At the turn of the century, on the eve of the revolution of 1917, during the First and Second World Wars, the work of A.A. Akhmatova, one of the most significant in world literature. As A. Kollontai believed: "Akhmatova wrote a whole book of the female soul." Anna Andreevna became an innovator in the field of poetry.
In almost all of Akhmatova's works, Love for the Motherland can be traced. Anna Akhmatova lived a long life, in which there was both happiness and sorrow. Her husband was shot, her son was repressed. The poetess in her life experienced many hardships and grief, but she never parted with her Motherland.
“For me, poetry is a connection with time, with the new life of my people ... I am happy that I lived in these years and saw these events ...” - this is how Anna Andreevna wrote about her life.
Anna Akhmatova lived in an era of tragic events. The contradictory time left its mark, the poetess became "iron". She did not want to adapt to the circumstances, she was independent in her judgments. And this "ironness" became the drama of life.
In the work of Akhmatova, the main place is occupied by the “Poem without a Hero”. According to many literary critics, this work has become an innovation in the field of literature: a poetic narrative about oneself, about time, the fate of one's generation.
As the poetess herself believed, the poem was "a receptacle of secrets and confessions." In this work, Akhmatova combined poetry, dramaturgy, autobiography and memoirs, literary studies on the work of such people as Pushkin, Lermontov, Dostoevsky.
During the study of materials written about the “Poem without a Hero”, many different interpretations were found this work. Akhmatova, on the other hand, explained the meaning of the poem with a quote from Pontius Pilate: "Even pisah - pisah."
The purpose of this work is to summarize the well-known works and interpret the text to present your understanding of this poem.
Reading Experience
Akhmatova wrote the poem for 25 years - from 1940 to 1965. She did not present the final version of her poem. The work, written on the basis of the author's manuscripts, exists in several editions.
Comparing different editions, one can notice that epigraphs, new versions of episodes, subtitles, remarks appear in later versions. These elements are also of interest to the reader. Every detail of the poem is subject to many interpretations.
Akhmatova herself gives an interpretation of the Poem without Heroes. A triptych is a work that consists of three parts - three dedications to those who died in besieged Leningrad. The structure of the work has not changed. The introduction, chapters, dedications, parts of the poem were created at different time periods, “A Poem without a Hero” is a holistic text with a certain structure, which can be represented as a diagram: the first part is a crime, the second is punishment, the third is redemption.
In the text “Instead of a preface”, the author himself explains that it is not necessary to look for the secret meaning of the work, but to perceive it as it is.
The poem is a reflection of the poetess about her time, about the place of a person in this world, about his destiny and the meaning of life. This is reflected in the epigraphDeusconservatomnia- The Lord preserves everything.
The title, "A Poem Without a Hero", is paradoxical in itself and exclusively. It is difficult for him to give an unambiguous interpretation. After all, there are no poems without a hero.
Akhmatova did not accidentally put the genre of her work in the title. "A poem without a hero" is a kind of lyrical poem in which there is a lyrical "I". By this method, Anna Andreevna showed us that she was an eyewitness to the events described. A.V. Platonova notes that it is impossible to determine the genre of the Poem without a Hero. This is a poem, and a drama, and a story.
The poem can even be classified as a mystery or extravaganza. Akhmatova combined biblical motifs and everyday life scenes in the basis of the plot.
Interestingly, according to Anna Andreevna herself, the poem “with the help of the music hidden in it twice went to the ballet”:
And in the dream everything seemed to be
I'm writing a libretto for someone
And there is no end to the music ... ".
This is a kind of performance in which the characters are represented by certain voices: “words from the darkness”, “a voice that reads”, “the wind, either remembering or prophesying, mutters”, “silence itself speaks”, “author’s voice”
Thus, different genres, forms and types of art echo in the poem.
The titles in the poem consist of levels: the title of the work itself, the subtitle - "Triptych", the subtitles of the parts. The triptych indicates that the work consists of three parts - "1913", "Tails", "Epilogue".
The first part has the subtitle "Petersburg Tale", which, according to A.V. Platonova, associated with " Bronze Horseman» A.S. Pushkin. Thus, the researcher draws attention to the synthesis of the genres of literature, poetry and prose.
Who is main character? Such researchers as K. Chukovsky, M. Filkenberg, A. Heit, Z. Esipova and others tried to answer this question. Nobody could give a definite answer.
In the poem itself, the wordhero used twice. In the first part: "Hero to the fore!" and in the second "And who is the author, who is the hero ..." Says nothing more about his presence in the work. There is not a single name in the poem - only masks, some kind of puppets that someone controls. They cannot be heroes.
Interestingly, the poem does not fall apart in the absence of a hero. It traces the time and point of view of the author, the lyrical heroine, who tells about a certain time and evaluates it. Akhmatova talks with the reader through the poem.
"A Poem Without a Hero" is about a time in which there were no heroes. The fate of people was controlled by a time when human life had no value.
Epigraphs in the composition of "Poems Without Heroes" play an important role. These are quotes from poems by various poets or Akhmatova herself. With the help of epigraphs, you can see the intertextuality of the work. They lead us to certain ideas of the poem, understanding the meaning, they become, to some extent, elements of the dialogue. According to T.V. Tsivyan, due to the appeal to the world poetic poetry the line between "us" and "them" is blurred, which introduces the poem into the orbit of world poetry.
“A poem without a hero” is paradoxical in itself due to the fact that there is no connecting hero, they are blurred. Only the image of the author in "A Poem without a Hero" is a link between the world of characters. L.G. Kihney notes that the poem is a monologue of the author.
In general, the first part“Nine hundred and thirteenth year. Petersburg story"is the most eventful.The plot is based on the real dramatic story of the poet V. Knyazev and the actress O. Glebova-Sudeikina. The love story ended sadly - the young man committed suicide because of an unhappy love for a windy and fickle actress.
Phantasmagoria is the main theme of the first part.
A feature of the story was that Akhmatova showed the life of an entire era. People are actors, hiding behind masks, and their life is a masquerade. They only play life, play certain roles:
"Petersburg doll, actor ..."
As L. Losev notes, the characters pretend not to be who they are. Life is like a farce. And the result of this game is death, as a retribution for participation.
Instead of invited guests, shadows come to the lyrical heroine to celebrate the New Year: Don Juan, Faust, Glan, Dorian, Dapertutto, Iokanaan. These characters symbolize the carefree and sinful youth of the author.
The confusion of these images tells us that good and evil are always together, they are inseparable. This is the main sin of the younger generation.
Petersburg in 1913 is also one of the main characters of the work:
“And the carriages fell from the bridges,
And the whole mourning city floated ...
Along the Neva or against the current, -
Just stay away from your graves."
1913 is the time of Rasputin, a series of suicides, a premonition of the end of life.
The Neva River is a symbol of the flow of life, "accelerating flight", moves, carries with it. And for Akhmatova, this transience of time is most noticeable in St. Petersburg:
"I'm inseparable from you,
My shadow is on your walls."
The sad outcome of the first part of the poem is the death of a young man who could not accept the betrayal of his beloved woman, only the beginning of retribution. It is no coincidence that Akhmatova recalls in the besieged Leningrad that "which she said goodbye to for a long time."
In the second part of the poem, the "dissatisfied editor" asks questions about the meaning of the poem, its "incomprehensibility", innuendo, confusion. And the author, in his attempt to explain, plunges us into the era of romanticism. Are the ghosts of Shakespeare, El Greco, Cagliostro, Shelley. With the help of people's creativity, the author tries to comprehend the past of mankind.
Reflections are interrupted by the remark “The howling in the chimney subsides, distant sounds of Requiem are heard, some kind of deaf groans. It is millions of sleeping women raving in their sleep, which brings us back to reality and reinforces the feeling that "A Poem without a Hero" is a confession of a lyrical heroine.
