MBOU "Trudilovskaya Secondary School"
on literature
on the topic of: “The Theme of Love in Anna Akhmatova’s Lyrics”
Made by Severinova Maria Nikolaevna.
Head: Guntareva Elena Evgenievna.
Introduction
I. Main part
The beginning of creative development in the world of poetry
Love lyrics by A. Akhmatova
a) Love - “The Fifth Season”
b) Big restless love
c) Fidelity to the theme of love in Akhmatova’s works of the 20s and 30s
Conclusion
Literature
Application
Introduction
At the turn of the last and present centuries, on the eve great revolution, in an era shocked by two world wars, perhaps the most significant “female” poetry in all world literature of modern times arose in Russia - the poetry of Anna Akhmatova. Poets in Russia at that time, when people forgot what freedom was, often had to choose between free creativity and life, but, despite all these circumstances, poets still continued to work miracles: wonderful lines and stanzas were created. Anna Akhmatova was just such a poet. The closest analogy, which arose among her first critics, was the ancient Greek love singer Sappho: the Russian Sappho was often called the young Akhmatova.
The accumulated spiritual energy of the female soul for centuries received an outlet in the revolutionary era in Russia, in the poetry of a woman born in 1889 under the modest name of Anna Gorenko and under the name of Anna Akhmatova, who gained universal recognition over fifty years of poetic work, translated into all the major languages of the world.
The source of inspiration for the poetess was the Motherland, the Motherland, which she could not leave, could not leave, realizing that without Russia her life would be empty and meaningless. She loved her Motherland so much that only here, in Russia, could she create, create those poems that we admire today:
"I am not with those who abandoned the earth
To be torn to pieces by enemies
And I don’t listen to rude flattery,
I won’t give them my songs..."
I admire Akhmatova’s love for her homeland: “Russia, desecrated,” but this made her even closer and dearer. Not every Russian person of that or that time, choosing between emigration and his homeland, remains in Russia. This woman lived a long and happy life. Isn’t it blasphemous to say this about a woman whose husband was shot, whose only son went from prison to exile, and back, who was persecuted and persecuted, who lived and died in poverty, having perhaps experienced all the hardships except the deprivation of her Motherland. How can one not admire and admire such a sense of patriotism in a person? Her poems are her life, her connection with time, people, and Motherland:
“For hundreds of miles, for hundreds of miles,
For hundreds of kilometers
The salt lay, the feather grass rustled,
The groves of cedars turned black.
Like the first time I'm on her,
I looked at my homeland.
I knew: this is all mine -
My soul and body."
Studying literary materials, I was struck by the fact that Akhmatova, having hardly gone through the school of literary apprenticeship, at least the one that would take place before the eyes of readers - a fate that even the greatest poets could not avoid - immediately appeared in literature as a mature poet.
Much has been written about Anna Akhmatova, and much has already been said. They wrote about her at different times in different ways - enthusiastically, with ridicule, with contempt, in such shameful words that now it is difficult to imagine how this is possible about a woman and a poet; Then they wrote respectfully, then as if furtively, with apprehension, and now most often in solemn words. After reading Akhmatova’s first collection of poems, “Evening,” I became interested in her work and fate. How can such lines, which became the epigraph of my essay, not touch a person’s soul:
“... He knows how to cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a yearning violin,
And it’s scary to guess it
In a still unfamiliar smile..."
The poems in this collection pushed me into a more serious acquaintance with the biography and work of Anna Akhmatova.
The purpose of my work is to trace the development of Akhmatova in the world of poetry; get acquainted with her work in the field of love lyrics.
During the work, I set myself the following tasks:
Expand my knowledge about Anna Akhmatova, learn to analyze the poetess’s poems silver age.
I. Main part
1. The beginning of creative development in the world of poetry
Akhmatova began writing poetry as a child and, according to her, composed a great many of them. It was time, to use Blok’s expression, for the underground growth of the soul. Almost nothing has survived from those poems, neatly written on numbered pages, but those individual works that we do know already show, oddly enough, some very characteristic Akhmatova features. The first thing that immediately catches your eye is the laconicism of the form, the severity and clarity of the drawing, as well as some kind of internal, almost dramatic tension of feeling. Surprisingly, these poems contain purely Akhmatova understatement, that is, perhaps her most famous feature as an artist.
"I pray to the window ray
He is pale, thin, straight.
Today I have been silent since the morning,
And the heart is in half.
The copper on my washstand has turned green.
But this is how the ray plays on him,
What fun to watch.
So innocent and simple
In the evening silence,
But this temple is empty
It's like a golden holiday
And consolation to me
I pray to the window ray."
The poem is literally made from everyday life, from simple everyday life, right down to the green washstand on which a pale evening ray plays.
One involuntarily recalls the words spoken by Akhmatova in her old age, that poems grow from rubbish, that even a spot of mold on a damp wall, and burdocks, and nettles, and a gray fence, and a dandelion can become the subject of poetic inspiration and depiction. It's unlikely that early years she tried to formulate her poetic credo, as she did later in the “Secrets of the Craft” cycle, but the most important thing in her craft was vitality and realism, the ability to see poetry in ordinary life was already inherent in her talent by nature itself.
And how, by the way, this early line “Today I have been silent since the morning, And my heart is in half” is characteristic of all her subsequent lyrics.
It is not for nothing that, speaking about Akhmatova, about her love lyrics, critics subsequently noticed that her love dramas unfolding in poetry take place as if in silence, nothing is explained, nothing is commented on, there are so few words that each of them carries a huge psychological load.
Her first poems appeared in Russia in 1911 in the magazine Apollo. Blok wrote about it even before its release Evenings that the poems of Anna Akhmatova the further the better.
Akhmatova herself always treated her poetry very strictly, and even when the book “Evening” had already been published, she considered herself not entitled to be called a poet. “These poor poems of the most empty girl,” she wrote, recalling the time when her poems first appeared in print, “for some reason they are being reprinted for the thirteenth time. The girl herself, as far as I remember, did not predict such a fate for them and hid the issues of the magazines where they were first published under the sofa cushions so as not to be upset.”
Despite her own criticism of her poems, Akhmatova was ranked among the greatest Russian poets. The lyrics of her first books (“Evening,” “The Rosary,” “The White Flock”) are almost exclusively lyrics of love. Her innovation as an artist initially appeared precisely in this eternal and, it seemed, played out to the end theme. Her name is increasingly being compared with the name of Blok, and after just a dozen years, one of the critics even wrote that Akhmatova “after Blok’s death, undoubtedly holds first place among Russian poets.”
The poetic word of the young Akhmatova was very vigilant and attentive to everything that came into her field of vision. The concrete, material flesh of the world, its clear material contours, colors, smells, strokes, everyday fragmentary speech - all this was not only carefully transferred into poetry, but also constituted their own existence, gave them breath and vitality.
And indeed, despite the rarity of the first impressions that served as the basis for the collection “Evening,” what was captured in it was expressed both visibly, accurately and succinctly. Already contemporaries noticed what an unusually large role strict, deliberately localized everyday detail played in the poems of the young poetess. Not content with just defining any aspect of an object, situation or mental movement, she sometimes carried out the entire plan of the verse, so that, like a castle, she supported the entire structure of the work.
