Mikhail Leonovich Gasparov, providing the materials published today at our urgent request, recalled that they were not intended for publication, but were composed in the form of help - advice for a colleague: "There is no concept here, just careful reading."
We believe that this publication will be of interest to a teacher who analyzes poems with his students - that is, most likely to every teacher.
These materials can be used in a variety of ways. For example, invite students to independently answer one of the questions asked by the researcher and compare the results. Or introduce high school students to the article and ask them to think about how the observations made by the scientist affect the perception of the poem. Or just read the publication and, hopefully, have fun, because (to paraphrase the great poet) following the thought of a real scientist is “science is the most entertaining.”
M.L. GASPAROV
"Autumn" by A. Pushkin: careful reading
AUTUMN
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October has already come - the grove is already shaking off Now it's my time: I don't like spring; How fun, shod with sharp iron feet, Oh, red summer! I would love you The days of late autumn are usually scolded, How to explain it? I like her, Sad time! oh charm! |
And every autumn I bloom again; Lead me a horse; in the expanse of the open, And I forget the world - and in sweet silence <Не вошло в окончательный вариант> Steel knights, gloomy sultans, And the thoughts in my head are worried in courage, Floats. Where are we to sail? <Не вошло в окончательный вариант> Hurrah! .. where to go<е>swim ... ... [what] shores |
There are eleven stanzas in "Autumn", not counting one discarded and one unfinished. Here is their content:
1. Autumn in its concreteness, present.
2. Fall through Contrast: spring and winter.
3. Fall through Contrast: winter.
4. Fall through Contrast: summer and winter.
5. Fall through Similarity: child before dislike.
6. Fall through Similarity: maiden before death.
7. Autumn in general, always.
8. Me: my inner feelings.
9. Me: my outward behavior.
10. Me: my creative experiences.
(10a. I: imagination).
11. Me: creating poetry.
(12. Me: choice of topic.)
The last, 12th stanza breaks off at the opening words - where it comes to the content of the poems, the content of the created world. This is the justification for the subtitle "Excerpt". Both she and another stanza about the same (10a) were written and discarded: an epigraph remained a hint of them “Why doesn’t my dormant mind then enter? - Derzhavin ". Probably, this should be understood: the world created by the poet is so great that it defies description.
The grouping of stanzas is partly emphasized by verse and stylistic features.
(1) Poetic size"Autumn" - iambic six-foot; in it, the main sign of rhythm is caesura: the more traditional masculine is felt as more solid, the more innovative feminine - as more unsteady and smooth. The number of dactylic caesuras by stanza (including the discarded 10a and the unfinished 12):
1-7th stanzas - autumn: 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 3, 4;
8-12th stanzas - 2, 3, 3, (6), 3, (4).
In each thematic passage, dactylic caesuras grow from beginning to end. The average number of lines with "romantic" dactylic caesuras is: autumn I – 1; contrast – 2; similarity – 3,5; autumn II– 4, I'm in front of poetry – 3,5; I'm over poetry- 4. Maximum dactylic caesuras - in stanza 10a; maybe it seemed to Pushkin excessive, and partly for this reason the stanza was discarded. Preparation of the rhythmic climax - in stanza 10, dactylic caesuras with internal rhyme: And awakens... The soul is shy...(cf. in stanza 6, before the end of the first part of the poem - Sometimes I like it ... The poor thing tends ...). The culmination is at the end of stanza 11, the beginning of the creation of poems: The mass has moved and cuts through the waves, dactylic caesura with an unstressed beginning of the second half-line create a spectacular prolonged unstressed interval. (S. M. Bondi drew attention to the fact that he marks a thematic milestone.)
(2) faces. Autumn in the 1st stanza is presented impersonally, objectively; the only reference to the author is my neighbor. In stanzas-contrasts my goes into I(2), then in we(3), then in I and we(four). At the end of contrasts, a second person appears - a rhetorical appeal you summer(four); in similarity stanzas it becomes more intimate (you,) reader(5) and you(5–6). Autumn in the 7th stanza is already entirely personally colored: Pleasant to me yours farewell beauty. The last stanzas, about himself, of course, all contain I, but with two curious variations, at the beginning and at the end. In stanza 7, along with I there is a distance from the reader you: Let me forgive... In stanza 11 I missing - thoughts, rhymes, pen, poetry and the ship exist as if by themselves. And in the begun stanza 12 instead of I appears merging with the reader we: the created world of poetry existed, as it were, at first only for the poet, then by itself, and, finally, for everyone.