Russo-Japanese War, World War I, Revolution of 1905-1907 and the Great October Revolution, repressions, the Great Patriotic War is, according to the author, retribution for the sins of a whole generation. Kara is inevitable. Atonement and repentance are needed. And the lyrical heroine is afraid to appear before the “Last Judgment” without repentance and atonement.
"1913" in its plot resembles the ball of Satan. The theme of the Apocalypse, a premonition of a catastrophe, was widespread at the beginning of the 20th century:
And for them the walls parted,
Lights flashed, sirens howled
And like a dome the ceiling swelled ...
However
I hope the Lord of Darkness
You didn't dare to enter here?
The name of the second part is "Tails" - and this flip side medals. Behind the seeming well-being, the negative is hidden - arrests, repressions. The generation atones for sins through suffering and persecution.
Heroine New Year meets already alone, "the carnival midnight of the Roman and does not smell." “The Cherubic chant trembles near closed churches” - it’s too late to repent, buy up sins, make excuses.
In 1946, after a meeting with I. Berlin, Akhmatova was subjected to harassment: her poems were not published, they were not accepted into literary societies. At this time, she writes the third part - the Epilogue. About the period of atonement for the sins of his youth.
Suffering is the main motive. "The city is in ruins ... fires are burning out ... heavy guns are hooting" - this is how it begins the third part of the poem is an epilogue. There is no place for ghosts here. This is reality.
Leningrad (former St. Petersburg) - atones for the sins of its inhabitants.
The heroine leaves for Tashkent. Separation from the city is unbearable for her, she feels guilty, comparing herself with emigrants. Having left at a difficult time, the heroine feels that she has abandoned native city suffer.
Anna Andreevna left in Leningrad part of her life, part of herself, her inner world:
"My shadow is on your walls,
My reflection in the channels ... "
If in the first part the lyrical heroine has a double - an actor, then in the third part - a double - a redeemer, who comes from interrogation:
“Chistogan, I didn’t look,
Exactly ten years went
And behind me is a bad glory
Under the revolver, Shelestela.
In "Poem Without a Hero" past, present, future echo:
“As the future ripens in the past,
So in the future, the past smolders ... ".
Life is presented as a dream: "I sleep - I dream of our youth ...". And in a dream, the whole life of the author is intertwined: "I dream of what should happen to us ...".
In all this, echoes of the past are heard, without which there can be no present and future. The author casually recalls his life, a whole generation of a past era.
The motif of time can be traced throughout the work. It is fleeting like a dream.Time is history. The history of personality. Generation history. History of the Motherland.
Akhmatova analyzes the experience of the past in order to understand what may happen in the future with her, with individuals, with Russia. All the troubles that occur, she distributes equally, does not consider that someone alone is to blame. Everyone is guilty, everyone is responsible for what is happening: “Am I to blame for others?”
Memory and conscience bind all the heroes of the "Poem Without a Hero" together. All connections are inseparable from each other.
Petersburg in the poem is shown in an animated way, many-sided, changeable, indestructible. Petersburg appears in different guises. That he is common people, square. To is presented as a city of cathedrals, theaters, palaces. It's restless, anxious.
The triplicity of the image of the city shows the disharmony of the events taking place, a certain paradox:
« The wind tore posters from the wall,
Smoke danced squatting on the roof
And the cemetery smelled of lilacs.
And, cursed by Queen Avdotya,
Dostoevsky and the Possessed
The fog was leaving the city.”
In the last part of the poem - the epilogue, it is told in general about Russia, that it atones for its sins with repressions and wars.
"Lowering your dry eyes,
And wringing hands, Russia
before me went to the east ... "
Lines that amaze with their power and significance. After these words, it becomes clear that the Motherland is the main character, era, history. And that Motherland, about which the author spoke, no longer exists.
The architectonics of the "Poem Without a Hero" is specific: the fate of an entire era is considered on the example of the fate of a lyrical hero.
The personal theme of the hero develops into a national theme of the history of Russia. The associations and epigraphs of the poem lead us to this.
Anna Akhmatova foresees that the sacrifices and losses are not over. A dramatic mood is present at the end of the poem, when the image of the Motherland appears.
"Epilogue" was written during the Great Patriotic War, the time great tribulation and the pain of an entire people.
The text of the work, due to its rhythm and intonation, is musical and plastic. In all three parts, the structure of the stanzas is different. In the first "1913" there is no uniformity, the stanzas resemble unrhymed, torn phrases - like "a whirlwind of Salome's dance ...". In the second part, the rhythm remains the same, but uniform numbered stanzas can be traced. The "Epilogue" structure is a solid, clear rhythm that conveys a certain smoothness, fluidity of the events described. This reveals the originality of the dynamics of the text: from the whirlwind of events of 1913 that quickly passed through to repressions and echelons, and then to Victory.
The main principle of reading Akhmatova's work is contextual reading. Here, a big role is given to details - symbols that help to unravel the meaning of the text: "The box has a triple bottom ...".
For example, the stanzas "Tails":
“Between “remember” and “remember”, others,
Distance as from Luga
To the country of satin bouts.
In the notes of Akhmatova, "bout is a mask with a hood." In the phrase "as from Luga to the country of satin bouts" the meaning is very big, huge. That is, remembering and remembering is different concepts. We must not remember the past, but we must remember. Here is the main meaning of these lines.
It is noteworthy that at the end of the poemRussia is described as young, cleansed by suffering, new. She goes in the hope of finding lost values.
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova, like a prophet, foresaw the long-awaited victory, which became a symbol of the end of terrible losses and troubles.
Conclusion
Anna Akhmatova belongs to a generation of writers whose names are associated with " silver age» Russian poetry. The poets of this trend tried to show the value of the surrounding world, the value of the word.
Akhmatova began writing "A Poem Without a Hero" at the age of 50, and finished two years later. Then the poem was completed, rewritten for 25 years. During the corrections, the volume of the text has almost doubled.
The poem lived with the author, she "reacted" to the reactions of readers:“I hear their voices and remember them when I read the poem aloud…”. These are the first listeners of the poem who died during the siege of Leningrad.
Remembering the events of 1913, the repressions of the 30s, Akhmatova brings the reader to the turning point for Russia - the Great Patriotic War. The poem begins with the tragedy of a person, a young poet, and ends with the tragedy of an entire people.
There are several subtextual layers in the "Poem without a Hero", several interconnected themes and motifs can be traced, which is the main concept of the work.
There is no specific hero, since he exists in an indefinite time. All heroes unite insingle actor - a great country - Russia, the fate of which depends on each of us.
The genre of the work of Anna Andreevna Akhmatova still raises many questions. The poem is considered here not in the narrow sense of the word, but in a broader one. In this work, a synthesis of genres and arts is manifested, which is hallmark poems.
You can think about the “Poem without a Hero” endlessly, search for the meaning, for the details of the work. There are many interpretations of the text of the poem.
In my work, I tried to express my own impression of the text. And the fact that the work arouses the interest of the reader is undeniable. This suggests that the Poem will live forever, like Time itself, which, according to K. Chukovsky, is the only hero of the poem.
Starting the analysis of Akhmatova's work "A Poem without a Hero", one cannot ignore the interpretation given by the author himself. A triptych is a work of three parts. Three dedications, and at the same time, at the very beginning, Akhmatova gives a personal “justification for this thing”: the memory of those who died in the besieged Leningrad. And then he explains that the poem should be taken as it is, without trying to find a secret meaning.
But after such a long preface, the text just gives the impression of a riddle and a rebus. The introduction, even before the first part, is written in different years: the pre-war and besieged northern capital, Tashkent during the war years, the first spring after the Victory ... Scattered fragments are connected by the fact that they are all memories, the author's view through the years.
The poetic meter of the poem is closer to the anapaest, although the changing size of the lines, the omission of stressed positions in some places make it more like an accent verse. The same applies to the method of rhyming: two consecutive lines with the same ending are underlined by the third, which is repeated in the sixth line. This creates the impression of haste, quick conversation, "hurrying after a fleeing thought." And the fact that sometimes the number of lines with the same rhyme increases to four enhances the effect.