“You don’t like, you don’t want to look
Oh how beautiful you are, damn
And I can't fly
And since childhood I was winged.
My eyes are filled with fog,
Things and faces merge.
And only a red tulip,
The tulip is in your buttonhole.”
Isn’t it true, if you take this tulip out of a poem, as if from a buttonhole, it will immediately fade away.
The situation of the poem is such that not only to the heroine, but also to us, the readers, it seems that the tulip is not a detail, and certainly not a stroke, but that it Living being, the true, full-fledged and even aggressive hero of the work, inspiring us with a certain involuntary fear, mixed with semi-secret delight and irritation. For another poet, the flower in the buttonhole would have remained a more or less picturesque detail of the character’s external appearance, but Akhmatova not only absorbed the culture of meanings developed by her Symbolist predecessors, but also, apparently, did not remain alien to the magnificent Russian school psychological prose, especially the novels by Gogol, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy.
Soon after release Evenings The observant Korney Ivanovich Chukovsky noted a trait in her majesty , that royalty, without which there are not a single memory of Anna Andreevna.
Osip Mandelstam after her second book Beads (1914) predicted prophetically: Her poetry is close to becoming one of the symbols of the greatness of Russia . Evening And Beads were unanimously recognized as books of love poetry.
Despite the fact that Akhmatova, according to critics, was a revolutionary poet, she almost always remained a traditional poet, placing herself under the sign of Russian classics, primarily Pushkin. In 1914 she wrote poetry:
"Earthly glory is like smoke,
This is not what I asked for
To all my lovers
I brought happiness.
Alone and now alive
In love with his girlfriend,
And another one became bronze
On the snow-covered square."
Akhmatova is the most characteristic heroine of her time, revealed in the endless variety of women's destinies.
According to A. Kollontai, Akhmatova gave a whole book of the female soul. She "poured" into art complex history female character, a turning point, its history, breaking, new formation.
“Everything was stolen, betrayed, sold,
The wing of the black death flashed,
Everything is devoured by hungry melancholy,
Why did we feel light?”
In the very first year of her literary fame, Akhmatova created novels - miniatures, where the drama is told in a few lines. She will captivate the reader with the originality of these poems:
She clasped her hands under a dark veil...
“Why are you pale today?”
Because I am tartly sad
Got him drunk.
How can I forget? He came out staggering
The mouth twisted painfully...
I ran away without touching the railing, I ran after him to the gate.
Gasping for breath, I shouted: “It’s a joke.
All that has gone before. If you leave, I’ll die.”
Smiled calmly and creepily
And he told me: “Don’t stand in the wind.”
In Akhmatova's early poems, romance can be traced.
The poem “Do you want to know how it all happened?...” was written in 1910, that is, even before Akhmatova’s first book “Evening” (1912) was published, but one of the most characteristic features Akhmatova’s poetic manner was already expressed in it in an obvious and consistent form. Akhmatova always preferred the “fragment” to a coherent, consistent and narrative story, since it provided an excellent opportunity to saturate the poem with sharp and intense psychologism; in addition, oddly enough, the fragment gave what was being depicted a kind of documentary quality: after all, what we are looking at is really either an excerpt from an accidentally overheard conversation or a dropped note that was not intended for prying eyes. We, thus, look into someone else's drama as if inadvertently, as if contrary to the intentions of the author, who did not anticipate our involuntary immodesty.
“Do you want to know how it all happened?
It struck three in the dining room,
And saying goodbye, holding the railing,
She seemed to have difficulty speaking:
“That’s all... oh, no, I forgot,
I love you, I loved you
Already then!" "Yes"".
Love in Akhmatova’s poems is not only love - happiness. Often, too often, this is suffering, a kind of anti-love and torture, a painful, even to the point of collapse, fracture of the soul. The image of such “sick” love in early Akhmatova was both the image of the sick pre-revolutionary time of the 10s and the image of the sick old world.
2. Love lyrics by A. Akhmatova
a) Love - “The Fifth Season”
“Great earthly love” is the driving principle of all her lyrics. It was she who made me see the world differently. In one of her poems, Akhmatova called love the “fifth season of the year.” From this unusual, fifth time, the other four she saw were ordinary. In a state of love, the world is seen anew. All senses are heightened and tense. And the unusualness of the ordinary is revealed. A person begins to perceive the world with tenfold force, truly reaching the heights of his sense of life. The world opens up in another reality: “After all, the stars were larger, After all, the herbs smelled different...”
"That fifth time of the year,
Just praise him.
Breathe the last freedom
Because it is love.
The sky flew high
Lighten the outlines of things,
And the body no longer celebrates
The anniversary of my sadness."
Akhmatova’s love almost never appears in a calm state. The feeling, in itself acute and extraordinary, receives additional acuteness and unusualness, manifesting itself in the utmost crisis expression - rise or fall, the first awakening meeting or a complete break, mortal danger or mortal melancholy.
The young critic and poet N.V. presciently wrote in an article in 1915 that the love theme in Akhmatova’s works is much broader and more significant than its traditional framework. Nedobrov. He was essentially the only one who understood before others the true scale of Akhmatova’s poetry, pointing out that distinctive feature The personality of the poetess is not weakness and brokenness, as was usually believed, but, on the contrary, exceptional willpower. In Akhmatova’s poems, he saw a lyrical soul that was rather harsh than too soft, rather cruel than tearful, and clearly dominant rather than oppressed.
In Akhmatov's lyrics we are always talking about something more than what is directly said in the poem
“Everything has been taken away, both strength and love.
A body thrown into a disgraceful city
Not happy about the sun.
I feel like there's blood
I'm already completely cold.
I don’t recognize the Merry Muse’s disposition
She looks and doesn’t say a word,
And he bows his head in a dark wreath,
Exhausted, on my chest.
And only conscience gets worse every day
The great one is mad and wants tribute.
Covering my face, I answered her
But there are no more tears, no more excuses.
Everything has been taken away, both strength and love.”
In the 20s and 30s, Akhmatova published two books, Podorozhnik and Anno Domini. Compared to the early books, the tonality of that love story, which before the revolution at times covered almost the entire content of Akhmatova’s lyrics, and which many wrote about as the main discovery and achievement of the poetess, changes noticeably. Usually her poems are the beginning of a drama, or only its climax, or even more often the finale and ending. And here she relied on the rich experience of Russian not only poetry, but also prose. Akhmatova’s verse is objective: it returns things to their original meaning, it draws attention to what we are normally able to pass by indifferently, not appreciate, not feel. Therefore, the opportunity opens up to experience the world in a childishly fresh way. Poems such as “Murka, don’t go, there’s an owl...” are not thematically defined poems for children, but they have a feeling of completely childish spontaneity
“Murka, don’t go, there’s an owl there
Embroidered on the pillow
Murka is gray, not purring,
Grandpa will hear.
Nanny, the candle is not burning,
And the mice scratch.
I'm afraid of that owl
Why is it embroidered?
b) Big and restless love
Akhmatova's poems are not fragmentary sketches, not isolated sketches: the sharpness of her gaze is accompanied by the sharpness of her thoughts. Their generalizing power is great. A poem may begin as a song:
"I'm at sunrise
I sing about love
On my knees in the garden Lebedu field...”
“...There will be stone instead of bread
My reward is evil.
