers severely; The deathly-pale wave Has recoiled - and again it does not dare to touch the shore; And the boat, rustling with waves, Like leaves... 1910 17. * * * From the pool of evil and viscous I grew up, rustling with a reed, -) And passionately, and languidly, and affectionately Breathing the forbidden life. And I will sink, unnoticed by anyone, Into the cold and swampy shelter, Welcomed by the rustle of short autumn minutes. I am happy with a cruel resentment, And in a life that is like a dream, I secretly envy everyone And secretly in love with everyone. 1910 18. * * * In a huge pool it is transparent and dark, And the languid window turns white; And the heart - why is it so slow And so stubbornly getting heavier? Then with all its weight it goes to the bottom, Having missed the sweet silt, Then, like a straw, bypassing the depth, It floats up effortlessly. With feigned tenderness, stand at the head of the bed And cradle yourself all your life; As a fiction, languish with your longing And be affectionate with arrogant boredom. 1910 19. * * * A stuffy twilight covers the bed, The chest breathes intensely... Perhaps the thin cross and the secret path are dearest to me. 1910 20. * * * How slowly the horses walk, How little fire there is in the lanterns! Strangers surely know Where they are taking me. And I entrust myself to their care, I'm cold, I want to sleep; Threw up on the turn, Towards the star beam. The swaying of a hot head, And the gentle ice of someone else's hand, And the outlines of dark firs, Still unseen by me. 1911 21. * * * A meager beam of cold measure Sows light in a damp forest. I am sadness, like a gray bird, I slowly carry in my heart. What should I do with an injured bird? The firmament fell silent, died. From the foggy belfry Someone removed the bells. And the orphaned And mute height stands, Like an empty white tower, Where there is fog and silence... Morning, bottomless with tenderness, Half-awake and half-awake - Unsatisfied oblivion - Dum foggy chime... 1911 22. * * * The cloudy air is humid and booming; Good and not scary in the forest. The light cross of lonely walks I will humbly bear again. And again, to the indifferent homeland, a reproach will rise like a wild duck, - I participate in a gloomy life, And it is innocent that I am alone! ) The shot struck. Over the sleepy lake The wings of ducks are now heavy. And double being reflected The trunks of pines are stupefied. The sky is dim with a strange glow - The world's foggy pain - Oh, let me be also foggy And let me not love you. 1911) 23. * * * Today is a bad day, Grasshoppers' choir sleeps, And gloomy rocks canopy Gloomier than tombstones. The ringing of flashing arrows And the cry of prophetic crows... I see a bad dream, A moment flies after a moment. Push the boundaries of manifestations, Destroy the earthly cage, And resound the furious anthem, Rebellious mysteries copper! Oh, the pendulum of souls is strict, Swings, deaf, straight, And rock passionately knocks At the forbidden door to us... 1911 24. * * * The black wind rustles with vaguely-breathing leaves, And the trembling swallow Draws a circle in the dark sky. Quietly arguing in my affectionate heart Dying my Coming twilight With a fading ray. And over the evening forest The copper moon rose. Why is there so little music And such silence? 1911 25. * * * Why is the soul so melodious, And so few sweet names, And the instantaneous rhythm is just an accident, Unexpected Aquilon? He will raise a cloud of dust, Make noise with paper foliage And will not return at all - or He will return completely different. O wide wind of Orpheus, You will go to the sea, And, cherishing the uncreated world, I forgot the unnecessary "I". I wandered in a toy thicket And opened an azure grotto... Am I real And really death will come? 1911 26. Sink Perhaps you don't need me, Night; from the abyss of the world, Like a shell without pearls, I am cast ashore on your shore. You indifferently foam the waves And intractably sing; But you will love, you will appreciate The useless shell of a lie. You will lie down on the sand next to her, You will put on your robe, You will inseparably connect with her A huge bell of swells; And the fragile shell of the wall, Like a house of an uninhabited heart, You will fill it with whispers of foam, Fog, wind and rain ... 1911 27. * * * Oh heaven, heaven, I will dream of you! It cannot be that you are completely blind, And the day burned like a white page: A little smoke and a little ash! 1911 28. * * * I shudder from the cold - I want to go numb! And gold dances in the sky - Orders me to sing. Languishing, anxious musician, Love, remember and cry And, abandoned from a dim planet, Pick up a light ball! So here it is - a real connection with the mysterious world! What an aching anguish, What a misfortune befell! What if, above a fashionable shop, Always twinkling, A star suddenly descends in my heart like a long pin? ) 1912 ) 29. * * * I hate the light of monotonous stars. Hello, my old delirium, - Lancet towers! Lace, stone, be And become a cobweb: Heaven's empty chest A thin needle wound. It will be my turn - I feel the wingspan. So - but where will the thought's living arrow go? Or my way and time I, having exhausted, will return: There - I could not love, Here - I'm afraid to love ... 1912 30. * * * Your image, painful and unsteady, I could not feel in the fog. "Lord!" - I said by mistake, without thinking to say it myself. God's name, like a big bird, flew out of my chest! A thick fog swirls ahead, And an empty cage behind... 1912 31. * * * No, not the moon, but a bright dial Shines on me, and why am I to blame, That I feel the milkiness of faint stars? And Batyushkov's arrogance is disgusting to me: "What time is it?", He was asked here, And he answered the curious: "eternity." 