The main theme of the first part is phantasmagoria, the heroes are a swarm of images, otherworldly creatures, fictional characters. The action takes place in 1913, and echoing the "devil's dozen" dates, the presence of evil spirits shines through all the lines. “Without a face and a name”, “possessed city”, “ghost”, “demon”, “goat-legged” - this whole part of the poem is sprinkled with similar names, therefore, after reading it leaves a feeling of confusion, delirium of an inflamed consciousness.
The second part surprises with the words “disgruntled editor” quoted. He voices exactly those thoughts about the poem that come to the mind of the reader. And this normality, "sober thinking" seems alien in the text. But the lyrical heroine begins her explanations and again plunges into the carousel of semi-real images. The actors are the era of both romanticism and the twentieth century; the ghosts of the great ones are called to life: Shelley, Shakespeare, Sophocles, Cagliostro, El Greco. This abundance of names makes us look at the second part of the poem as an attempt by the author to comprehend the past - not his own, but a whole layer of history - through the work of people.
An unexpected remark - “The howl in the chimney subsides, the distant sounds of Requiem are heard, some kind of deaf groans. These are millions of sleeping women raving in their sleep” – makes you literally stumble, break out of the enveloping haze of words. And the word "rave" again reinforces the feeling that the poem is an incoherent, fragmentary confession of a lyrical heroine, without composition and meaning.
The beginning of the third part (epilogue) is sobering: the action takes place in besieged Leningrad. "The city is in ruins... fires are burning out... heavy guns are groaning." Reality breaks into the narrative from all over, and although it remains hasty and expressive, it no longer tells about ghosts. Camp dust, interrogation, denunciation, revolver. Siberia, the Urals, the exile and punishment of the children of a great country. The final lines of the poem: “Lowing down dry eyes, and wringing her hands, Russia went east before me” are striking in their strength and sense of the ubiquitous tragedy. After these words, the irony of the name begins to emerge: in “A Poem without a Hero” the heroine is the Motherland, history, era. And she - the one that was familiar to the lyrical heroine, whom she recalls in the first parts - is no longer there.
The huge gaping hole where the broken old had been was not filled with the new. Akhmatova did not see the prospect (and who saw it in those turbulent years?), although the poem was completed in 1962.
Twenty-two years (according to other sources - twenty-five years) this work was created, and Anna Andreevna herself became the hero, then Petersburg, to which a separate dedication was written, then the nineteenth century. But in the end, all these "heroes" are fused into a single character - a great country, of which only memories remain.
"A poem without a hero" by Anna Akhmatova, on which she worked for a quarter of a century, is one of the most mysterious works of Russian literature.
Anna Akhmatova really experienced everything with the country - the collapse of the empire, and the red terror, and the war. With calm dignity, as befits the "Anna of All Russia", she endured and brief periods glory, and long decades of oblivion. A hundred years have passed since the release of her first collection "Evening", but Akhmatova's poetry has not turned into a monument of the Silver Age, has not lost its original freshness. The language in which women's love is expressed in her poems is still understandable to everyone.
In A Poem Without a Hero, she showed herself exactly what happened to her life when the “hellish harlequinade” of 1313 swept through. And what can the “Real Twentieth Century” do to a person.
Introduction
In the course of working with materials devoted to the “Poem without a Hero”, one of the most mysterious in Akhmatova’s work, many comments were found regarding some particulars, which are explained in great detail. But none of the works contains the concept of the poem. Akhmatova herself responded to numerous requests to explain the meaning of the poem with Pilate's phrase: "Eh pisah - pisah." The purpose of this work is not to give regular comments on the various episodes of the poem, but to summarize what is already known, to recreate the artistic concept of the poem as adequately as possible, which is a new aspect for the study of this work.
It is very difficult for a reader who is unfamiliar with the era in which the poem was created to understand it, and even the author himself, or the lyrical heroine, does not hide the fact that he “used sympathetic ink” that needs to be “manifested”. After all, the imagery of the “Poem without a Hero” is saturated with literary and historical-cultural reminiscences and allusions, personal, cultural and historical associations.
The work also examines the symbolism of the poem: the motif of mirrors, the New Year's "harlequinade", biblical motifs, the subtext of epigraphs and remarks. These are all organic components of Akhmatov's “cryptogram”, which, as the study proves, work for the concept of the poem.
Despite the fact that the chapters and parts of the poem, as well as the introduction and dedications, were created in different time, the poem is a holistic work with a well-thought-out structure, which is presented using a diagram.
Three dedications have been written to “A Poem Without a Hero”: to Olga Glebova-Sudeikina, Vsevolod Knyazev and Isaiah Berlin. The three dedications correspond to the three parts of the poem.
First part. A crime
In the first part (Petersburg story), instead of the expected guests on New Year's Eve, the lyrical heroine "... shadows from the thirteenth come under the guise of mummers." These masks: Faust, Don Juan, Dapertutto, Iokanaan, symbolize the youth of the lyrical heroine - sinful and carefree. Akhmatova, putting on a par with demonic heroes: Faust, Dapertutto - and saints: Jokanaan (John the Baptist), wants to show the main sin of the generation - a mixture of good and evil. The sins of the generation are reflected in the initiation itself. For Akhmatova great importance had a story of unrequited love of the young poet, twenty-year-old dragoon Vsevolod Knyazev, sensational in those years, for the famous actress-beauty Olga Glebova-Sudeikina. Seeing one night that Glebova-Sudeikina did not return home alone, the young poet put a bullet in his forehead in front of the very door of his beloved. The story of Vsevolod Knyazev's unrequited love for Olga Glebova-Sudeikina is a kind of illustration of the spiritual life led by the people who surrounded Akhmatova (the lyrical heroine) and in which, of course, she herself took part. The motif of duality runs throughout the poem. The first double of the lyrical heroine in the poem is the nameless heroine, the prototype of which is Glebova-Sudeikina:
Petersburg doll, actor,
You are one of my twins.
The second part. Punishment
Akhmatova writes the dedication to Vsevolod Knyazev on December 27, 1940, even before the war, and the second dedication, to Olga Glebova-Sudeikina, was written after the Great Patriotic War: May 25, 1945. Thus, in the Second Initiation and in the Second Part (“Tails”), Akhmatova speaks of PUNISHMENT, counting all the cataclysms of the 20th century: Russo-Japanese War, First world war, two revolutions, repressions, the Great Patriotic War- retribution for all the sins of the generation and for their own sins. But sins committed in youth are difficult to atone for. It is possible to mitigate the punishment by repentance and atonement. And until the lyrical heroine does this, at the mere thought that she can appear before the Last Judgment, she is terrified. The poem contains the theme of moral condemnation and the inevitability of punishment.
Akhmatova showed a picture of an inflamed, sinful, rejoicing Petersburg. The coming upheavals had already appeared through the usual St. Petersburg fog, but no one wanted to notice them. Akhmatova understood that the “prodigal” life of the St. Petersburg bohemia would not remain without retribution. And so it happened. In the second part, the heroine sees retribution (hence the strange name - "Tails" - the reverse side of the medal, "Eagle", causing association with the word "lattice", which symbolizes the era of repression), the atonement of the sins of youth through suffering and persecution: meeting the new year 1941, the heroine is all alone, in her house "the carnival midnight of the Roman and does not smell." “The chant of the Cherubim near the closed churches trembles,” and this is the fifth of January, according to the old style, on the eve of Christmas Eve, - evidence of the persecution of Orthodox Church. And, finally, the heroine cannot create, since her mouth is “smeared with paint” and “filled with earth”. War, like repression, is the atonement by the people of past sins, according to Akhmatova. The sins of youth, which seemed innocent, harming no one, turned into unbearable suffering for the heroine - pangs of conscience and the realization that she could never justify herself. However, the repentant sinner is always given the opportunity to atone for his sins through suffering or good deeds. But more on that in the third part.