The poet always strives to take a position that would allow him to fully reveal his feelings, to fully aggravate the situation, to find the final truth. This is why Akhmatova’s poems appear as if they were spoken even from beyond the point of death. But they do not carry any afterlife, mystical secrets. And there is no hint of anything otherworldly.
Akhmatova’s poems, indeed, are often sad: they carry a special element of love - pity. In the Russian folk language, in the Russian folk song, there is a synonym for the word “to love” - the word “to regret”; “I love” - “I regret.”
Already in the very first poems of Akhmatov, not only the love of lovers lives. It often turns into another, love - pity, or is even opposed to it, or even supplanted by it:
"Oh no, I didn't love you,
Burning with sweet fire,
So explain what power
In your sad name."
It is this sympathy, empathy, compassion in love - pity that makes many of Akhmatova’s poems truly folk, epic, and makes them similar to Nekrasov’s poems that are so close to her and beloved by her. Akhmatova’s love in itself carries the possibility of self-development, enrichment and expansion of the boundless, global, almost cosmic.
c) Fidelity in the theme of love in Akhmatova’s works of the 20s - 30s
In the difficult 20s, Anna Akhmatova remained true to her theme. Despite her great fame and the terrible era of war and revolution, Akhmatova’s poetry, true to her feelings, remained restrained and retained the simplicity of its forms. This was precisely the hypnotic power of her poems, thanks to which Akhmatova’s stanzas, heard or read just once, were often retained in memory for a long time.
The poetess's lyrics were constantly expanding. During these years, she turned to civil, philosophical lyrics in her work, but continued to have a love orientation. She portrays love, love confession in a new way; the despair and prayer that make up the poem always seem like a fragment of some conversation, the completion of which we will not hear:
“Oh, you thought - I’m like that too,
That you can forget me.
And that I will throw myself, begging and sobbing,
Under the hooves of a bay horse.
Or I’ll ask the healers
There's a root in the slander water
And I'll send you a terrible gift
My treasured fragrant scarf.
Damn you.
Neither a groan nor a glance will touch the damned soul,
But I swear to you by the garden of angels,
I swear by the miraculous icon
And our nights are a fiery child
I will never return to you.
The poetess's poems are full of innuendos and hints hidden in the subtext. They are unique. The lyrical heroine most often speaks as if to herself in a state of impulse, semi-delirium. She does not explain or further explain what is happening:
“Somehow we managed to separate
And put out the hateful fire.
My eternal enemy, it's time to learn
You really need someone to love.
I am free. Everything is fun for me
At night the muse will fly down to console,
And in the morning glory will come
A rattle crackles over your ear.
There's no need to pray for me
And when you leave, look back...
The black wind will calm me down.
The golden leaf fall makes me happy.
I will accept separation as a gift
And oblivion is like grace.
But tell me, on the cross
Do you dare to send another one?
Akhmatova is not afraid to be frank in her confessions and pleas, since she is sure that only those who have the same font of love will understand her. The form of randomly and instantly bursting speech, which can be overheard by everyone passing by or standing nearby, but not everyone can understand, allows it to be undistributed and meaningful.
In the lyrics of the 20s-30s, the extreme concentration of the content of the episode itself, which lies at the heart of the poem, is preserved. Akhmatova's love poems are always dynamic. The poetess has almost no calm and cloudless feeling; her love is always culminating: it is either betrayed or fades away:
“...I wasn’t nice to you,
You hate me. And the torture lasted
And how the criminal languished
Love full of evil.
It's like a brother.
You are silent, you are angry
But if we meet eyes
I swear to you by heaven,
Granite will melt in the fire.”
Love is a flash, lightning, incinerating passion, piercing the entire being of a person and echoing across great silent spaces.
The writer often associated the excitement of love with the great “Song of Songs” from the Bible:
“And in the Bible there is a red wedge leaf
Laid down on the Song of Songs..."
The poems of the 20s and 30s do not subjugate the whole life, as it was before, but the whole life, the whole existence takes on a lot of shades. Love has become not only richer and more colorful, but also more tragic. Genuine feeling acquires biblical solemn elation:
“An unprecedented autumn built a high dome,
There was an order for the clouds not to darken this dome.
And people marveled: the September deadlines were passing,
Where did the cold, humid days go?
The water of the muddy canals became emerald,
And the nettles smelled like roses, but only stronger.
It was stuffy from the dawns, unbearable, demonic and scarlet,
We all remembered them until the end of our days.
The sun was like a rebel entering the capital,
And the spring autumn caressed him so greedily,
It seemed like the transparent snowdrop was about to get sick...
That’s when you approached, calm, to my porch.”
Akhmatova’s lyrics are reminiscent of Tyutchev: a stormy clash of passions, a “fatal duel.” Akhmatova, like Tyutchev, improvises both in feeling and in verse.
In the poem “Muse” (1924) from the cycle “Secrets of the Craft” she wrote:
"When I wait for her to come at night,
Life seems to hang by a thread.
What honors, what youth, what freedom
In front of a lovely guest with a pipe in hand.
And then she came in. Throwing back the covers,
Looked at me carefully
I tell her: “Did you dictate to Dante?
Hell page? Answers: “I.”
The passion for improvisation continued in the later period of his creativity. In her 1956 poem “Dream,” the poetess says:
“How will I repay for the royal gift?
Where to go and with whom to celebrate?
And so I write as before, without any blots,
My poems in a burnt notebook."
Of course, Anna Akhmatova’s work is not only improvisation. She revised her poems many times and was precise and meticulous in her choice of words and their arrangement. “Poem without a Hero” was supplemented and revised, the lines of old poems were improved over the decades, and sometimes changed.
Tyutchev’s “fatal” duel is an instant outbreak of passions, a deadly combat between two equally strong opponents, one of whom must either surrender or die, and the other must win.
"No secrets and no sorrows,
Not the wise will of fate
These meetings always left
The impression of a struggle.
I, in the morning, guessed the moment when you would come to me,
I felt my arms bent
A faint stabbing shiver..."
“Oh, how murderously we love” - Akhmatova, of course, did not ignore this side of Tyutchev’s worldview. It is characteristic that often love, its conquering power, appears in her poems, to the horror and confusion of the heroine, turned against... love itself!
“I called death upon my dear ones,
And they died one after another.
Oh, woe is me! These graves
Foretold by my word.
How the crows circle, sensing
Hot, fresh blood,
Such wild songs, rejoicing,
Mine sent love.
With you I feel sweet and sultry.
You are close, like a heart in my chest.
Give me your hand, listen calmly.
I implore you: go away.
And let me not know where you are,
Oh Muse, don't call him,
Let it be alive, unsung
My unrecognized love.
Akhmatova's love lyrics of the 20-30s, to an incomparably greater extent than before, are addressed to the inner, secretly spiritual life. One of the means of understanding the secret, hidden life of the soul is to turn to dreams, which makes the poems of this period more psychological.
"But if we meet eyes
I swear to you by heaven,
Granite will melt in the fire.”
It is not without reason that in one of N. Gumilyov’s poems dedicated to her, Akhmatova is depicted with lightning bolts in her hand:
“She is bright in the hours of languor
And holds lightning in his hand,
And her dreams are as clear as shadows
On the heavenly fiery sand."