1912 32. Pedestrian I feel an invincible fear In the presence of mysterious heights, I am satisfied with the swallow in the sky, And I love the flight of bell towers! And, it seems, an old pedestrian, Over the abyss, on the bending walkways, I listen to the snowball growing And eternity strikes on the stone clock. Whenever so! But I am not that traveller, Flickering on faded sheets, And sadness truly sings in me; Indeed, there is an avalanche in the mountains! And all my soul is in the bells, But music will not save from the abyss! 1912 33. Casino I'm not a fan of preconceived joy, Sometimes nature is a gray spot. I, in a light intoxication, are destined to taste the colors of a poor life. The wind plays with a shaggy cloud, An anchor lies on the seabed, And lifeless, like a sheet, The soul hangs over the damned abyss. But I love casinos on the dunes, A wide view through a foggy window And a thin beam on a crumpled tablecloth; And, surrounded by greenish water, When, like a rose, in crystal wine - I love to follow the winged gull! 1912 34. * * * Fall is the constant companion of fear, And fear itself is a feeling of emptiness. Who throws stones to us from on high - And the stone denies the yoke of dust? And with the wooden steps of a monk You once measured the paved courtyard, Cobblestones and rude dreams - They have a thirst for death and anguish of scope ... So damned be the gothic shelter, Where the ceiling is swooning, And in the hearth no cheerful firewood is burned! Few live for eternity, But if you are instantly concerned - Your lot is terrible and your house is fragile! 1912 35. Tsarskoye Selo Georgy Ivanov Let's go to Tsarskoye Selo! Free, windy and drunk, Lancers smile there, Jumping on a strong saddle... Let's go to Tsarskoe Selo! Barracks, parks and palaces, And on the trees - shreds of cotton wool, And "health" peals will burst out At the cry - "great, well done!" Barracks, parks and palaces... One-storied houses, Where single-minded generals While away their tired life, Reading "Niva" and Dumas... Mansions - not houses! The whistle of a locomotive... The prince is coming. In the glass pavilion retinue! .. And, dragging a saber angrily, An officer comes out, boasting: I have no doubt - this is a prince ... And returns home - Of course, into the realm of etiquette - Inspiring secret fear, a carriage With the relics of a gray-haired maid of honor, What is returning home. .. 1912 ) 36. Golden All day I breathed damp autumn air in confusion and anguish; I want to have dinner, and the stars are golden in a dark wallet! And shivering from the yellow mist, I went down to the little basement; I have never seen such a restaurant and such a rabble! Petty officials, the Japanese, Theorists of someone else's treasury... Behind the counter, a Man is feeling the gold coins - and they are all drunk. Be so kind, exchange it - I ask him convincingly - Just don't give me papers, - I can't stand three-ruble bills! What should I do with a drunken mob? How did I get here, my God? If I have the right to do so - Exchange my gold for me! 1912 37. Lutheran On a walk I met a funeral near the Protestant church, on Sunday. Absent-minded passer-by, I noticed Those parishioners severe excitement. Someone else's speech did not reach the ear, And only the thin harness shone, Yes, the festive pavement muffled Lazy horseshoes reflected. And in the elastic twilight of the carriage, Where sadness huddled, the hypocrite, Without words, without tears, buying up on greetings, A boutonniere flashed through autumn roses. Stretched foreigners with a black ribbon, And weeping ladies walked on foot, Blush under the veil, and stubbornly Above them the coachman rode into the distance, stubborn. Whoever you are, late Lutheran, you were easily and simply buried. The eyes were clouded with a decent tear, And the bells were ringing with restraint. And I thought: there's no need to play. We are not prophets, not even forerunners, We do not love heaven, we are not afraid of hell, And at midday we burn dull, like candles. 1912 38. Hagia Sophia Hagia Sophia - here to stay The Lord judged the peoples and kings! After all, your dome, according to an eyewitness, As if on a chain, suspended from heaven. And to all ages - the example of Justinian, When steal for foreign gods Allowed Diana of Ephesus One hundred and seven green marble pillars. But what did your generous builder think, When, lofty in soul and thought, He arranged the apses and exedra, Pointing them to the west and east? Beautiful is the temple bathed in peace, And forty windows are the triumph of light; On sails, under the dome, the four Archangels are the most beautiful. And the wise spherical building will outlive the nations and centuries, And the echoing sob of the seraphim Will not warp the dark gilding. 1912 39. Notre Dame Where the Roman judge judged a foreign people - There is a basilica, both joyful and the first, As once Adam, spreading his nerves, Plays with his muscles a light cross vault. But a secret plan betrays itself from the outside: Here, force has taken care of the girth arches, So that the mass of the heavy wall does not crush, And the ram of the impudent vault is inactive. A spontaneous labyrinth, an incomprehensible forest, The souls of the gothic rational abyss, Egyptian power and timidity of Christianity, With a reed next to it - an oak, and everywhere the king - a plumb line. But the more attentively, stronghold of Notre Dame, I studied your monstrous ribs, The more often I thought: out of unkind gravity And someday I will create beautiful ... 