The third part. Redemption
The third and last dedication is addressed to Isaiah Berlin, who visited Akhmatova in 1946 on the eve of his Catholic baptism. That evening, Akhmatova read "A Poem Without a Hero" to her guest, and later sent a finished copy. The next day, a listening device was installed in Akhmatova's apartment. After a meeting with Isaiah Berlin, an employee of the American embassy, a "spy", according to Stalin, followed by "civil execution", the peak of persecution, persecution. It was a time when Akhmatova could not publish her poems, and she was ordered to enter all literary societies.
The third part of the “Poem without a Hero” (epilogue) is dedicated to the Atonement of the sins of youth through suffering
Besieged Leningrad also atones for the guilt of its inhabitants. During the blockade, in 1942, the heroine is forced to leave for Tashkent and, leaving, she feels guilty about the city she is leaving. But she insists on the "sham" of their separation, since this separation seems unbearable. The heroine understands that, leaving St. Petersburg, she becomes something like the emigrants, who were so hotly denounced by her. (“I am not with those who left the earth…”). Having left the country at the most difficult time, emigrants move away from their homeland, leaving it to suffer and not wanting to share this suffering. Leaving from besieged Leningrad, the heroine feels she is doing the same. And here the double of the lyrical heroine reappears. But this is already a double-redeemer, a camp prisoner going for interrogation. The same double says, coming from the interrogation, in the voice of the heroine herself:
I paid for myself Neither left nor right
Chistogan, I didn’t look,
Exactly ten years went And behind me bad fame
Under the revolver, Shelestela.
The epilogue already speaks of Russia as a whole, of the expiation of her sins during the period of repression, and then in the tragedy of the war. The other, “young” Russia, renewed, cleansed by suffering, is moving “to meet itself,” that is, to regain its lost values.
Thus ends the poem.
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One of Akhmatova's most fundamental creations is the Poem Without a Hero, which covers different periods life of the poetess and tells about the fate of Akhmatova herself, who survived both her creative youth in St. Petersburg, and the besieged city and many hardships.
In the first part, the reader observes nostalgia and a journey into past eras. Akhmatova sees how “delusions are resurrected” and bursts of some kind of conversation, she meets “guests” who appear in masks and are shadows of the previous time.
Most likely, the poetess here, as it were, travels along the waves of memory and describes a situation where a person plunges deep into images, remembers people with whom he has communicated for a long time and some of which can no longer be seen on this earth. Therefore, the action takes on the features of a kind of carnival and phantasmagoria. This part ends with the call of a hero who is absent in the poem.
The theme of the availability/absence of the hero is continued by the second part, which describes communication with the editor, who is the only voice of reason in the entire poem and, as it were, returns the reader to the rational world. He asks how there can be a poem without a hero and Akhmatov, it would seem that it begins some kind of reasonable explanation, but then again it seems to return to a dream or some kind of dreams that are far from reality. And here the thoughts lead the poetess towards memories not of her own biography and 1913, but towards discussions about culture in general and previous eras.
In the final part, the poetess describes the evacuation from the city, the ruined country and the hardships of the war. Here the main theme becomes the motherland, the native country, with which the poetess also experienced all sorts of troubles. At the same time, here the poetess speaks of the coming time, but she sees no prospects and nothing worthy there, for the most part, Akhmatova’s appeal is directed to past eras, she “has come around with a distant echo” and she wanted to hear such an echo precisely from previous times and her memories.
Of course, one should speculate who is the hero in this poem and whether there really can be a poem without a hero at all. In fact, the hero is present here to some extent, he can be his homeland, and St. Petersburg, and Akhmatova herself. Nevertheless, if we somehow generalize and try to look at the situation more globally, then the hero of this poem is undoubtedly the stream of consciousness that passes through people, times and countries.
Analysis of the poem A poem without a hero according to plan
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Read the poem in full:
final edition
Triptych
(1940-1965)
Deus conservat omnia 1.
Motto in the coat of arms of the Fountain House
INSTEAD OF FOREWORD
There are no others, and those are far away ...
Pushkin
The first time she came to me at the Fountain House on the night of December 27, 1940, she sent one small passage as a messenger back in the fall (“You came to Russia from nowhere…”).
I didn't call her. I didn't even expect her on that cold and dark day of my last Leningrad winter.
Its appearance was preceded by several small and insignificant facts, which I hesitate to call events.
That night I wrote two pieces of the first part ("1913") and "Dedication". At the beginning of January, almost unexpectedly for myself, I wrote “Tails”, and in Tashkent (in two stages) - “Epilogue”, which became the third part of the poem, and made several significant inserts into both first parts.
I dedicate this poem to the memory of its first listeners - my friends and fellow citizens who died in Leningrad during the siege.
I hear their voices and remember them when I read the poem aloud, and this secret choir has become for me forever the justification of this thing.
Rumors often reach me of misleading and absurd interpretations of the Poem Without a Hero. And someone even advises me to make the poem more understandable.
I will refrain from doing so.
The poem does not contain any third, seventh or twenty-ninth meanings.
I won't change it or explain it.
"Hedgehog pisah - pisah."
November 1944, Leningrad
DEDICATION
December 27, 1940
…
... and since I didn’t have enough paper,
I'm writing on your draft.
And now someone else's word comes through
And, as then a snowflake on the hand,
Trustingly and without reproach melts.
And the dark eyelashes of Antinous 2
Suddenly they got up - and there is green smoke,
And the breeze blew relatives ...
Is it not the sea?
No, it's just needles
Grave, and in boiling foam
Getting closer, closer...
Marche funebre 3 …
Chopin.
Night, Fountain House
SECOND DEDICATION
Are you, Confusion-Psyche 4,
Black and white fan of the wind,
Leaning over me
Do you want to tell me a secret
What has already passed Lethe
And you breathe differently in the spring.
Do not dictate to me, I myself hear:
A warm downpour rested on the roof,
I hear whispers in the ivy.
Someone small is going to live,
Green, fluffy, tried
Tomorrow in a new cloak to shine.
I sleep -
she is alone above me, -
The one that people call spring
I call loneliness.
I sleep -
I dream of our youth
That, HIS past bowl;
I will bring it to you
If you want, I'll give it as a souvenir,
Like pure flame in clay
Or a snowdrop in a grave ditch.
THIRD AND LAST (Le jour des rois 5)
Once on Epiphany evening ...
Zhukovsky
I'm full of fear,
I'd rather call Chaconne Bach
And a man will follow her...
He won't be my sweet husband
But we deserve it
What will embarrass the Twentieth Century.
I took it by accident
For the one who is bestowed with a secret,
With whom the bitterest is destined
He came to me at the Fountain Palace
Late at night foggy
New Year's drink wine.
And remember the Epiphany evening,
Maple in the window, wedding candles
And the death flight poems...
But not the first branch of lilac,
Not a ring, not the sweetness of prayers -
He will bring me death.
INTRODUCTION
FROM THE YEAR FORTY,
AS FROM A TOWER, I LOOK AT EVERYTHING.
HOW TO GO GOODBYE AGAIN
WITH WHAT YOU HAVE GONE LONG AGO,
HOW BUD-TO CROSSED
AND I GO UNDER THE DARK Vaults.
PART ONE
YEAR NINE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
Petersburg story
Di rider finirai
Pria dell'aurora.
Chapter first
New Year's holiday lasts magnificently,
Wet stems of Christmas roses.
We can’t tell fortunes with Tatyana ...
I lit the sacred candles
To make this evening glow
Don Juan (Italian).
And with you, who did not come to me,
I meet the forty-first year.
But…
The Lord's power is with us!
The flame drowned in the crystal,
"And wine, like poison, burns 7".
It's bursts of hard talk
When all the delusions are resurrected,
And the clock still doesn't strike...
There is no measure of my anxiety
I myself, like a shadow on the threshold,
I guard the last comfort.
And I hear a lingering call
And I feel cold wet
Stone, I freeze, I burn ...