Conclusion
In the course of working on the essay, having read the autobiography of the poetess, collections of poems, and statements by literary critics, I came to the conclusion that time had treated Anna Akhmatova cruelly, but she continued to live joyfully and sorrowfully, without always losing her characteristic majesty, proud confidence in the saving power poetic word.
Akhmatova became the voice of her time; she wisely, simply and mournfully shared the fate of the people. She acutely felt that she belonged to two eras - the one that had passed and the one that reigned. She had to bury not only her loved ones, but also her time, leaving him a “miraculous” monument of poems and poems:
Akhmatova love lyrics poetry
"When an era is buried,
The psalm does not sound,
Nettle, thistle
We have to decorate it."
Akhmatova’s poems are always one moment, lasting, unfinished, not yet resolved. And this moment, whether sad or happy, is always a holiday, since it is a triumph over everyday life. Akhmatova managed to combine these two worlds - internal and external - to connect her life with the lives of other people, to take upon herself not only her suffering, but also the suffering of her people.
I believe that Akhmatova’s lyrics are full of tenderness, love, frankness, confession of a woman’s soul in love, but at the same time there is grief, tragic plots, jealousy, separation. This compatibility makes the poem unusual and mysterious. Makes the reader think and think about such a feeling as love. Akhmatova’s poems are written with love, with warmth, with sincerity, so when reading them, all the experiences, feelings and thoughts of the heroine reach the readers. I think that with the advent of Akhmatova’s poetry, the style of love also changed. Before Akhmatova, in my opinion, love lyrics were hysterical or vague. From here, a style of love with halftones, omissions and often unnatural has spread in life. After the first books by Akhmatova, they began to love “in the Akhmatovian way.” This feeling became tender, bright, frank, honest.
I think there can be no doubt that Akhmatova is the largest female name in the history of Russian poetry. What is remarkable about her work, however, is that, while remaining a woman, she was able to become, first of all, a human being. The man with capital letter, which is why the word “poetess” is inappropriate in relation to her. Akhmatova is not a poetess, but a poet, always, in everything, no matter what her poems say. In our time, she is a national poet, an exponent of her era.
We Russians know this. Foreigners guess about this and, guessing, believe it more and more firmly.
Literature
1.Adamovich G. Great poet and big man. - M.: AST: Astrel, 2011
.Vilenkin V. In the hundred and first mirror. - M., 1987
.Zhimursky V. The work of Anna Akhmatova. - L., 1973
.Zhuravlev V.P. Russian literature of the twentieth century. Grade 11. - M., 2002
.Luknitskaya V. From two thousand meetings: A story about a chronicler. - M., 1987
.Malyukova L.N. Anna Akhmatova: Epoch, Personality, Creativity. - M., 1996
.Marchenko A.M. Anna Andreevna Akhmatova (1889 - 1966). - M.: Bustard: Veche, 2002
.Pavlovsky A.I. Anna Akhmatova, life and work. - M., 1991
.Skatov N.N. The book of the female soul (About the poetry of Anna Akhmatova). - Pravda Publishing House. "Spark." 1990
.Chukovskaya L. Notes about Anna Akhmatova. Book 3. - M., 1997
Application
A. Akhmatova in her youth
A. Akhmatova with her husband and son
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Anna Andreevna Akhmatova is a subtle lyricist and a great Russian poetess, who revealed in her works the abundant and generous spiritual world women, her suffering, experiences, subtlety and tenderness, greatness and depth. Akhmatova, in her poems about love, showed how selflessly, brightly, sincerely, bitterly and passionately women love, in contrast to rational men.
Anna Andreevna wrote about the most secret and intimate thing - about Love - the “fifth season of the year”. This is the time when the human soul soars and strives to improve, the time when a person gains new strength, lives with enthusiasm, dawns, transforms, is ready for change, for crazy actions, when he is able to give happiness and love. Akhmatova's poems about love showed the meaning of love, its healing power, which can change the fate of a Russian woman!
Anna Akhmatova was a Russian-born poet, first wife Gumilyov Nikolai. At the turn of the century, when the two world wars collided, before the revolution came, poetry probably began to appear in Russia in the form of a work written by Anna Akhmatova, which gained more importance in literature. The love theme in Anna Akhmatova's poems has greater significance than traditionally in accepted ideas.
Akhmatova's expression of lyricism is an important and indispensable part of the Russian culture of the nation. She turned out to be one of those who are overwhelmed by the desire to live, and have not lost their freshness on the branches of the tree of poetry of Russian poets. When Akhmatova reads poems about love, Tyutchev comes to mind. His rapidly flowing passions are expressed in a fatal duel. Akhmatova resurrected it all. The similarities will become even more noticeable when we remember that she is an improviser, like Tyutchev, in her poems and feelings.
Akhmatova repeatedly argues that she cannot imagine how one can compose, having previously drawn up a plan that was previously prepared. From time to time it seemed to her that a muse had visited her. The intimacy of Anna Akhmatova's lyrics and poems about love are imbued with one unique feature.
From Akhmatova’s lips one can hear the conversation of a woman who has become a lyrical character from the object of the poet’s feelings. With everything, in the intimate lyrics one can feel the manifestation of civil poetry.
Comfort? "Comfort"
During the First World War, the verse “Consolation” was very popular. Akhmatova’s poem that she heard a voice that began to call, comforting, during the revolution was the most striking of her works. It expresses the passion of intelligent people who made mistakes, hesitated, walked in torment, searched but could not find, but as a result made a choice, not daring to leave their people and country. During the period of devastation after the revolution, when it was necessary to starve, the second period began, in which Anna Akhmatova’s creative activity developed.
In a verse that says that everyone was plundered, betrayed, sold, the poetess blesses a new manifestation of life's wisdom. The time when the thirties passed, saturated with drama, was overwhelmed by the feeling of an impending war, which was new tragedy. Against the backdrop of terrible military operations and personal suffering, the poetess decided to use sources permeated with folk lament from folklore and motifs from the Bible. So the wave passed with a stormy splash in creative activity Akhmatova, which exposed the first two wars and the criminal actions of the authorities who do not support their people.
Poems about the enemy’s banner, oath, manifestation of courage and others belong to this time. The theme of prayer ran through Akhmatova’s creative activity. In her first works, she asks God to give inspiration and love.
Prayer or verse?
During the era of the First World War, during prayer Akhmatova asks for all of Russia. The motif of the prayer that is used at the wake is noticeable in the verse where it says that she was left alone. The verse about lamentation is included in the genre of prayer in which weep. Already before the end of her own life, when Akhmatova managed to find a state of calm within herself, she accepted the cross and prayer as a source for human life.
Akhmatova was able to deprive literary scholars of the opportunity to study the biography of personal lyrical love. Many people tried to guess what the secret of the poems was hidden, so easily written, without beautiful epithets, full of sophistication, provoking the discoveries of innovators. They combined something that is impossible to combine. Anna Akhmatava wrote poems about love in such a way that a catastrophe with a tectonic character burned out in them, and at the same time the wisdom of the Bible flourished.
Anna Akhmatova’s poems about love have become so perfect that it may seem that what Blok called “the ascension of the soul underground” is absolutely not characteristic of her creative activity. Anna Akhmatova often remembers the tanned Muse, who dictated to her that she just needed to make a recording on time “without mistakes.” What Akhmatova had to endure then in the “calendar twentieth century” could not have been dreamed of by people of the twenty-first century.