1912 40. * * * We can't stand tense silence - Imperfection of souls is insulting, finally! And in confusion, the reader already appeared, And they greeted him joyfully: please! I knew exactly who was present here invisibly; Nightmare man reads Ulyalum. Meaning is vanity and the word is only noise, When phonetics is the servant of the seraphim. The harp sang about the house of the Eschers. The madman drank water, woke up and fell silent. I was on the street. Autumn silk whistled, - And the silk of a tickling scarf warms the throat ... 1912 ) 41. Old Man It's already light, the siren sings At seven o'clock in the morning. An old man who looks like Verlaine - Now it's your time! In the eyes of a sly or childish Green light; He put a Turkish patterned scarf around his neck. He blasphemes, mutters incoherent words; He wants to confess - But to sin first. A disillusioned worker Or a distressed wast - And an eye lined in the depths of the night, Like a rainbow blooms. So, observing the Sabbath day, He weaves, when He looks from every gateway A cheerful misfortune; And at home - with winged curses, She is pale with rage, Meets the drunken Socrates A harsh wife! 1913) 42. Petersburg stanzas N. Gumilyov Over the yellowness of government buildings A long, muddy blizzard swirled, And the jurist again sits down in the sleigh, Wrapping his overcoat with a sweeping gesture. Steamboats winter. In the sun the thick glass of the cabin lit up. Monstrous, like an armadillo in the dock, Russia rests heavily. And over the Neva - the embassies of half the world, the Admiralty, the sun, silence! And the states are hard porphyry, As a sackcloth coarse, poor. The heavy burden of the northern snob - Onegin's old melancholy; On the Senate Square - a shaft of snowdrifts, The smoke of a fire and the chill of a bayonet ... Skiffs scooped up water, and sea gulls visited the hemp warehouse, Where, selling sbiten or baits, Only opera men roam. A string of motors flies into the fog; Proud, modest pedestrian - Eccentric Eugene - ashamed of poverty, Gasoline inhales and curses fate! 1913 43. * * * Hier stehe ich-ich kann nicht anders"Here I stand - I can not do otherwise", The dark mountain will not brighten - And the sightless thick-set Luther The spirit hovers over the dome of Peter. 1913 44. * * * From an easy life, we went crazy, In the morning wine, and in the evening a hangover. How to keep vain fun, Your blush, oh drunken plague? In shaking hands is a painful ritual, In the streets there are night kisses, When the river jets grow heavy, And the lanterns burn like torches. We are waiting for death, like a fairy-tale wolf, But I'm afraid that the one who has an alarming red mouth And falling bangs will die before everyone else. 45. * * * ... The maidens of midnight courage And the mad stars run, Yes, the tramp will become attached, Extorting for a lodging for the night. Who, tell me, will stir up my consciousness With grapes, If reality is Peter's creation, the Bronze Horseman and granite? I hear signals from the fortress, I notice how warm it is. A cannon shot into the cellars, Probably informed. And much deeper than the delirium of the Inflamed Head of the Star, a sober conversation, The western wind from the Neva. 1913 46. ​​Bach Here, the parishioners are children of dust And boards instead of images, Where chalk is Sebastian Bach Only the numbers appear in psalms. What a dissonance In riotous taverns and churches, And you rejoice like Isaiah, O most judicious Bach! High debater, really, Playing your grandchildren your chorale, Are you really looking for support of the spirit in proof? What's the sound? Sixteenth parts, Organ polysyllabic cry - Only your grumbling, no more, O intractable old man! And the Lutheran preacher On his black pulpit With yours, angry interlocutor, Interferes with the sound of his speeches. 1913 47. * * * In quiet suburbs the snow is raked by the janitors with shovels; I'm walking with bearded men, a passer-by. Women in headscarves are flashing, And naughty mutts are yapping, And scarlet roses of samovars Are burning in taverns and houses. 1913 48. Admiralty In the capital of the north, a dusty poplar languishes, A transparent dial is tangled in foliage, And in the dark greenery a frigate or an acropolis Shines from afar - brother to water and sky. An airy boat and a hard-to-reach mast, Serving as a ruler to Peter's successors, He teaches: beauty is not a whim of a demigod, But a predatory eye of a simple carpenter. The four elements favor dominance to us; But created the fifth free man. Does not space deny the superiority of this chastely built ark? Capricious jellyfish angrily mold, As plows are thrown, anchors rust - And now the bonds of three dimensions are broken And the world's seas open! 1913 49. * * * A gang of thieves in a tavern Played dominoes all night. The hostess came with scrambled eggs; The monks drank wine. Chimeras were arguing on the tower - Which one is the freak? And in the morning the gray preacher called the people to the tents. Dogs are busy in the market, Money-changers click the lock. Everyone steals from eternity, And eternity is like sea sand: It crumbles from the cart - Not enough for bags of matting - And, dissatisfied, the Monk tells lies about the lodging for the night! 1913 50. Cinematography Cinema. Three benches. Sentimental fever. An aristocrat and a rich woman In the networks of a rival villain. Do not keep the love of flight: She is not to blame for anything! Selflessly, like a brother, I loved the lieutenant of the fleet. And he wanders in the desert - the gray-haired count's side son. Thus begins the popular novel of the beautiful Countess. And in a frenzy, like a gitana, She wrings her hands. Parting. The frenzied sounds of the Hounded Piano. In a gullible and weak chest Still enough courage To steal important papers For the enemy headquarters. And along the chestnut alley A monstrous motor rushes, A ribbon chirps, the heart beats More alarming and more cheerful. In a traveling dress, with a bag, In a car and in a carriage, She is only afraid of a chase, Dry is exhausted by a mirage. What a bitter absurdity: the end does not justify the means! To him - his father's inheritance, And to her - a lifetime fortress! 