And as if remembering something,
Turning around,
In a quiet voice I say:
"You are mistaken: Doge's Venice -
It's nearby ... But the masks are in the hallway
And cloaks, and wands, and crowns
You will have to leave today.
I decided to glorify you today,
New Year's tomboys!
This Faust, that Don Juan,
Dapertutto 8, Jokanaan 9,
The most modest - northern Glanom,
Or the murderer Dorian,
And everyone whispers to their dians
A hard lesson learned.
And the walls parted for them,
The lights came on, the sirens howled
And, like a dome, the ceiling swelled.
I'm not that afraid of publicity ...
What; me Hamlet's garters,
What; me the whirlwind of Salome's dance,
What; me the footsteps of the Iron Mask,
I'm even nicer than those...
And whose turn is it to be scared?
recoil, recoil, surrender
And atone for a long-standing sin?
Everything is clear:
Not to me, so to whom is 10?
Dinner was prepared here not for them,
And they are not with me along the way.
The tail was hidden under the coat tails ...
How chrome and elegant he is ...
However
I hope. Lord of Darkness
Don't you dare enter here?
Is it a mask, a skull, is it a face -
An expression of evil pain
That only Goya dared to convey.
General minion and mocker,
Before him is the most stinking sinner -
Grace incarnate...
Have fun - so have fun
But how could it happen
Am I the only one alive?
Tomorrow morning will wake me up
And no one will judge me
And laugh in my face
Window blue.
But I'm afraid: I myself will enter,
Without taking off the lace shawl,
I smile at everyone and shut up.
With who she once was
In a necklace of black agates
To the valley of Jehoshaphat 11
I don't want to meet again...
Isn't the last time close? ...
I forgot your lessons
Rednecks and false prophets! -
But you have not forgotten me.
As the future ripens in the past,
So in the future the past smolders -
Terrible holiday of dead leaves.
B The sound of steps, those that are not there,
E On the shining parquet
L And cigar blue smoke.
Y And reflected in all the mirrors
Y Man that didn't show up
And I couldn't get into that room.
He is no better than others and no worse.
Z But it doesn’t blow with the letey cold,
And in his hand is warmth.
L Guest from the Future! - Really
He will really come to me
Turning left off the bridge?
Since childhood, I was afraid of mummers,
For some reason I always thought
That some kind of extra shadow
Among them "without a face and a name"
Messed up…
Let's open the meeting
New Year's Eve Day!
That midnight Hoffmannian
I won't tell the world
And I would ask others...
Wait a minute
You don't seem to be on the list
In caliostras, magicians, lysis 12,
Striped is dressed up with a verst, -
Painted variegated and rude -
You…
the same age as the Mamvrian oak 13,
The century-old interlocutor of the moon.
Do not deceive feigned groans,
You write iron laws
Hammurabi, lycurgi, saltos 14
You must learn.
The creature is of a strange disposition.
He doesn't wait for gout and fame
Hastily seated him
In jubilee lush chairs,
And carries along the flowering heather,
Through the deserts their triumph.
And not guilty of anything: not in this,
Neither in the other nor in the third ...
Poets
In general, sins did not stick.
Dance before the Ark of the Covenant 15
Or die!...
What is there!
About it
Poems told them better.
We only dream of the cock crow,
Outside the window the Neva is smoking,
The night is bottomless - and it lasts, it lasts
Petersburg devilry...
You can't see the stars in the black sky
Death is around here, obviously.
But careless, spicy, shameless
Masquerade talk...
Scream:
"Hero to the fore!"
Don't Worry: The Dylde Is To Be Replaced
Definitely coming out now
And sing about sacred revenge...
Why are you all running away together?
As if everyone found a bride
Leaving eye to eye
Me in the dusk with a black frame
From which the same looks
Became the bitterest drama
And not yet mourned hour?
It doesn't all come up right away.
Like one musical phrase
I hear a whisper: “Goodbye! It's time!
I will leave you alive.
But you will be my widow
You are Dove, sun, sister!”
There are two merged shadows on the site ...
After - flat stairs,
Shout: "Don't!" and in the distance
Clear voice:
"I'm ready to die."
The torches go out, the ceiling lowers. The white (mirror) hall 16 is again the author's room. Words from darkness
There is no death - everyone knows that
To repeat it became insipid,
And what is - let them tell me.
Who is knocking?
After all, they let everyone in.
Is this a guest behind the looking glass? Or
What suddenly flashed through the window ...
Jokes of a young month,
Or is there really someone there again
Is it between the oven and the cabinet?
The forehead is pale and the eyes are open ...
This means that gravestones are fragile,
So, granite is softer than wax ...
Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! - From such nonsense
I will soon turn gray
Or I will be completely different.
Why are you beckoning me with your hand?!
For one minute of peace
I will give peace posthumously.
THROUGH THE SITE
Sideshow
Somewhere around this place (“... but careless, spicy, shameless masquerade chatter ...”) such lines wandered around, but I did not let them into the main text:
“I assure you, this is nothing new...
You are a child, signor Casanova ... "
"On Isakievskaya exactly at six ..."
"Somehow we'll wander through the darkness,
We are from here to the "Dog" ... "17
"Where are you from here?" -
"God knows!"
Sancho Panza and Don Quixote
And, alas, Sodom Lots 18
Lethal taste the juice
Aphrodites emerged from the foam,
Moved in Elena's glass,
And the time for madness is coming.
And again from the Fountain Grotto 19,
Where love groans slumber,
Through the ghost gate
And furry and red-haired someone
The goat-leg was dragged.
All more elegant and all above,
Though she does not see and does not hear -
Doesn't curse, doesn't pray, doesn't breathe,
Head of Madame de Lamballe,
And the humble and the beauty,
You, who dance like a goat,
Again you hum languidly and meekly:
"Que me veut mon Prince Carnaval 20?"
And at the same time, in the depths of the hall, stage, hell, or on top of Goethe's Brocken, She (or maybe her shadow) appears:
Like hooves, boots trample,
Earrings ring like a bell
In pale curls, evil horns,
Cursed dance drunk, -
As if from a black-figured vase
Ran to the azure wave
So beautifully naked.
And behind her in an overcoat and a helmet
You, who entered here without a mask,
You, Ivanushka of an ancient fairy tale,
What is bothering you today?
How much bitterness in every word
How much darkness in your love
And why this trickle of blood
Does the petal roam?
Chapter Two
Or that you see at your knees,
Who left your captivity for your white death?
Heroine's bedroom. Burning wax candle. Above the bed are three portraits of the mistress of the house in roles. On the right she is Goatfoot, in the middle is Confusion, on the left is a portrait in the shade. One thinks that this is Columbine. the other is Donna Anna (from The Commander's Steps).
Behind the dormer window, the Arabs are playing snowballs. Blizzard. New Year's midnight. The confusion comes to life, leaves the portrait, and it seems to her a voice that reads:
The satin coat is open!
Do not be angry with me, Dove,
What will I touch this cup:
Not you, but myself I will execute.
Still, payback is coming -
You see there, behind the grainy blizzard
Meyerhold's blacks
Are they making a fuss again?
And around Old city Peter,
What did the people wipe their sides
(as people used to say)
In manes, in harnesses, in flour carts,
In painted tea roses
And under a cloud of crow's wings.
But flies, smiling imaginary,
Above the Mariinsky stage prima,
You are our incomprehensible swan,
And the late snob jokes.
The sound of the orchestra, like from the other world
(The shadow of something flashed somewhere)
Is it not a premonition of dawn
Chills run through the rows?
Like nothing on earth,
He rushes like a messenger of God,
Hitting us again and again.
Branches in the blue-white snow ...
Corridor Petrovsky Collegiums 21
Endless, booming and straight
(Anything can happen
But he will stubbornly dream
To those who now pass there).
The denouement is ridiculously close;
Because of the screens of Petrushkin mask 22,
Around the fires coachman's dance,
Above the palace is a black and yellow banner ...