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova
“And it’s scary to guess it in a still unfamiliar smile”
They said about her - “the second great poetess after Sappho.” Anna Andreevna Akhmatova was immediately recognized by poets and critics, having bypassed the “student” period. Having made her debut with the collection “Evening,” she declared herself as a serious poet, and not “the bored wife of a poet playing poetry.” In this sense, Anna Andreevna surpassed the popularity of her famous husband, the “knight of the Silver Age” Nikolai Gumilyov.
Akhmatova’s early lyrics are polyphonic and complex; she easily manages to convey the whole gamut of experiences of a woman in love and an abandoned woman. “I taught women to speak,” she will later say in one of her poems. This diversity was emphasized by the poetess’s close friend Osip Mandelstam, who believed that the origins of Akhmatova’s poetry should be sought in Russian psychological prose of the 19th century.
The poetess herself speaks easily and succinctly about the diversity of love:
“Then like a snake, curled up in a ball,
He casts a spell right at the heart,
That's all day long like a dove
Coos at the white window,
It will shine in the bright frost,
It seems like a lefty in the slumber...
But it leads faithfully and secretly
From joy and from peace.
He can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a yearning violin,
And it’s scary to guess it
In a still unfamiliar smile.”
Anna Akhmatova's lyrical poems are mostly devoted to separation, parting, and discord between lovers. But at the same time emotional condition always different: this is disappointment in love, and annoyance due to a quarrel, and jealousy, and repentance. The only thing that unites Akhmatova’s lyrical heroines is the dignity with which they come to terms with the pain of loss:
And now you are heavy and sad,
Renounced glory and dreams,
..............................
So the days go by, multiplying sorrows.
You guessed it: my love is like this
That even you couldn’t kill her.”
The understatement of Akhmatova’s lyrics probably stems from this inner dignity. Very rarely does she speak directly about love. Even less often, she breaks into a scream, unlike the same Tsvetaeva (“And the scream goes along the whole earth / My dear, what have I done to you?”). As literary scholars aptly note, “Akhmatova’s furious is not pain, but memory, fiery torture is precisely the torture of silence”:
“And that furious memory torments,
Torture of the strong is a fiery disease! -
And in the bottomless night the heart teaches
Ask: oh, where is the departed friend?
To write like this, you need to rely on your own experience, experience pain and have the courage to then “give it over to be mocked”, to be judged by the crowd:
“I stopped smiling
The frosty wind chills your lips,
There is one less hope,
There will be one more song.
And this song I involuntarily
I'll give it to laughter and reproach,
Then it hurts unbearably
A loving silence for the soul."
Another recognizable difference in Akhmatova’s lyrics is the play on “not at all romantic” details. The interweaving of touches of everyday life into the fabric of the works gives Akhmatova’s poems a special charm, a feeling that everything described is happening here and now:
“I pray to the window ray -
He is pale, thin, straight.
Today I have been silent since the morning,
And the heart is in half.
On my washstand
The copper has turned green
But this is how the ray plays on him,
What fun to watch."
Without speaking directly about the innermost, she allows the surrounding objects to “whisper” for her, to complement the impression:
“So helplessly my chest grew cold,
But my steps were light.
I put it on my right hand
Glove from the left hand.
It seemed like there were a lot of steps,
And I knew - there are only three of them!
Autumn whispers between the maples
He asked: “Die with me!”
The glove on the left hand is both a sign of the heroine’s excitement and a bad sign, which Akhmatova often listened to, playing with it in her poetry:
"I know that the gods transformed
People into objects without killing their consciousness.”
There is a lot of mystical and witchcraft in her early poems about love. It’s not for nothing that Akhmatova’s husband, Nikolai Gumilev, wrote “I took not a wife, but a sorceress.” Very often, the poetess goes hand in hand with “hell’s torments” and “dead brides”:
I don't need my legs anymore
Let them turn into a fish tail!
I float and the coolness is joyful,
The distant bridge is dimly white.
.........................
And you, my distant one, are you really
Have you become pale and sadly mute?
What do I hear? Three whole weeks
You keep whispering: “Poor thing, why?!”
Akhmatova's love lyrics of the late period appeal to memories of happy days of the past. The poetess survived the arrest and death of three spouses, the exile of her beloved son, for whose sake she made a deal with her conscience - she wrote a series of poems about Stalin but never achieved his release. This is probably where the dialogues with the past come from, when the future was not seen so gloomily and something could still be changed:
“And, as always happens in the days of a breakup,
The ghost of the first days knocked on our door,
And the silver willow rushed in
The gray splendor of the branches.
To us, frantic, bitter and arrogant,
Those who do not dare raise their eyes from the ground,
The bird sang in a blessed voice
About how we took care of each other." AND YOU ARE NOW HEAVY AND DULL...
And now you are heavy and sad,
Renounced glory and dreams,
But for me irreparably dear,
And the darker, the more touching you are.
You drink wine, your nights are unclean,
What's in reality, you don't know what's in a dream,
But the tormenting eyes are green, -
Apparently, he did not find peace in wine.
And the heart only asks for a quick death,
Cursing the slowness of fate.
More and more often the western wind brings
Your reproaches and your prayers.
But do I dare to return to you?
Under the pale sky of my homeland
I only know how to sing and remember,
And don’t you dare remember me.
So the days go by, multiplying sorrows.
How can I pray to the Lord for you?
You guessed it: my love is like this
That even you couldn't kill her.
WHITE NIGHT
Oh, I didn't lock the door,
Didn't light the candles
You don’t know how, you’re tired,
I didn't dare to lie down.
Watch the stripes fade
In the sunset darkness the pine needles,
Drunk with the sound of a voice,
Similar to yours.
And know that everything is lost
That life is a damned hell!
Oh I was sure
That you will come back. THAT NIGHT WE DRIVED EACH OTHER CRAZY...
That night we went crazy with each other,
Only ominous darkness shone for us,
The irrigation ditches muttered their own,
And the carnations smelled like Asia.
And we passed through a strange city,
Through the smoky song and midnight heat, -
Alone under the constellation Serpent,
Not daring to look at each other.
It could have been Istanbul or even Baghdad,
But, alas! not Warsaw, not Leningrad,
And this dissimilarity is bitter
It stifled like the air of orphanhood.
And it seemed like centuries were walking nearby,
And an invisible hand beat the tambourine,
And sounds, like secret signs,
They circled in front of us in the darkness.
We were with you in a mysterious darkness,
It was as if we were walking through no man's land,
But the month is a diamond felucca
Suddenly floated above the meeting and separation...
And if that night comes back to you too
In your fate, incomprehensible to me,
You know that you dreamed of someone
This minute is sacred.
EVENING HOURS BEFORE THE TABLE...
Evening hours in front of the table,
An irreparably white page,
Mimosa smells of Nice and warmth,
A large bird flies in the moonlight.
And, braiding my hair tightly at night,
As if braids will be needed tomorrow,
I look out the window, no longer sad,
On the sea, on sandy slopes.
What power does a person have?
Who doesn't even ask for tenderness...