1913 51. Tennis Among the gaudy dachas, Where the hurdy-gurdy staggers, The ball flies by itself, Like a magic bait. Who, who humbled the rough ardor, Clothed in alpine snow, With a frisky girl entered into an Olympic duel? The strings of the lyre are too decrepit; He creates games of rite, So lightly armed, Like an Attic soldier, In love with his enemy! May. Thunderclouds shreds. Inanimate greenery withers. Sun? motors and horns, - And the lilac smells of gasoline. Spring water drinks From the ladle sportsman cheerful; And again the war goes on, And a bare elbow flashes by! 1913 52. American An American woman at twenty Should get to Egypt, Forgetting the Titanic's advice, What sleeps at the bottom of a darker crypt. In America the horns sing, And the pipes of the red skyscrapers Give cold clouds Their smoked lips. And in the Louvre of the ocean, the daughter Stands, beautiful as a poplar; ) To grind sugar marble, Climbs like a squirrel on the Acropolis. Understanding nothing, Reads "Faust" in the car And regrets why Louis is no longer on the throne. 1913 53. Dombey and son When, more piercing than a whistle, I hear English language- I see Oliver Twist Above the piles of account books. Ask Charles Dickens What was in London then: Dombey's office in the old City And the Thames yellow water... Rains and tears. Fair-haired And gentle boy Dombey-son; Merry clerks puns He does not understand alone. There are broken chairs in the office, A bill for shillings and pence; Like bees flying out of a hive, numbers swarm all year round. And the sting of dirty lawyers Works in the tobacco mist - And now, like an old bast, The bankrupt dangles in a noose. Laws are on the side of enemies: Nothing can help him! And checkered trousers, Sobbing, hugging her daughter... 1913 54. * * * The bread is poisoned, and the air is drunk. How difficult it is to heal wounds! Joseph, sold into Egypt, Could not grieve more! Under the starry sky, the Bedouins, Closing their eyes and on horseback, Compose free epics About the vaguely experienced day. Little is needed for intuitions: Who lost his quiver in the sand, Who traded a horse - events The fog dissipates; And, if truly sung And with full breasts, finally, Everything disappears: there remains Space, the stars and the singer! 1913 55. * * * ) Valkyries fly, bows sing. The cumbersome opera is drawing to a close, Haiduks with heavy coats On the marble stairs are waiting for gentlemen. Already the curtain is ready to fall tightly; A fool still applauds in the district; Cab drivers dance around the fires. Such and such a card! - Departure. End. 1913 56. * * * Let's talk about Rome - a marvelous city! He established himself as the dome of victory. Let's listen to the apostolic credo: Dust is carried, and rainbows hang. On the Aventine they are always waiting for the king - Twelfth holidays of the eve - And strictly canonical moons Cannot change the calendar. ) Brown ashes are thrown on the world below, ) There is a huge moon above the Forum, And my head is bare - Oh, the cold of Catholic tonsure! 1913 57. 1913 No triumph, no war! O iron, how long shall the safe capitol keep us condemned? Or Roman thunderbolts - The wrath of the people - having deceived, The sharp beak of That oratorical rostrum is resting; Or is a decrepit wagon carrying the bricks of the Sun, And in the hands of Rome's bastard are the rusty keys? 1913 58. * * * ... Not a single blade of grass grows on the moon; On the moon, all the people Makes baskets - From straw weaves Light baskets. On the moon - semi-darkness And the house is neater; Not at home on the moon - Just dovecotes. Blue houses - Miracle dovecote... 1914 58a. * * * Option It's all about the moon, it's just a fable, It's not good to believe in this nonsense about the moon, It's all about the moon, it's just a fable... Not a single blade of grass grows on the moon, On the moon all the people Make baskets, Weave light baskets from straw. It's semi-dark on the moon And the houses are neater, There are no houses on the moon - Just dovecotes, Blue houses, Miraculous dovecotes. There are no roads on the moon And benches everywhere, Watering sand From a high watering can - Every step, then a jump Through three benches. I have Blue fish on the moon, But they could not swim on the moon, There is no water on the moon, And fish fly ... 1914 - 1927 59. Akhmatova Half a turn, oh sadness, I looked at the indifferent. Falling from the shoulders, the False-classical shawl petrified. An ominous voice - bitter hops - Unchains the depths of the soul: So - indignant Phaedra - Rachel once stood. 1914 60. * * * About the times of simple and rude Horse hooves repeat. And janitors in heavy coats Sleep on wooden benches. At the knock on the iron gates, the gatekeeper, royally lazy, Stood up, and the bestial yawn Reminded you of your image, Scythian! When, with decrepit love, Interfering with Rome and snow in songs, Ovid sang an ox cart In the campaign of barbarian carts. 1914 61. * * * Having run out into the square, the semicircle of the colonnade became free - And the temple of the Lord sprawled, Like a light cross-spider. And the architect was not an Italian, But a Russian in Rome; so what! Every time you walk like a foreigner Through a grove of porticos; And the temple's small body More animated than a hundred times the Giant, which is helplessly pressed by a rock to the ground! ) 1914 62. * * * ) There are orioles in the forests, and vowel length In tonic verses is the only measure, But only once a year is spilled In nature, duration, as in Homer's metric. This day gapes like a caesura: Already in the morning, peace and difficult lengths; Oxen in the pasture, and golden laziness Extract the wealth of a whole note from the reeds. 