Everything is already in place, who needs it;
Fifth act from the Summer Garden
It smells… The ghost of Tsushima hell
Right here. - A drunk sailor sings ...
How grandly the skids ring
And the goat's cavity drags ...
Bye, shadows! - He's alone there.
On the wall is his solid profile.
Gabriel or Mephistopheles
Yours, beauty, paladin?
The demon himself with Tamara's smile,
But such spells lurk
In this terrible smoky face:
Flesh that almost became spirit.
And an antique curl above the ear -
Everything is mysterious in the alien.
This is him in a crowded room
Sent that black rose in a glass
Or was it all a dream?
With a dead heart and dead eyes
Did he meet with the Commander,
Into that cursed house that you sneaked into?
And it was told in a word,
How were you in the new space,
How out of time you were, -
And in what polar crystals,
And in what radiance of amber
There, at the mouth of Leta - Neva.
You ran away from the portrait here
And an empty frame before the light
The wall will be waiting for you.
So dance for you - without a partner!
I'm the role of the fatal choir
I agree to accept.
There are scarlet spots on your cheeks;
Would you go back to the canvas;
'Cause tonight is such a night
When to pay your bill...
And intoxicating drowsiness
It is harder for me than death to overcome.
You came to Russia from nowhere
Oh my blond miracle
Columbine of the tenth years!
What do you look so vaguely and vigilantly,
Petersburg doll, actor 23,
You are one of my twins.
To other titles, this one is also necessary
Attribute. O friend of poets,
I am the heir of your glory.
Here, to the music of the marvelous master,
Leningrad wild wind
And in the shade of the reserved cedar
I see the dance of the court bones...
Wedding candles float
Under the veil "kissing shoulders"
The temple thunders: "Dove, come!" 24
Mountains of Parma violets in April -
And a date in the Maltese Chapel 25,
Like a curse in your chest.
Golden age vision
Or black crime
In the terrible chaos of old days?
Answer me now:
really
Did you ever really live
And trampled the ends of the squares
With his dazzling foot? ...
The house of the motley comedy wagon,
Peeling cupids
They guard the Venus altar.
Songbirds did not put in a cage,
You cleaned the bedroom like a gazebo
Village girl next door
The cheerful stapler does not recognize 26 .
Twisted stairs are hidden in the walls,
And on the walls of the azure saints -
It's half-stolen good...
All in flowers, like "Spring" by Botticelli,
You took friends in bed
And the dragoon Pierrot languished, -
All those who are in love with you are superstitious
The one with the smile of the evening sacrifice,
You became like a magnet to him.
Turning pale, he looks through his tears,
How roses were handed to you
And how his enemy is famous.
I haven't seen your husband
I, the cold clinging to the glass ...
Here it is, the battle of the fortress clock ...
Don't be afraid - home; not me; chu, -
Come boldly towards me -
Your horoscope has been ready for a long time ...
Chapter Three
And under the arch on Galernaya ...
A. Akhmatova
In Petersburg we will meet again,
Like the sun we buried in it.
O. Mandelstam
That was the last year...
M. Lozinsky
Petersburg in 1913. Lyrical digression: the last memory of Tsarskoye Selo. The wind, either remembering or prophesying, mutters:
Christmas time was warmed by bonfires,
And carriages fell from the bridges,
And the whole mourning city floated
For an unknown destination
Along the Neva or against the current, -
Just away from your graves.
On Galernaya arch blackened,
In Summer, a weathervane sang subtly.
And the silver moon is bright
Frozen over the Silver Age.
Because on all roads,
Because to all thresholds
A shadow slowly approached
The wind tore posters from the wall,
Smoke danced squatting on the roof
And the cemetery smelled of lilacs.
And cursed by Queen Avdotya,
Dostoevsky and the demoniac,
The fog was leaving the city.
And looked again out of the darkness
An old Petersburger and a reveler,
As before the execution the drum beat ...
And always in the frosty stuffiness,
Pre-war, prodigal and formidable,
There lived some future rumble...
But then it was heard more muffled,
He almost did not disturb the soul
And drowned in the snowdrifts of the Neva.
As if in the mirror of a terrible night
And rages and does not want
Recognize yourself a person
And along the embankment of the legendary
Not a calendar one was approaching -
The real Twentieth Century.
And now I'd rather go home
Cameron Gallery
In the icy mysterious garden,
Where the waterfalls are silent
Where all nine 27 will be glad to me
How were you once happy
That over youth rose rebellious,
Unforgettable my friend and tender,
Only once had a dream
Whose youthful strength shone
Whose forever forgotten grave,
It was as if he didn't live at all.
There behind the island, there behind the garden
Won't we meet eyes
Our former clear eyes,
Won't you tell me again
The word that conquered death
And the clue to my life?
Chapter four and last
Love passed and became clear
And death features are close.
Corner of the Field of Mars. house built in early XIX century by the Adamini brothers. It will be directly hit by an air bomb in 1942. A high fire burns. Bells are heard from the Church of the Savior on Blood. On the Field behind the blizzard is the ghost of the palace ball. Between these sounds, Silence itself speaks:
Who froze at the faded windows,
On whose heart is a “fawn curl”,
Who has darkness before their eyes?
Help, it's not too late!
Never are you so cold
And a stranger, the night, was not!
Wind full of Baltic salt
Snowstorm Ball on the Field of Mars
And the invisible ringing of hooves...
And immeasurable anxiety
Who has little to live
Who only asks God for death
And who will be forever forgotten.
He wanders under the windows after midnight,
Relentlessly directs at him
Dim beam corner lamp, -
And he waited. slim mask
On the way back from Damascus
Returned home ... not alone!
Someone with her "without a face and a name" ...
Unambiguous parting
Through the slanting flame of a fire
He saw. Buildings collapsed...
And in response, a snatch of sobs:
“You are Dove, sun, sister! -
I will leave you alive
But you will be my widow
And now…
It's time to say goodbye!"
The site smells of perfume,
And a dragoon cornet with verses
And with senseless death in my chest
Call if you have the courage...
He spends the last moment
To praise you.
Look:
Not in the damned Masurian marshes,
Not on the blue Carpathian heights...
He is on your doorstep!
Across.
May God forgive you!
(How many deaths went to the poet,
Silly boy: he chose this one, -
First, he did not tolerate insults,
He did not know at what threshold
It costs and what road
A view will open before him…)
It's me - your old conscience
Searched for a burnt story
And on the edge of the windowsill
In the house of the deceased
Put -
and left on tiptoe...
AFTERWORD
EVERYTHING'S OK: THE POEM LIES
AND, AS TYPICAL, IS SILENT.
WELL, AND INTO A OTHER HOW THE TOPIC BREAKS OUT,
A FIST IN THE WINDOW WILL RAPP, -
AND RESPONSE FROM Afar
AT THE CALL OF THIS TERRIBLE SOUND -
GRUMBLING, MOANING AND SCREAMING
AND A VISION OF CROSSED HANDS?…
PART TWO
Tails
... I drink Leta's water,
The doctor forbade me to be despondent.
In my beginning is my end.
... jasmine bush,
Where Dante walked and the air is empty.
The place of action is the Fountain House. Time - January 5, 1941. In the window is the ghost of a snow-covered maple. The infernal harlequinade of the thirteenth year has just swept past, waking the silence of the great silent era and leaving behind that disorder characteristic of every festive or funeral procession - the smoke of torches, flowers on the floor, forever lost sacred souvenirs ... The wind howls in the chimney, and in this howl you can guess very deeply and very skillfully hidden fragments of the Requiem. It is better not to think about what is seen in the mirrors.
My editor was unhappy
He swore to me that he was busy and sick,
Locked up your phone
And he grumbled: “There are three topics at once!
Reading the last sentence
You won't know who's in love with whom
Who, when and why met,
Who died and who survived
And who is the author, and who is the hero, -
And why do we need these today
Reasoning about the poet
And some ghosts swarm?