I can't lift my tired eyelids,
When he says my name. INSTEAD OF DEDICATION
(from the series "Midnight Poems")
I wander through the waves and hide in the forest,
I dream of pure enamel,
I can probably bear the separation quite well,
But I’m unlikely to meet you.
EVERYTHING IS TAKEN AWAY: BOTH POWER AND LOVE...
Everything has been taken away: both strength and love.
A body thrown into a disgraceful city
Not happy about the sun. I feel like there's blood
I'm already completely cold.
I don’t recognize the cheerful Muse’s disposition:
She looks and doesn’t say a word,
And he bows his head in a dark wreath,
Exhausted, on my chest.
And only conscience gets worse every day
He is furious: the great one wants tribute.
Covering my face, I answered her...
But there are no more tears, no more excuses. THERE IS A TREASURED FEATURE IN THE CLOSE OF PEOPLE...
There is a cherished quality in the closeness of people,
She cannot be overcome by love and passion, -
Let the lips merge in eerie silence,
And the heart is torn to pieces by love.
And friendship is powerless here, and the years
High and fiery happiness,
When the soul is free and alien
The slow languor of voluptuousness.
Those who strive for her are mad, and her
Those who have achieved it are struck with melancholy...
Now you understand why my
The heart does not beat under your hand.
EVERY DAY IS A NEW WORRY...
Every day is a new worry,
The smell of ripe rye is getting stronger.
If you are laid at my feet,
Tender, lie down.
Orioles scream in the wide maples,
Nothing can calm them down until nightfall.
I love your green eyes
Drive away the funny wasps.
On the road the bell began to jingle -
We remember this light sound.
I'll sing to you so you don't cry,
A song about an evening of separation. LOVE
Then like a snake, curled up in a ball,
He casts a spell right at the heart,
That's all day long like a dove
Coos on the white window,
It will shine in the bright frost,
It seems like a lefty in the slumber...
But it leads faithfully and secretly
From joy and from peace.
He can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a yearning violin,
And it’s scary to guess it
In a still unfamiliar smile.
MUSE
When I wait for her to come at night,
Life seems to hang by a thread.
What honors, what youth, what freedom
In front of a lovely guest with a pipe in her hand.
And then she came in. Throwing back the covers,
She looked at me carefully.
I tell her: “Did you dictate to Dante?
The pages of Hell?" Answers: "I."
The muse went down the road
Autumn, narrow, steep,
And there were dark legs
Sprayed with coarse dew.
I asked her for a long time
Wait for winter with me,
But she said: “After all, there is a grave here,
How can you still breathe?"
I wanted to give her a dove,
The one who is whiter than everyone else in the dovecote,
But the bird itself flew
For my slender guest.
I looked after her, silent,
I loved her alone
And there was dawn in the sky,
Like the gateway to her country.
NO, TSAREVICH, I AM NOT THAT...
No, prince, I’m not the one
Who do you want me to be?
And long ago my lips
They don't kiss, they prophesy.
Don't think you're delirious
And tormented by melancholy
I cry loudly for trouble:
This is my craft.
And I can teach
So that the unexpected happens,
How to tame forever
The one I briefly fell in love with.
Do you want fame? - I have
Then ask for advice
Only this is a trap,
Where there is no joy, no light.
Well now go home
Yes, forget about our meeting,
And for your sin, my dear,
I will answer before the Lord.
NO, IT'S NOT ME, IT'S SOMEONE ELSE SUFFERING...
No, it's not me, it's someone else who is suffering.
I couldn't do that, but what happened
Let the black cloth cover
And let them take the lanterns away.
Night.
THE MEMORY OF THE SUN IN THE HEART WEAKS...
The memory of the sun in the heart weakens,
The grass is yellower.
The wind blows early snowflakes
Just barely.
It no longer flows in narrow channels -
The water is getting cold.
Nothing will ever happen here, -
Oh, never!
The willow tree spread out like a bush in the sky
The fan is through.
Maybe it's better that I didn't
Your wife.
The memory of the sun in the heart weakens.
What is this? Dark?
Maybe!.. He will have time to come overnight
Winter.
And slender reapers with short hems,
Like flags on a holiday, they fly in the wind.
Now there would be a ringing of cheerful bells,
A long look through dusty eyelashes.
I'm not waiting for affection, not love flattery
In anticipation of the inevitable darkness,
But come look at paradise, where together
We were blessed and innocent.
I CAME TO VISIT THE POET...
Alexander Blok
I came to visit the poet.
It's exactly noon. Sunday.
Quiet in the spacious room,
And it's frosty outside the windows
And crimson sun
Above the shaggy gray smoke...
Like a silent owner
Looks at me clearly!
His eyes are like that
What everyone should remember;
I better be careful
Don't look at them at all.
But the conversation will be remembered,
Smoky afternoon, Sunday
In a gray and tall house
At the sea gate of the Neva.
I AM NOT ASKING FOR YOUR LOVE...
I'm not asking for your love.
She is now in a safe place.
Believe that I am your bride
I don't write jealous letters.
But take the advice of the wise:
Let her read my poems
Let her keep my portraits, -
After all, the grooms are so kind!
And these fools need it more
Consciousness full of victory,
Than friendship is light talk
And the memory of the first tender days...
When is happiness worth pennies?
You will live with your dear friend
And for the satiated soul
Everything will suddenly become so hateful -
On my special night
Do not come. I don't know you.
And how could I help you?
I don't heal from happiness.
I COULD DREAM ABOUT YOU LESS...
I could dream about you less often,
After all, we often meet,
But sad, excited and tender
You are only in the sanctuary of darkness.
And sweeter than the seraphim's praise
Your lips give me sweet flattery...
Oh, there you don't confuse the name
My. You don’t sigh like you do here.
PRIVACY
So many stones thrown at me
That none of them are scary anymore
And the trap became a slender tower,
High among the tall towers.
I thank its builders,
Let their worries and sadness pass.
From here I see the dawn earlier,
Here the last ray of the sun triumphs.
And often through the windows of my room
The winds of the northern seas fly in,
And the dove eats the wheat from my hands...
And the page I didn’t add -
Divinely calm and light,
The Muse will be finished by a dark hand.
BLUE EVENING. THE WINDS BRIEFLY STILLED...
Blue evening. The winds calmed down meekly,
A bright light calls me home.
I wonder: who is there? - isn't it the groom?
Isn't this my fiance?..
There's a familiar silhouette on the terrace,
A quiet conversation can barely be heard.
Oh, such captivating languor
I didn't know until now.
The poplars rustled alarmingly,
Tender dreams visited them.
The sky is the color of blued steel,
The stars are matte pale.
I am carrying a bouquet of white gillyflowers.
For this reason, a secret fire is hidden in them,
Who, taking flowers from the hands of the timid,
A warm hand will touch you.
2.1 Akhmatova’s love lyrics
Having already parted with Akhmatova, N. Gumilyov wrote in November 1918: “Akhmatova captured almost the entire sphere of women’s experiences, and every modern poetess, in order to find herself, must go through her work.” Akhmatova perceives the world through the prism of love, and love in her poetry appears in many shades of feelings and moods. The definition of Akhmatova’s lyrics as an encyclopedia of love, the “fifth season of the year,” has become textbook.