1914 63. * * * "Ice cream!" Sun. Air biscuit. Transparent glass with ice water. And into the world of chocolate with a ruddy dawn, Dreaming flies into the milky Alps. But, tinkling with a spoon, it is touching to look, And in a cramped arbor, among dusty acacias, Favorably accept from the bakery graces In an intricate cup, fragile food ... A friend of a barrel organ, a motley lid will suddenly appear A wandering glacier - And a boy looks with greedy attention Into the wonderful cold full box. And the gods do not know what he will take: Diamond cream or a waffle with filling? But quickly disappear under a thin splinter, Sparkling in the sun, divine ice. 1914 64. * * * There is an unshakable rock of value Above the boring mistakes of the ages. The disgrace is incorrectly imposed On the author of lofty verses. And half-masks, heroes and tsars, and for me the appearance of Ozerov is the last ray of the tragic dawn. 1914 65. * * * Nature - the same Rome and reflected in it. We see images of his civic power In the transparent air, as in a blue circus, In the forum of the fields and in the colonnade of the grove. Nature is the same Rome, and it seems that again We need not bother the gods in vain: There are the insides of the victims to guess about the war, Slaves to be silent, and stones to build! 1914 66. * * * Let the names of flourishing cities Caress the ear with the significance of the mortal Not the city of Rome lives among the centuries, But the place of man in the universe. Kings try to take possession of it, Priests justify wars, And without it, houses and altars are worthy of contempt, Like miserable rubbish. 67. * * * I have not heard the stories of Ossian, I have not tasted the old wine - Why do I imagine a clearing, Scotland's bloody moon? And the roll-call of a raven and a harp seems to me in an ominous silence, And the wind-blown scarves of the Vigilantes flicker in the moonlight! I received a blissful inheritance - Wandering dreams of foreign singers; We are certainly free to despise our kinship and boring neighborhood. And more than one treasure, perhaps, Bypassing grandchildren, will go to great-grandchildren, And again the skald will compose someone else's song And pronounce it like his own. 1914 68. Europe Like a mediterranean crab or sea star, The last continent was thrown out by water, I got used to wide Asia, I got used to America, The ocean weakens, washing Europe. Its living shores are indented, And sculptures of the peninsulas are airy; The outlines of the bays are a bit feminine: Biscay, Genoa, a lazy arc... Conquerors' ancestral land, Europe in the rags of the Holy Union - The heel of Spain, Italy Medusa And tender Poland, where there is no king. Europe of Caesars! Since Metternich sent Goose Pen to Bonaparte - For the first time in a hundred years and before my eyes Your mysterious map is changing! 1914 69. Staff My staff, my freedom, The core of being - Will my truth soon become the truth of the people? I did not bow to the earth Before I found myself; He took the staff, cheered up And went to distant Rome. And the snow on the black arable land Will never melt, And the sadness of my family is still alien to me. The snow will melt on the cliffs, We will burn with the sun of truth, The people who handed the staff to Me, who saw Rome, are right! 1914 ) 70. 1914 The Hellenes were going to war On the charming Salamis, - He, torn away by the enemy's hand, Was visible from the harbor of Athens. And now our fellow islanders are equipping our ships. Before the British did not like the European sweet land. O Europe, new Hellas, Protect the Acropolis and Piraeus! We do not need gifts from the island - A whole forest of uninvited ships. 1914 71. To the encyclical of Pope Benedict XV) There is Freedom inhabited by the spirit - the chosen lot. With an eagle's eyesight, wondrous hearing, the Roman priest survived. And the dove is not afraid of the thunder, By which the church speaks; In apostolic consonance: Roma! It only makes the heart happy. I repeat this name Under the eternal dome of heaven, Though he who spoke to me of Rome In the sacred twilight has disappeared! 1914 September 72. Ode to Beethoven Sometimes the heart is so severe, That even if you love it, don't touch it! And in the dark room of the deaf Beethoven a fire burns. And I could not understand your, tormentor, Excessive joy. The performer is already throwing the Incinerated Notebook. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Who is this amazing walker? He steps so swiftly With a green hat in his hand, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . With whom it is possible to drink deeper and more fully The whole cup of tenderness, Who can sanctify the effort of will more brightly than a flame? Who, like a peasant, the son of a Fleming, invited the world to the ritornello And until then he finished the dance, Until the wild hops came out? O Dionysus, how naive a man And grateful as a child! You endured your marvelous fate That indignantly, then jokingly! With what deaf indignation You collected dues from the princes Or with distracted attention At the piano lesson there was a lesson! To you monastic cells are a haven of universal joy, To you in prophetic joy Fire-worshippers sing; A fire burns in a man, no one could appease him. The Greeks did not dare to name you, But they honored you, unknown god! Oh majestic sacrifice flame! Half the sky was engulfed in a fire - And the royal tabernacle above us The silk tent was torn apart. And in the inflamed gap, Where we see nothing, - You pointed out in the throne room At the white glory of triumph! 