I replied: “There are three of them -
The main one was dressed up with a verst,
And the Other is dressed like a demon, -
So that they get for centuries,
Their poems did their best for them,
The third lived only twenty years,
And I feel sorry for him." And again
The word fell out after the word,
The music box rumbled.
And over that vial stuffed
With a crooked and angry tongue
An unknown poison burned.
And in a dream everything seemed to be
I write the libretto for Arthur
And there is no end to music.
But a dream is also a thing,
Soft embalmer 29 , Bluebird,
Elsinore terraces parapet.
And I myself was not happy
Of this hellish harlequinade
From afar heard a howl.
I hoped that by
White hall, like flakes of smoke,
The needles will sweep through the dusk.
Do not fight off the motley junk.
This is the old weird Cagliostro -
The most graceful Satan himself,
Who does not cry with me over the dead,
Who does not know what conscience means
And why does it exist.
Roman carnival midnight
And it doesn't smell. Chant of the Cherubim
Closed churches are trembling.
No one knocks on my door
Only a mirror dreams of a mirror,
Silence guards silence.
And with me my "Seventh" 30,
Half dead and dumb
Her mouth is closed and open,
Like the mouth of a tragic mask
But it's covered in black paint.
And stuffed with dry earth.
The enemy tortured: "Come on, tell me."
But not a word, not a moan, not a cry
Do not hear her enemy.
And decades go by
Torture, exile and execution - I sing
I can't bear this horror.
And especially if you dream
What should happen to us:
Death is everywhere - the city is on fire
And Tashkent in wedding blossom...
Soon there about the faithful and eternal
The Asian wind will tell me.
Celebrations of civil death
I'm fed up. Believe me
I see them every night, in my dreams.
Excommunicated from the table and the bed -
It's still nonsense, but worthless
Take out what I got.
You ask my contemporaries
Convicts, "stopyatnits", captives,
And we will tell you
How they lived in unconscious fear,
How children were raised for the chopping block,
For the dungeon and for the prison.
Blue clenched lips,
Crazed Hecubes
And Kassandra from Chukhloma,
We will thunder in a silent chorus,
We, crowned with shame:
"On the other side of hell we..."
Will I melt in the official anthem?
Don't give, don't give, don't give me
A diadem from a dead forehead.
Soon I will need a lyre,
But Sophocles already, not Shakespeare.
On the threshold is Fate.
I'm not afraid of death or shame
This is cryptography, cryptogram,
This is a forbidden trick.
Everyone knows which edge
Lunatically I step
And which house I'm heading to.
But there was that topic for me
Like a crushed chrysanthemum
On the floor when the coffin is being carried.
Between "remember" and "remember", others,
Distance as from Luga
To the country of satin bout 32 .
Bes beguiled in laying to rummage ...
Well, how could it happen
Is it all my fault?
I am the quietest, I am simple
"Plantain", "White Flock" ...
Justify ... but how, friends?
So you know: accused of plagiarism ...
Am I others to blame?
However, it doesn't matter to me.
I agree to fail
And I don't hide my embarrassment...
The box has a triple bottom.
But I confess that I used
Lovely ink...
I write in mirror writing
And there is no other way for me -
Miraculously, I stumbled upon this
And I'm not in a hurry to part with it.
So that the messenger of an old age
From the most cherished dreams of El Greco
Explained to me without words
And with one summer smile,
How I was forbidden to him
All seven deadly sins.
And then from the coming age
a stranger
Let the eyes look boldly
To make it a flying shadow
Gave a bunch of wet lilacs
At an hour, as this thunderstorm blows.
A centennial enchantress 33
Suddenly woke up and have fun
I wanted to. I have nothing.
The lacy one drops the handkerchief,
Squinting languidly because of the lines
And Bryullov beckons with his shoulder.
I drank it in a drop of each
And demonic black thirst
Obsessed, didn't know how
I get rid of the demoniac:
I threatened her with Star Chamber 34
And drove to the native attic 35,
Into the darkness, under Manfred's firs,
And to the shore where Shelley is dead
Looking straight at the sky, lay, -
And all the larks around the world 36
Ripped apart the abyss of the ether
And George 37 held the torch.
But she insisted stubbornly:
"I'm not that English lady
And not at all Clara Gazul 38,
I have no pedigree at all
In addition to sunny and fabulous,
And July himself brought me.
And your ambiguous glory
Twenty years lying in a ditch
I won't serve that way yet
We are still drinking with you
And I'm royal with my kiss
I will reward your evil midnight."
PART THREE
EPILOGUE
To be an empty place...
Evdokia Lopukhina
Yes, deserts of mute squares,
Where people were executed before dawn.
Annensky
I love you, Petra creation!
to my city
White Night June 24, 1942 The city is in ruins. From Gavan to Smolny everything is in full view. In some places old fires are burning down. In the Sheremetev Garden, lindens are blooming and a nightingale is singing. One window of the third floor (in front of which there is a crippled maple tree) is broken, and a black void gapes behind it. In the direction of Kronstadt, heavy guns roar. But generally quiet. The voice of the author, who is seven thousand kilometers away, says:
So under the roof of the Fountain House,
Where the evening wanders languor
With a lantern and a bunch of keys, -
I came around with a distant echo
Inappropriate embarrassing laughter
The deep sleep of things
Where, the witness of everything in the world,
At sunset and at dawn
Looks into the room old maple
And, foreseeing our parting,
me withered black hand,
How does he reach out for help?
But the ground hummed under my feet
And such a star 39 looked
To my yet abandoned house
And I was waiting for a conditional sound ...
It's somewhere out there - near Tobruk,
It's around here somewhere.
You are not the first and not the last
Dark listener of light nonsense,
What kind of revenge are you preparing for me?
You won't drink, just sip
This bitterness from the very depths -
This is our separation news.
Don't put your hand on my crown -
Let time stop forever
On your watch.
We are not spared by misfortune
And the cuckoo won't crow
In our scorched forests...
And behind the barbed wire
In the heart of the dense taiga
I don't know what year
Became a handful of camp dust,
Became a fairy tale from a terrible one,
My doppelgänger is coming for interrogation.
And then he goes from the interrogation,
To two messengers of the Maid of the Noseless
Destined to protect him.
And I hear even from here -
Isn't that a miracle! -
Sounds of your voice:
I paid for you
Chistogan,
Exactly ten years went
Under the gun
Neither left nor right
Didn't look
And behind me is a bad glory
Rustled.
And not become my grave,
You, seditious, disgraced, dear,
Pale, dead, quiet.
Our separation is imaginary:
Yastoboyuninseparable,
My shadow on your walls
My reflection in the channels
The sound of footsteps in the Hermitage halls,
Where my friend wandered with me,
And on the old Volkovo Pole 40,
Where can I cry at will
Above the silence of the mass graves.
All that is said in the first part
About love, betrayal and passion
He threw free verse from the wings,
And my City is “wired” ...
Heavy tombstones
On your sleepless eyes.
I thought you were chasing me
You, who remained there to die
In the gleam of the spiers, in the reflection of the waters.
I did not wait for the desired messengers ...
Above you - only your charms,
White nochenek round dance.
A fun word - lady -
Nobody knows now
Everyone is looking through someone else's window.
Who is in Tashkent, and who is in New York,
And exile the air is bitter -
Like poisoned wine.
All of you could admire me
When in the belly of a flying fish
I was saved from the evil chase
And over a forest full of enemies,
Like one possessed by a demon
How the night rushed to Broken ...
And right in front of me
Frozen and cold Kama,
And "Quo vadis?" 41 someone said
But he did not let his lips move,
Like tunnels and bridges
The crazy Ural thundered.
And the road opened up for me
Which took so much
By which the son was taken,
And the funeral path was long
Among the solemn and crystal
Silence of the Siberian Land.
From what has become dust
Overwhelmed by mortal fear
And knowing the time for vengeance,
Lowering your dry eyes
And wringing hands, Russia
42 was going east ahead of me.
Note. Anna Akhmatova.