(3) Style. Attention is drawn to him by the climactic line of stanza 8: ...organism...unnecessary prosaism. This encourages listening to stylistic anomalies in other stanzas as well. There are no prosaisms in the 1st stanza. They appear only in stanzas-contrasts. In the 2nd colloquial prose - stink, dirt- and book - in the presence of the moon. In the 3rd - only colloquial: turn sour(instead of miss). In the 4th weakened colloquial yes dust, yes mosquitoes and book mental abilities. After that, the declared “prosaism” (bookish) in stanza 8 is the only one: of course, he emphasizes the thematic overlap of this stanza with “contrasting” 2–4. Instead, stylistic anomalies become different. Switching point - in the 6th stanza: semantic shift Grave abyss she does not hear the pharynx, visual image pharynx compatible with auditory hears. And then, just as in the first half of the poem three stanzas were marked by prosaisms, so in the second three were marked by tautologies. in the 9th loudly ... the frozen valley rings; in the 10th in sweet silence I am sweetly lulled, and a lulled soul looking, as in a dream, to pour out; in the 11th the ship slumbers motionless in motionless moisture. (In a fragment of the 12th - Floats. Where are we to sail?- not a tautology, but also a repetition of a word.) A tautology can be a sign of both colloquial and poetic style; here the context prompts us to see in it a poetic style, contrasting with the initial prose.
So we see that verse and stylistic signs help to highlight the main thematic parts of the work: “autumn” and “I”, “autumn itself” and “contrasts to autumn”.
<Художественный мир стихотворения>
Now you can move on to an overview of the artistic world of the poem stanza by stanza.
<1-я строфа. Осень в ее конкретности, теперешняя>
Autumn in the 1st stanza, as said, is concrete, present. A specific month is named - October- and verb actions are listed: less often in the past tense (stepped, breathed, froze, asleep), twice as often in the present (shakes off, freezes, murmur runs, hurries, suffers, wakes up). The sensibility of time is emphasized by hysterosis (an artistic technique of anticipation. – Ed.) the grove shakes the leaves from its bare branches, word naked used in the approximate sense of "uncovering". The perceptibility of space is ordered: the sheets being shaken are vertical; the road and the stream are a horizontal line; pond - horizontal plane; the outgoing fields are an even wider horizontal plane. The stanza began grove(perception through sight), ends oak forests(perceived through hearing). Images of movement alternate with images of rest and are intensified: shakes off - breathed - (freezes) - runs - (froze) - hurries to crazy fun. At the end of the stanza, this tension of movement and rest finds expression in a new dimension - in sound. This increase in the dynamics of meaning is contrasted by an increase in rest in rhythm: in the first half of the stanza there are two words with a dactylic ending, in the second - five.
The movement of attention in the 1st stanza is from natural phenomena to cultural phenomena. The grove is only nature; the road is a trace of culture that has become part of nature; the mill is already culture, but the pond next to it is the support of culture in summer and part of nature in winter; neighbor-hunter - a culture that consumes nature; mentioned unnecessarily winter unite the hunter and the mill into a cultural whole. Half of the stanza is about nature, half is about a neighbor. This introduces the main theme of the poem: nature, autumn as an approach and stimulus to culture, I. Here the culture is still consumerist, in stanzas about I she becomes creative. Start ... the grove shakes off refers as a subtext to "October 19, 1825", the forest drops its crimson dress; and then in stanzas about I will appear a forgotten fireplace ... and I am in front of it... referring to blaze, fireplace, in my deserted cell.