1914 73. * * * The flame destroys my dry life, And now I am not a stone, but I sing a tree. It is light and rough, From one piece And the core of the oak, And the fisherman's oars. Drive in stronger piles, Knock, hammers, On a wooden paradise, Where things are so easy. 1914 74. Abbot Oh, companion of the eternal romance, Abbé Flaubert and Zola - From the heat, a red cassock And round hats; He still passes by, In the fog of noon, along the boundary, Dragging the rest of the power of Rome Among the ears of ripe rye. Keeping silence and decency, He must drink and eat with us And hide honor in a secular guise of Shining tonsure. He is Cicero, on a feather bed, Reads, going to sleep: So the birds in their Latin Prayed to God in the old days. I bowed, he answered With a courteous nod of his head, And, speaking to me, remarked: "You will die a Catholic!" Then he sighed: "How hot it is today!" And, exhausted by the conversation, He went to the chestnut trees of the park, To the castle where he dined. 1914 75. * * * And to this day, on Athos, a wonderful tree grows, On a steep green slope, the Name of God sings. In each cell the Name-worshipping men rejoice: The word is pure joy, Healing from anguish! Popularly, loudly Chernetsy condemned; But from the beautiful heresy We must not save ourselves. Every time we love, We fall into it again. We destroy the nameless love together with the name. 1915 76. * * * From Tuesday to Saturday One desert lay. About long flights! Seven thousand miles - one arrow. And the swallows, when they flew to Egypt by water, For four days they hung, Without scooping water with their wings. 1915 77. * * * About unprecedented freedom It's sweet to think by a candle. - You stay with me first, - Fidelity cried in the night. - Only I lay my crown on you, So that you obey freedom, like a law, loving ... - I am betrothed to freedom, like a law, and therefore I will never take off This light crown. Are we, abandoned in space, Doomed to die, About beautiful constancy And regretting fidelity! 1915 78. * * * Insomnia. Homer. Tight sails. I read the list of ships to the middle: This long brood, this crane train, That once rose above Hellas. Like a crane wedge in foreign borders - Divine foam on the heads of kings - Where are you sailing? If it were not for Helena, What is Troy to you alone, Achaean men? Both the sea and Homer - everything is moved by love. Who should I listen to? And now Homer is silent, And the black sea, whirling, rustles, And with a heavy roar comes to the headboard. 1915 79. * * * Offendedly go to the hills, Like Rome dissatisfied with the plebeians, Old women-sheep - black Chaldeans, Fiend of the night in the hoods of darkness. There are thousands of them - they all move, Like perches, shaggy knees, Shaking and running in curly foam, Like lots in a huge wheel. They need a king and a black Aventine, Sheep Rome with its seven hills, Barking dogs, a fire under the sky And the bitter smoke of a dwelling and a barn. On them the bush moved like a wall And the warriors of the tent ran, They walk in sacred disorder. The fleece hangs in a heavy wave. ) 80. * * * Herds graze with merry neighing, And the valley is stained with Roman rust; Dry gold of classical spring A transparent rapid takes away time. In autumn, trampling oak leaves, Which densely spread along a desert path, I will remember Caesar's beautiful features - This feminine profile with an insidious hump! Here, the Capitol and the Forum far away, Amid the withering of calm nature, I hear Augustus and at the ends of the earth Rolling years like sovereign apples. May my sadness be light in my old age: I was born in Rome, and he returned to me; The good autumn was a she-wolf for me And - the month of the Caesars - August smiled at me. ) 1915 81. * * * I won't see the famous "Phaedra", In the old multi-tiered theater, From the sooty high gallery, By the light of sagging candles. And, indifferent to the fuss of the actors, Gathering applause harvest, I will not hear addressed to the ramp) Feathered verse with double rhyme: - How these shames covered me ... Racine's theater! A mighty veil separates us from the other world; Exciting with deep wrinkles, A curtain lies between him and us. Classical shawls fall from the shoulders, A voice melted by suffering grows stronger And reaches a mournful hardening A syllable, red-hot with indignation... I was late for Racine's festival! Decayed posters rustle again, And faintly smells of orange peel, And as if from a hundred-year-old lethargy - The awakened neighbor says to me: - Exhausted by the madness of Melpomene, In this life I crave only peace; Let's leave before the spectators-jackals At the mercy of the Muses did not come! Whenever a Greek sees our games... 1915 NB: According to CI, the following poems are also included in the collection "Stone": * * * Black fell asleep. The square yawns with an arch. The bronze door is doused with moonlight. Here the Harlequin sighed about the glory of the bright, And here Alexander was tortured by the Beast. The chimes fight and the shadows of sovereigns: Russia, you - on stone and blood - Participate in your iron punishment Even if you bless me with the weight! 1913 [In CI: after the poem "We can't stand tense silence...", ¦40 and before the poem "Admiralty", ¦48] Palace Square Imperial linen And chariot motors - In the black whirlpool of the capital Stylite-angel ascended. In the dark arch, like swimmers, Pedestrians disappear, And on the square, like water, The ends splash dully. Only where the firmament is bright, The black-and-yellow patch is angry, As if the bile of a double-headed eagle is flowing in the air. 1915 [In CI: after the poem "From Tuesday to Saturday...", ¦77 and before the poem "On unprecedented freedom...", ¦78]