Contemporaries, readers of the poetess's first collections of poetry, often (and wrongfully) identified Akhmatova the person with the lyrical heroine of her poems. Akhmatova’s lyrical heroine appears either as a rope dancer, or as a peasant woman, or as an unfaithful wife asserting her right to love, or as a hawkmoth and a harlot... According to the memoirs of I. Odoevtseva, Gumilyov more than once expressed his resentment that because of his wife’s early poems (for example, because of the poem “My husband whipped me with a patterned ...”) he got the reputation of almost a sadist and despot:
My husband whipped me with a patterned one,
Double folded belt.
For you in the casement window
I sit with the fire all night...
It's dawning. And above the forge
Smoke rises.
Oh, you couldn’t stay with me, the sad prisoner again...
How can I hide you, loud moans!
There is a dark, stuffy hop in the heart,
And the rays fall thin
On an unrumpled bed.
Akhmatova’s lyrical heroine is most often the heroine of unfulfilled, hopeless love. Love in Akhmatova’s lyrics appears as a “fatal duel”; it is almost never depicted as serene, idyllic, but, on the contrary, in dramatic moments: in moments of rupture, separation, loss of feeling and the first stormy blindness of passion. Usually her poems are the beginning of a drama or its culmination, which gave M. Tsvetaeva the basis to call Akhmatova’s muse the “Muse of Lamentation.” One of the frequently occurring motifs in Akhmatova’s poetry is the motif of death: funeral, grave, death of the gray-eyed king, dying of nature, etc. For example, in the poem “Song of the Last Meeting”:
It seemed like there were a lot of steps,
And I knew - there are only three of them!
Autumn whispers between the maples
He asked: “Die with me!” A. Akhmatova recalls that I. Severyanin disapproved of her heroines: “He scolded me strongly. My poems are slander. Slander against women. Women are dreamers, they are budding, lush, proud, but mine are kind of miserable” // Quote. by: L. Chukovskaya. Notes about Anna Akhmatova. Book 1. 1938-1941. M., 1989. P. 125.
Confidence, intimacy, intimacy are the undoubted qualities of Akhmatova’s poetry. However, over time, Akhmatova’s love lyrics ceased to be perceived as chamber music and began to be perceived as universal, because the manifestations of love feelings were studied deeply and comprehensively by the poetess.
Nowadays, N. Korzhavin rightly asserts: “Today there are more and more people who recognize Akhmatova as a folk, philosophical and even civil poet... After all, in fact, she was an extraordinary figure... Still, women were not met at every step so educated, bright, intelligent and original, and even writing unprecedented women’s poems, that is, poems not generally about the “thirst for the ideal” or about the fact that “he never understood all the beauty of my soul,” but really expressing, and graceful and easy, feminine essence.”
This “feminine essence” and at the same time significance human personality is presented with great artistic expressiveness in the poem “Don’t you love, don’t want to look?” from the triptych “Confusion”:
Don't like it, don't want to watch?
Oh, how beautiful you are, damn you!
And I can't fly
And since childhood I was winged.
My eyes are filled with fog,
Things and faces merge,
And only a red tulip,
The tulip is in your buttonhole.
Careful reading of the poem, setting the logical emphasis, choosing the intonation of the upcoming reading aloud is the first and very important step towards understanding the content of the work. This poem cannot be read as a complaint from a woman who has fallen out of love - one can feel hidden strength, energy, will in it, and it must be read with hidden, restrained drama. I. Severyanin was wrong when he called Akhmatova’s heroines “unfortunate”; in fact, they are proud, “winged”, like Akhmatova herself - proud and capricious (let’s look, for example, at the memoirs of memoirists about the founders of Acmeism, who claimed that N. Gumilyov was despotic , O. Mandelstam is hot-tempered, and A. Akhmatova is capricious).
Already the first line “Don’t like, don’t want to watch?”, consisting of only verbs with a negative particle “not”, is full of strength and expression. Here the action expressed by the verb opens the line (and the poem as a whole) and ends it, doubling its energy. Strengthens the negation, and thereby contributes to the creation of an increased expressive background, by repeating “not” twice: “you don’t love, you don’t want.” In the first line of the poem, the heroine’s demandingness and indignation breaks through. This is not the usual female complaint, lamentation, but amazement: how can this happen to me? And we perceive this surprise as legitimate, because such sincerity and such strength of “confusion” cannot be trusted.
Second line: “Oh, how beautiful you are, damned!” - speaks of the confusion, confusion of a rejected woman, of her subordination to a man; she is aware of her helplessness, impotence, exhaustion.
And then follow two lines, absolutely remarkable in this lyrical masterpiece: “And I cannot fly, // But since childhood I have been winged.” Only a “winged”, freely floating, proud woman can experience “confusion” of such strength. She had not felt her wings, that is, freedom and lightness (remember the story “Easy Breathing” by I. Bunin), she felt them only now - she felt their heaviness, helplessness, impossibility (short-term!) to serve her.
This is the only way to feel them... The word “winged” is in a strong position (at the end of the line), and the stress in it is the vowel sound [a], which was also mentioned by M.V. Lomonosov said that it could contribute to "the image of splendor, great space, depth and magnitude, as well as fear." The feminine rhyme (that is, the stress on the second syllable from the end of the line) in the line “And since childhood I was winged” does not create a feeling of sharpness, isolation, but, on the contrary, creates a feeling of flight and openness of the heroine’s space. It is no coincidence that “wingedness” becomes representative of Akhmatova (Akhmatova!), and it is no coincidence that Akhmatova argued that a poet who cannot choose a pseudonym for himself has no right to be called a poet.
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on the topic of:
“LOVE LYRICS BY A. AKHMATOVA”
Gold rusts and steel decays,
Marble is crumbling. Everything is ready for death.
The most durable thing on earth is sadness
And more durable is the royal word.
A. Akhmatova
Anna Akhmatova's first poems appeared in Russia in 1911 in the magazine Apollo. Almost immediately, Akhmatova was ranked by critics among the greatest Russian poets.
A. A. Akhmatova lived and worked in a very difficult time, a time of catastrophes and social upheavals, revolutions and wars. Poets in Russia in that turbulent era, when people forgot what freedom was, often had to choose between free creativity and life.
But despite all these circumstances, poets still continued to work miracles: wonderful lines and stanzas were created.
The source of inspiration for Akhmatova was her Motherland, Russia, which was desecrated, but this made it even closer and dearer to her. Anna Akhmatova could not emigrate; she knew that only in Russia could she create, that it was in Russia that her poetry was needed.
I'm not with those who abandoned the earth
To be torn to pieces by enemies.
I don't listen to their rude flattery,
I won’t give them my songs.
IN famous work“Everything is stolen, betrayed, sold...” (1921), the first line of which was quoted many times to prove the idea of the poetess’s hostile attitude towards Soviet society and the revolution, even in it one could hear her benevolent curiosity and undoubted interest in a new life:
Everything is stolen, betrayed, sold,
The wing of the black death flashed,
Everything is devoured by hungry melancholy,
Why did we feel light?
During the day the breath of cherry blossoms blows
An unprecedented forest under the city,
At night it shines with new constellations
The depth of the transparent July skies, -
And the wonderful comes so close
To the crumbling dirty houses...
Unknown to anyone,
But from the ages we have desired.