<2–4-я строфы. Контраст>
In the contrasting stanzas 2-4, the seasons are considered both as part of nature and as part of culture. Spring is the heaviness of nature in man: I'm sick, blood is fermenting, feelings, mind are constrained by melancholy; next to it thaw, stench, dirt mentioned more briefly. Summer is the heaviness of nature around a person: heat, dust, mosquitoes, thirst(consonant verb suffering correlated with calculated suffer from winter); next to it mental abilities mentioned only briefly. Winter is the tediousness of society with its amusements: sleighs, skates, pancakes and wine: if spring and summer are heavy with an excess of evil, then winter, on the contrary (paradoxically), with an excess of good. Here is the most tangible literary subtext in the poem: “The First Snow” by Vyazemsky.
<Уподобительные 5–6-я строфы>
In the likening stanzas 5-6 (the middle of the poem!) the paradoxical logic reaches its climax. It's underlined: how to explain it? The basis implies a natural ethical feeling: “an undeservedly unloved child evokes sympathy”, “a maiden doomed to illness and death evokes sympathy”. But instead causes sympathy said first attracts(this is still ethics), then I (and you) like(this is aesthetics). Admiring morbidity is a feature of the new, romantic theme, in the poem it is most frank here. The paradox is shrouded in romantic vagueness: autumn is sweet at first visible beauty, then only understandable a lot of good and finally unspeakable I found something in her. In the literary subtext here is Pushkin's own elegy Alas, why does she shine ... She noticeably fades... (1820) and, more remotely, the consumptive muse of Delorme-Saint-Beuve from Pushkin's review of 1831. Transition from child to virgin– with intensification: the unloved can be corrected, the doomed irreparably, there are transient relationships, here is an existential essence. It is hinted at the same time that child and Virgo can be one and the same person: halfway between their images, the poet calls himself lover is not vain, although formally he is the lover of autumn here.
<7-я строфа. Осень вообще, всегдашняя>
After such preparation, the second stanza about autumn finally becomes possible - emotional and evaluatively colored. In stanza 1, autumn was concrete, the present one - in stanza 7 - is autumn in general, always. There, the picture was built on verbs - here on nouns, going in a list, and the only verb I love... as if brought forward out of brackets. There the picture came to life from beginning to end (the appearance of a neighbor, and suffer from winter), here it becomes more objective and colder (literally and figuratively). The paradox is emphasized in the very first exclamation Sad time! oh charm!(alliteration!); then, weaker, combined lush ... withering; and, almost imperceptibly, in crimson and gold clad forests. Crimson (porphyry) and gold are the colors of royal clothing, the disclosure of the word magnificent; but the crimson is also a consumptive blush, about which it was said in the previous stanza: still purple color plays on the face(an unusual word for complexion; in the Academic Dictionary there were two of its meanings - “scarlet, purple” and “reddish-blue.” After the previous stanza, the logic of the paradox is already clear: “I appreciate the beauty of autumn, because we have not long to admire it”; hence the metaphor with a touch of personification: parting beauty.
The movement of attention in stanza 7, as in stanza 1, begins with the trees, but does not go down, but up. Instead of specific October here at the beginning is a generalized it's time(with her beauty), then the equally generalized nature; and finally multiple the woods less specific than grove, and metaphorical crimson and gold- how leaves. To begin with, an earlier moment is taken: the branches are not yet naked, but dressed in bright leaves and called canopy, for the end - apparently later: not only the first frosts (from which the pond is frozen etc.), and distant hoary winter threats. But there is no temporal transition here, rather it is a timeless coexistence. In between are the wind (noise and freshness), the sky (clouds) and the sun (opposed to the previous mist as a carrier of light, and subsequent frosts as a carrier of heat). At the beginning of the poem there was an autumn of the earth, now, in the middle, there is an autumn of the sky: the theme of nature, as it were, rises, leading to the theme of creativity. Here, for the first time, color appears in the image of nature, until now it was a colorless drawing. In a figurative sense, the color was mentioned in stanza 4, Oh, red summer!, for the blush of the face - in stanza 6 and finally here.