"More Tender Tender" Osip Mandelstam

Tender than tender
your face,
Whiter than white
Your hand
From the whole world
You are far away
And all yours
From the inevitable.

From the inevitable
Your sadness
And fingers
never cooling down,
And a quiet sound
Cheerful
speeches,
And far
Your eyes

Analysis of Mandelstam's poem "Tender Tender"

In the summer of 1915, Osip Mandelstam met Marina Tsvetaeva in Koktebel. This event was a turning point in the life of the poet, as he fell in love like a boy. By that time, Tsvetaeva was already married to Sergei Efront and raised her daughter. However, this did not stop her from reciprocating.

The romance of two iconic representatives of Russian literature did not last long and was, according to Tsvetaeva's memoirs, platonic. In 1916, Mandelstam arrived in Moscow and met with the poetess. They wandered around the city for days on end, and Tsvetaeva introduced her friend to the sights. However, Osip Mandelstam did not look at the Kremlin and Moscow cathedrals, but at his beloved, which made Tsvetaeva smile and desire to constantly make fun of the poet.

It was after one of these walks that Mandelstam wrote the poem "Tender Tender", which he dedicated to Tsvetaeva. It is completely different from other works of this author and is built on the repetition of words of the same root, which are designed to enhance the effect of the overall impression and most fully emphasize the merits of the one that was honored to be sung in verse. “Your face is more tender than yours” - this is the first stroke to the poetic portrait of Marina Tsvetaeva, which, as the poetess later admitted, did not quite correspond to reality. However, further Mandelstam reveals the character traits of his chosen one, telling that she is completely different from other women. The author, referring to Tsvetaeva, notes that "you are far from the whole world, and everything is yours - from the inevitable."

This phrase turned out to be very prophetic. The first part of it hints at the fact that at that time Marina Tsvetaeva, classifying herself as a futurist, therefore her poems were really very far from reality. She often mentally rushed into the future and played out a variety of scenes from her own life. For example, during this period she wrote a poem that ended with a line that later became a reality - "My poems, like precious wines, will have their turn."

As for the second part of the phrase in Osip Mandelstam's poem "Tender Tender", the author seemed to look into the future and made a clear conviction from there that Tsvetaeva's fate was already sealed and it was impossible to change it. Developing this idea, the poet notes that "from the inevitable your sadness" and "the quiet sound of cheerful speeches." These lines can be interpreted in different ways. However, it is known that Marina Tsvetaeva experienced the death of her mother very painfully. Plus, in 1916 she broke up with her best friend Sofya Parnok, for whom she had very tender and not only friendly feelings. The return to her husband coincided in time with the arrival in Moscow of Osip Mandelstam, who found Tsvetaeva in a state close to depression. True, behind the touch of feelings and words, the poet managed to discern something more. He seemed to be lamenting the book of the life of Marina Tsvetaeva, in which he saw a lot of frightening and inevitable. Moreover, Mandelstam realized that the poetess herself guesses what fate has in store for her, and takes it for granted. This knowledge does not overshadow the “distance of the eyes” of the poetess, who continues to write poetry and stay in her own world full of dreams and fantasies.

Later, Tsvetaeva recalled that her relationship with Mandelstam was like a romance between two poets who constantly argue, admire each other, compare their works, swear and reconcile. However, this poetic idyll did not last long, about six months. After that, Tsvetaeva and Mandelstam began to meet much less frequently, and soon the poetess completely left Russia and, while in exile, learned about the arrest and death of the poet, who wrote an epigram on Stalin and had the misfortune to read it publicly, which the poet Boris Pasternak equated to suicide.

Tender than tender
your face
Whiter than white
Your hand
From the whole world
You are far away
And all yours
From the inevitable.

From the inevitable
Your sadness
And fingers
never cooling down,
And a quiet sound
Cheerful
speeches,
And far
Your eyes

Analysis of the poem "Tender Tender" by Mandelstam

In the early work of Osip Emilievich Mandelstam, a strong influence of symbolism is felt. His sketch "More Tender Tender" is an example of the poet's love lyrics.

The poem was written in 1909. Its author at that time is 18 years old, he found his calling in poetry, studies hard at the best universities in the world, spends a lot of time in Finland. He often chooses the city of Vyborg as his shelter, where the family of I. Kushakov lives, who conducts trade business with O. Mandelstam's father. Two charming sisters live in this house, one of them is especially attractive to the young poet. According to the poet's brother, it is dedicated to her this work. Sometimes the poetess M. Tsvetaeva is considered the addressee of the poem, but the time of their personal acquaintance dates back to 1915. Genre - love lyrics, in size - iambic with a complex rhyme, 2 stanzas. Rhymes are both open and closed.