This is 1921, devastation, famine, the very end civil war, from which the country emerged with incredible strain. The old world was destroyed, the new one was just beginning to live. For Akhmatova and those whom she unites with herself in this poem, the destroyed past was a well-lived and familiar home. And yet, the inner strength of life forced her, in the midst of the ruins of the old world, to utter words blessing the eternal in its charm and wise newness of life. The poem is essentially optimistic, it radiates light and joy, anticipation of life, which seems to be starting over.
The lyrics of Anna Akhmatova in her first books “Evening”, “The Rosary” and “The White Flock” are almost exclusively lyrics of love.
The romance between Anna Akhmatova and Lev Gumilyov lasted for seven years. Confused, broken, on the verge of breaking down, the relationship with Gumilyov forever determined for Anna Akhmatova the model of her relationships with men. She will always fall in love only when she sees a riddle on top of the earthly, real essence. It excited her, she sought to unravel it, she sang its praises. She spoke about love as a higher concept, almost religious. And she herself - with the rarest exceptions - abruptly ended the romance if it threatened to turn into an everyday, familiar existence...
Even if I don’t have a flight
From a flock of swan,
Alas, lyric poet
Must be a man!
Otherwise everything will go upside down
Until the hour of parting:
And the garden is not a garden, and the house is not a house,
A date is not a date!
Her heart seemed to be looking for death, looking for torment. On April 25, 1910, Anna Gorenko and Nikolai Gumilev were married in the St. Nicholas Church near Kiev, and in May they left for a honeymoon to Paris. And the very next year Anna Akhmatova’s first poems appeared in print. In 1911, the poetry collection “Evening” was published - the first-born of the poetess. A collection permeated with the pain of a loving and deceived woman
I'm not asking for your love -
She is now in a safe place.
Believe that I am your bride
I don’t write jealous letters….
Akhmatova wrote about unhappy love. She was created for happiness, but did not find it. Probably because she herself understood: “Being a poet for a woman is absurd.”
A woman is a poet with her thirst for love... After all, to quench this thirst, it is not enough for a man to love: a woman-poet suffers from the scarcity of simple love. To quench such an “immortal passion,” Akhmatova sought equivalence, equal value in love.
From your mysterious love
I scream out loud in pain,
Became yellow and fitful,
I can barely drag my feet...
In August 1914, Gumilyov volunteered to go to the front. Anna Akhmatova was disappointed in the love of Nikolai Gumilyov. And Gumilyov suffered a lot for the happiness of being Akhmatova’s husband.
And the heart will no longer respond
Everything is over…
And my song rushes
On an empty night where you are no longer there
Akhmatova in her poems appears in an infinite variety of women's destinies: lovers and wives, widows and mothers, cheating and abandoned.
There is a center that, as it were, brings the rest of the world of poetry to itself; it turns out to be the main nerve, idea and principle. This is Love. In one of her poems, Akhmatova called love the “fifth season of the year.” The feeling, in itself acute and extraordinary, receives additional acuteness, manifesting itself in extreme crisis expression - rise or fall, first meeting or complete breakup, mortal danger or mortal melancholy. That is why Akhmatova is so drawn to a lyrical short story with an unexpected end to a psychological plot, eerie and mysterious (“The City Has Disappeared,” “New Year’s Ballad”).
Usually her poems are the beginning of a drama, or only its culmination, and more often the finale and ending. She relied on the rich experience of Russian not only poetry, but also prose:
Glory to you, hopeless pain,
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.
And outside the window the poplars rustle:
Your king is not on earth...
Akhmatova’s poems carry a special element of love-pity:
Oh no, I didn't love you
Burned with sweet fire,
So explain what power
In your sad name.
In the complex music of Akhmatova’s lyrics, in its barely flickering depths, a special, frightening disharmony constantly lived and made itself felt in the subconscious, which embarrassed Akhmatova herself. She later wrote in “Poem Without a Hero” that she constantly heard an incomprehensible hum, as if some kind of underground bubbling, shifting and friction of those original solid rocks on which life had been eternally and reliably based, but which began to lose stability and balance. The very first harbinger of such an unsettling sensation was the poem "The First Return" with its images of a mortal sleep, a shroud and a death knell, and with a general feeling of a sharp and irrevocable change that had occurred in the very air of time.
Over time, Akhmatova’s lyrics conquered more and more reading circles and generations and, while never ceasing to be the object of admiring attention from discerning connoisseurs, clearly came out of the seemingly destined narrow circle of readers.
Soviet poetry of the first years of October and civil
war, occupied with the grandiose tasks of overthrowing the old world, preferring to talk not so much about a person as about humanity, or in any case about the masses, was initially insufficiently attentive to the microcosm of intimate feelings, classifying them in a fit of revolutionary puritanism as socially unsafe bourgeois prejudices. Akhmatova’s lyrics, by all laws of logic, should have gotten lost and disappeared without a trace. But that did not happen.
Young readers of the new, proletarian, embarking on the socialist path Soviet Russia, workers and workers' faculty, Red Army women and Red Army men - all these people, so distant and hostile to the very world mourned in Akhmatova's poems, nevertheless noticed and read the elegantly published volumes of her poems.
Anna Akhmatova's lyrics change in the 20s and 30s compared to earlier books. These years were marked by exceptional creative intensity. Akhmatova, as before, remained unknown to the reader and therefore seemed to have disappeared from the reader’s and literary world.
Akhmatova's lyrics throughout the post-revolutionary period
twenty years has constantly expanded, absorbing more and more new,
areas previously unknown to her, love story, without ceasing to be dominant, nevertheless now occupied only one of the poetic territories in it. However, the inertia of reader perception was so great that Akhmatova, even in these years, marked by her turn to civil, philosophical and journalistic lyrics, still appeared to the eyes of the majority as solely and exclusively an artist of love.
The expansion of the range of poetry resulting from changes in
the worldview and attitude of the poetess, could not, in turn, not affect the tonality and character of the love lyrics themselves. True, some of its characteristic features remained the same.
The love episode, as before, appears before us in a peculiar Akhmatovian guise: it is never consistently developed, it usually has neither end nor beginning; the declaration of love, despair or prayer that makes up the poem seems like a fragment of a accidentally overheard conversation that did not begin in front of us and the end of which we will not hear either:
"Oh, you thought I was like that too,
That you can forget me.
And that I will throw myself, begging and sobbing,
Under the hooves of a bay horse.
Or I’ll ask the healers
There's a root in the slander water
And I'll send you a terrible gift
My treasured fragrant scarf.
Damn you.
Not a groan, not a glance
I will not touch the damned soul,
But I swear to you by the garden of angels,
I swear by the miraculous icon
And our nights are a fiery child
I will never return to you."
This feature of Akhmatova’s love lyrics, full of innuendos, hints, going into the distant depths of subtext, gives it true originality. The heroine of Akhmatov’s poems, most often speaking as if to herself in a state of impulse, semi-delirium or ecstasy, naturally does not consider it necessary to explain and explain to us everything that is happening. Only the basic signals of feelings are transmitted, without decoding, without comments, hastily - according to the hasty alphabet of love. The implication is that the degree of spiritual intimacy will miraculously help us understand both the missing links and the overall meaning of the drama that has just occurred. Hence the impression of extreme intimacy, extreme frankness and heartfelt openness of these lyrics...