<8-я строфа. Я: мои внутренние ощущения>
From the already meaningful central paradox comes the thought of stanza 8: “as the beauty of a maiden is mile before death and the beauty of autumn before winter, so the poet blooms before winter.” blooming- a metaphor from the natural world, therefore, primarily physical health is meant, and mental health is only a consequence of it: this is emphasized by the ending word organism with a comment. In the face of mortal cold, roads become palpable habits of being, the three needs of the body: sleep, hunger and carnal desires (plays blood) with their harmony (in a row... in a row). They are accompanied by emotions arising from each other: love of life, lightness, joy, happiness. The verbs that describe this are becoming more dynamic: sleep flies, blood plays, desires boil, generalization - I am full of life again. it again characteristic: the natural world is cyclical in its cycle of extinction and renewal, hence - again... again... in succession... in succession... again.
All these sequences are inserted into a non-random frame: at the beginning it is said that all this healthy my health, and in the end - that there is a conversation about all this unnecessary, that is, useless prosaism. This is another step in the approach from the natural world, where the main thing is the benefit, to the creative world, where there is no benefit and there should not be (the theme of "The Poet and the Crowd", 1828). At the word useful named Russian cold- this is a reference to another subtext - the poem "Winter. What should I do in the countryside?..” (1829), which ended the storms of the north are not harmful to the Russian rose, like a Russian maiden is fresh in the dust of snow!; and before that, it included a neighbor, and hunting, and even attempts at creativity. This epithet Russian- an additional contrast between the natural world and the creative world, in which - as can be seen from the omitted stanzas 10a and 12 - everything is non-Russian: knights, sultans, corsairs, giants, Moldavia, Scotland, Normandy, with only one exception: you my ladies(in the subtext - the metamorphoses of Pushkin's Muse, described in the beginning of Chapter VIII of Onegin).
<9-я строфа. Я: мое внешнее поведение>
Line 9 - turning point: it is of two halves, separated by an inconspicuous but(hardly noticeable, because the compositional boundary of the octave is not after the 4th, but after the 6th verse). The first half is a white day, latitude, dynamics; the second half - evening and night, a corner by the fireplace, concentration. The first completes the story about the natural world, the second begins the story about the creative world. In the natural world, the state of the poet led to the feeling I'm full of life again here it is full boils over the edges and finds expression in a horseback ride in the open. Such a jump was already in the 1st stanza; but there it was a purposeful action, the hunt of a neighbor, but here it is an action without a goal, only a discharge of vital forces - we again have a contrast between practical usefulness and creative self-goal. In the description of the jump, the rapid narrowing of space is remarkable: in the field of view - first everything expanse open, then only a horse with a rider (a view from the side!), waving its mane, then only horse hooves beating into the ice. (Flickering word at the end dol narrower than expanse, and additionally neutralized by consonance with the word ice.) This narrowing is accompanied by an exit into brilliance and sound (moreover, apparently, a double sound: a ringing flying along the valley, and a crackling remaining under the hoof). The sound was still only in the 1st stanza (barking), and shine - only in the 3rd stanza (mirror of rivers; humbly shining beauty in the 5th stanza clearly does not count).
This image of glitter is important because only it binds through the head. but two halves of the 9th stanza. A horse in a wide expanse is nature, a small fire in a cramped cell is culture. The picture of nature narrowed to the brilliance of a horse's hoof; the transition from nature to culture is given through obscuration, the day goes out, and the camel forgotten; the picture of culture begins with the brilliance of fire in this hearth. Further, the narrowing of the space continues, but with complications. Fire in the stove then a bright light pours, then smolders slowly, narrowing the illuminated space; it's the same rhythm sequence... sequence... same as in line 8. I read before him, the field of view narrows further, only the head with the book remains in it. Or long thoughts in my soul I feed, is it further contraction or expansion? For doom don't even need a book soul everything inside a person, from the point of view of the outside world, this is a narrowing; but the soul itself contains the whole world, and from the point of view of the inner, creative world, this is an expansion; it is underlined long. This interaction of the inner and outer world becomes the theme of the next stanza.