The lyrical hero is the author himself. As an artist and a bit of a psychologist, he paints a portrait of his girlfriend. It is built on tautological repetitions, emphasizing the intimate intonation of the author spellbound by love. You and all yours - that's the whole world for the poet's eyes. He is glad that he recognized her, that he has the right to call her "you". The beloved is drawn to him in romantic tones, almost like a higher being. The vocabulary is neutral and sublime. Chain of images: face, hand, fingers, speech, eyes. “You are far away”: it seems that the heroine was far not so much from the world as from the suffering hero himself. As far as is known, the feeling of the poet did not cause a serious response from the girl. A stanza with a stanza, like a bridge thrown over, are interconnected by the refrain "from the inevitable." “Non-cooling”: the girl’s fingers are by no means anemic, but hot, and burn with their touch the hero in love. Her voice is quiet, and her nature is impulsive, independent, mocking. "Cheerful": the thoughtfulness and pallor of the hero amuses her, but does not impress. “And the distance of the eyes”: he had to see the heroine in moments of reflection, grief. Then she looked with an unseeing gaze somewhere far away, as if she had forgotten about her young admirer. What is the "inevitability" of the heroine? First, she herself is what she is, and there can be no other. Secondly, their meeting was inevitable, since the hero cannot imagine his fate without her. Epithets: quiet, whiter than white. Interesting epithets with negative prefixes. Obsolete word: eyes.

The poem "More Tender Tender" by O. Mandelstam was included in his debut collection "Stone", released in 1916.

1916: the First is coming World War, the population is choking in loyal feelings, poets dispute the right to express the spirit of the era more accurately than others. Vladimir Averin recalls the great Russian poets of the early 20th century.

Osip Emilievich Mandelstam (birth name - Joseph) - poet, prose writer and translator, essayist, critic, literary critic.

Iosif Mandelstam was born on January 3, 1891 in Warsaw in the family of a glover. His father was a merchant of the first guild, which gave him the right to live outside the Pale of Settlement, despite his Jewish origin. A year later, the family settled in Pavlovsk, then in 1897 moved to live in St. Petersburg. Here he finishes one of the best Petersburg educational institutions- Tenishevsky commercial school.

In 1908-1910, Mandelstam studied at the Sorbonne and at the University of Heidelberg. By 1911, the family began to fail, and education in Europe became impossible. In order to bypass the quota for Jews when entering St. Petersburg University, Mandelstam is baptized by a Methodist pastor.

In 1910, he first published his texts in the Apollo magazine. Since November 1911 he regularly participates in the meetings of the Guild of Poets. In 1912 he became a member of the Acmeist group. In 1913, the first book of poems by Osip Mandelstam, "Stone", was published, immediately putting the author in a number of significant Russian poets. AT prewar years Mandelstam is a frequent participant literary evenings, where he performs with the reading of his poems

After October 1917, he lives either in Moscow, or in Petrograd, or in Tiflis. Chukovsky wrote: "... he never had not only no property, but also a permanent settled place - he led a wandering lifestyle, ... I understood his most striking feature - lifelessness."

The 1920s were for Mandelstam a time of intense and varied literary work. New poetry collections were published - "Tristia" (1922), "Second Book" (1923), "Poems" (1928). He publishes articles on literature, two books of prose - the story "The Noise of Time" (1925) and "Egyptian stamp" (1928). Several children's books have also been published.

In the autumn of 1933, Mandelstam wrote the poem "We live without smelling the country under us ...", for which he was arrested in May 1934. Next - the years of exile and the second arrest. Sentence - 5 years in the camps. On December 27, 1938, Osip Emilievich Mandelstam died in a hospital barracks in a camp near Vladivostok. He was rehabilitated posthumously: in the case of 1938 - in 1956, in the case of 1934 - in 1987. The location of the poet's grave is still not known.

In 1916, Osip Mandelstam lives in St. Petersburg and heads the Workshop of Poets. Marina Tsvetaeva enters his life. Friendship began, a kind of "poetic" result of which was several poems dedicated to each other.

In the transparent Petropolis we will die,
Where Proserpina rules over us.
We drink mortal air in every breath,
And every hour we die.

Goddess of the sea, terrible Athena,
Take off the mighty stone helmet.
In the transparent Petropolis we will die, -
It is not you who reigns here, but Proserpina.

Tender than tender
your face,
Whiter than white
Your hand
From the whole world
You are far away
And all yours
From the inevitable.

From the inevitable
Your sadness
And fingers
never cooling down,
And a quiet sound
Cheerful
speeches,
And far
Your eyes

Not believing Sunday miracle
We walked in the cemetery.
- You know, the earth is everywhere for me
Reminds me of those hills

Where does Russia end
Over the sea black and deaf.

From the monastery slopes
A wide meadow runs away.
To me from the Vladimir expanses
I didn't want to go south
But in this dark, wooden
And the holy fool's freedom
With such a foggy nun
To stay means to be in trouble.

Kiss the elbow tanned
And forehead piece of wax.
I know he is white
Under a swarthy strand of gold.
I kiss the brush, where from the bracelet
The stripe is still white.
Tauris fiery summer
Works such miracles.

How soon did you become a darkie
And came to the Savior of the poor,
Kissed without stopping
And I was proud in Moscow.
We only have a name:
Great sound, long lasting.
Take it with my palms
Sprinkled sand.

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