"Seventh" - Shostakovich's Leningrad Symphony. The author took the first part of this symphony by plane from the besieged city on September 29, 1941 - Editor's note.
‹STROPHES NOT INCLUDED IN THE POEM›
What are you muttering, our midnight?
Parasha died anyway
The young mistress of the palace.
It draws incense from all windows,
The most beloved curl is cut off,
And the oval of the face darkens.
Gallery not completed
This wedding idea
Where again under Borea's prompt
This is what I am writing for you.
And behind the right wall, from where
I left without waiting for a miracle,
In September on a rainy night
An old friend is awake and mumbling
That he wants more than happiness
Forget about the king's daughter.
I walk towards the vision
And I'm fighting my own shadow
There is no more merciless struggle.
My shadow is torn to eternal glory,
I stand as a guard on the outpost
And I tell her to go back ...
…
…
As they say in Moscow now.
I want to trample underfoot
The one that glows in a light frame,
Changeling
There are no wings over her shoulders
October 1956, Booth
Believe me or don't believe me
Somewhere around here in an ordinary envelope
With the calculation of total death
A crumpled leaf will flash.
It is not hidden, but encrypted,
But the whole world is disenchanted by them
And it's reasonably based on it
Non-existence is an invisible stream.
I haven't forgotten those yet.
I forgot, imagine, forever.
I forgot that the name
I don't dare to say them now.
So mighty is the radiance above them,
(turned into marble, cameo)
Turned into a banner and honor.
I didn’t circle in ballroom Europe,
He painted rock deer,
You are Gilgamesh, Hercules,
Geser Nepoet, amphipoet,
You were already an adult at dawn
The most remote countries and faiths.
Schoolgirl, cousin, Juliet! ...
Do not wait for you cornet
You will go secretly to the monastery.
Mute your tambourine, my gypsy,
And the wound has already turned black
Under your left nipple.
Around him are expensive shadows.
But the words of prayers are in vain,
Lovely lips in vain hello.
And shines in the diamond night,
Like one vision of temptation
That mysterious silhouette.
And with the tricks of the Byzantine
With them there Harlequin killer,
And in the local way - the master and friend.
He looks like he's in a painting
And under the fingers of the harpsichord,
And immeasurable comfort all around.
You will arrive in a black carriage,
These Tsarskoye Selo horses
And the team and iha l'anglaise
Reminiscent of childhood for a moment
And a forfeited legacy
…
Like the memory of "Narodnaya Volya".
Here already to the Hot Field,
Probably within reach.
And my prophetic voice is silent.
There are even worse miracles
But let's go - I have no time to wait.
And already, drowning each other,
Two orchestras from the secret circle
Sounds are sent to the swan canopy
…
But where is my voice and where is the echo,
What is the salvation and what is the hindrance,
Where am I and where is only a shadow?
How to save yourself from the second step...
That's the trouble, oh dear
Next to this one goes another
You hear a light step and dry,
And where is my voice and where is the echo,
Who is crying, who is drunk with laughter -
And which shadow is different?
1 God preserves everything (lat.). In the final version of "A Poem Without a Hero" the numbered footnotes refer to Akhmatov's "Editor's Notes" at the end of the poem.
2 Antinous is an antique handsome man. – Editor's note.
3 Funeral march (French) .
4 "Are you, Confusion-Psyche" - the heroine of the play of the same name by Yuri Belyaev. – Editor's note.
5 Day of the Kings (French).
Le jour des rois (French) - Epiphany Eve: January 5th. – Editor's note.
6 stop laughing
Before dawn comes.
7 Why are my fingers covered in blood?
And wine, like poison, burns?
8 Dapertutto is the pseudonym of Vsevolod Meyerhold. – Editor's note.
9 Jokanaan - Saint John the Baptist. – Editor's note.
10 Three "k" express the author's confusion. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
11 The Valley of Jehoshaphat is the supposed site of the Last Judgment. – Editor's note.
12 Liziska is the pseudonym of Empress Messalina in Roman brothels. – Editor's note.
13 Oak of Mamre - see Genesis. – Editor's note.
14 Hammurabi, Lycurgus, Solon - legislators. – Editor's note.
15 The Ark of the Covenant - see the Bible (Book of Kings). – Editor's note.
16 Hall - The White Hall of Mirrors (works by Quarenghi) in the Fountain House, across the platform from the author's apartment. – Editor's note.
17 "Dog" - "Stray Dog" - artistic cabaret in the tenth years (1912-1914 before the war). – Editor's note.
18 Lots of Sodom - see Genesis. – Editor's note.
19 Fountain Grotto - built in 1757 by Argunov in the garden of the Sheremetev Palace; was demolished in the early 10s. – Editor's note.
20 What does my prince Carnival want from me? (French)
21 Corridor of the Petrovsky Collegiums - the corridor of St. Petersburg University. – Editor's note.
22 Option: Through the Neva for a penny on a sled. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
Petrushka's mask - "Petrushka" - Stravinsky's ballet. – Editor's note.
23 Option: Goat-legged doll, actor. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
24 "Dove, come!" - church hymns; sang when the bride stepped on the carpet in the temple. – Editor's note.
25 Maltese Chapel - built according to the project of Quarenghi in 1798-1800. in the courtyard of the Vorontsov Palace, which later housed the Corps of Pages. – Editor's note.
26 Skobar is an offensive nickname for the people of Pskov. – Editor's note.
27 Muses. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
28 In my beginning is my end. T. - S. Eliot (English).
29 Soft embalmer (English) - "gentle comforter." See Keats' sonnet "To the Sleep". – Editor's note.
Soft embalmer (English) - "gentle comforter." See Keats' sonnet "To the Sleep". – Editor's note.
30 Elegy. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
31 Unable to publish stanzas IX-XVI, Anna Akhmatova replaced them with lines of dots in her manuscript of The Run of Time.
The omitted stanzas are an imitation of Pushkin. See “On Eugene Onegin”: “I also humbly confess that there are two missing stanzas in Don Juan,” wrote Pushkin. – Editor's note.
32 Bauta - in Italy - a mask with a hood. – Editor's note.
33 romantic poem. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
34 The Star Chamber is a secret court in England, which was placed in a hall where the starry sky was depicted on the ceiling. – Editor's note.
35 The place where, according to readers, all poetic works are born. - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
36 See Shelley's famous poem "To the Sklark". - "To the lark." – Editor's note.
37 George is Lord Byron. – Editor's note.
38 Clara Gazul is Merimee's pseudonym. – Editor's note.
39 Mars in the summer of 1941 - Approx. Anna Akhmatova.
40 Volkovo Pole - the old name of the Volkovo cemetery. – Editor's note.
41 Where are you going? (lat.)
42
The poem used to end like this:
And behind me, sparkling with a secret
And calling himself "Seventh",
A feast rushed to an unheard-of,
Pretending to be a music notebook
famous leningrad
She returned to her native air. -
In terms of the number of interpretations, Akhmatova's last poem overtook the most mysterious works of Russian literature, but the mystery of this unique text has not been resolved, even now that Akhmatova's " Notebooks”and all, without exception, her “Prose about the Poem”.
Apparently, there was something unspeakable in Akhmatova's own attitude to this text - as if it were not she who dominated him, but he dominated her. When one of my friends whitewashed, bound one of the first versions of "A Poem Without a Hero", and then returned it to the author dressed up, Akhmatova responded with the following verses:
And you came back to me famous
Twisted dark green branch,
Graceful, indifferent and proud ...
I never knew you like this
And I didn't save you for that
From the bloody mess then.
I won't share my luck with you
I do not rejoice over you, but cry,
And you know very well why.
And the night goes on, and there is little strength left.
Save me like I saved you
And do not let in the bubbling darkness.
The poem saved Anna Akhmatova for twenty difficult years and released into the darkness only in the late autumn of 1965, on the eve of her twenty-year presence in the life of the author. In the same autumn, Anna of All Russia was struck down by the last heart attack, from which she was never destined to recover.
Year of writing: 1940-1965