<10-я строфа. Я: мои творческие переживания>
Stanza 10 begins with an inward movement: and forget the world I go into silence, into a dream. But then there is a counter movement, and poetry awakens in me, from dream to reality: verb awakens means revival, movement, disclosure, i.e. ultimately expansion. Both movements, into and out of sleep, take place under the common canopy (in a common environment) of the imagination. Cramped between these movements the soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement, from this flutters and from this sounds- the culmination of tension! There are no words in this sound yet, the words will be in stanza 11. Having reached this ultimate tension, the soul seeks to pour out freely(isn't it prosaic?), moving outward, as if over the edge, as between the 8th and 9th stanzas. But then again there is an oncoming movement, an invisible swarm of guests comes to me- where? It turns out that from myself, they old[,] fruits of my dreams. With what is this dream from the one mentioned above identical with soul or with imagination? According to the meaning of the word, it is rather with imagination: it is probably generated by the soul, and then, generated, receives an independent existence, lulls and constrains the soul, etc. It turns out a paradox: not the soul is the receptacle of the imagination, but the imagination is the receptacle of the soul. In this case, an explanation suggests itself: maybe the imagination is the creative world, already created and existing next to the real one, and the current act of autumn creativity is just adding new elements to it or streamlining those that already exist in it?
<Строфа 10а. Я: воображение>
Those that are already in it are listed in the discarded stanza 10a. These are the images that inhabit poetry, there are fifteen of them: fourteen fantastic in 5 lines and one realistic - young ladies! - in 3 lines. Fantastic images are opposed to each other in various ways. The knights are opposed to the sultans, as the West is opposed to the East; knights - monks, as secular - spiritual; sultans - to the Arapian kings, like whites - to blacks; monks (blacks) are probably also associated with black. (The dwarfs among them are still unclear: whether they are fabulous creatures, or real, albeit exotic, jesters; in any case, associations with Ruslan and Lyudmila are undeniable.) The eastern row continues in boldykhanakh; after the white and black lords they are yellow. The west row continues into Greek women with rosary; after secular and spiritual heroes, they combine both qualities in themselves. Greek women are opposed to corsairs as feminine to masculine and passive to active; at the same time, they join together the western row with the eastern one, uniting Western Christianity with eastern exoticism. (We assume that in corsairs Byronian associations predominate; if they are dominated by memories of Turkish corsairs of the 16th century, then the ratios will change.) The western row continues one more step Spaniards in coats(a rare word referring to a new subtext - "The Stone Guest"), this introduces two new dimensions: temporary ( in envelopes- this is a later time than the steel knights in armor) and "internecine" ( in envelopes they are no longer at war with the East, but fight each other in duels over ladies). The series intermediate between West and East continues Jews, they are similar Greek women with rosary according to this function, and are opposed to them by faith (and to the corsairs - by non-military). Actually the eastern row does not continue, in its place appear heroes and giants and introduce new relationships: giants - pure, ahistorical fabulousness (this comprehends dwarfs three lines above: therefore, they are also fabulous), and the heroes for the first time introduce, in addition to the West and East, a hint of a Russian theme. Finally, in the last line of a large list Princess prisoners can be victims of both eastern sultans (etc.), and fabulous giants, and countess titles echo the princesses, but can already belong not only to the exotic, but also to modernity - this is a transition to a contrasting image that balances this entire list: to my young ladies. Three whole lines are devoted to them, they are sharply highlighted by the appeal you..., their portrait is drawn with gradual approximation and enlargement: general appearance, face, eyes; their image is doubled, they are both literary heroines and memories of real love: Pushkin was famous as the discoverer of the image county ladies, but this was already in the years of his creative maturity, and the words favorites of my golden dawn refer to his early youth.
<11-я строфа. Я: создание стихов>
Stanza 11 begins again with an alternation of movements from outside and outside, but twice as fast - in space, not stanzas, but semi-stanzas. Three AND... in a row were in stanza 7, the most static; now they appear in the stanza of the most dynamic, worry... run... run. Thoughts wave in courage- this is long thoughts from stanza 9 given in lyrical excitement stanzas 10. Rhymes run towards them- first, in stanza 10, from me to me there was a crowd of extra-verbal images, now - a swarm of consonant words shaping them. Fingers to pen, pen to paper- reciprocal movement outward, moving, moving material objects. Poems will flow- they will be followed by a movement that is no longer material, but materializing. So...- a direct description of creativity is supplemented by a description through similarity, as in stanzas 5-6, but four times faster - in the space of not two stanzas, but one half-stanza. There material nature was explained by comparison with man; here human creativity is explained by comparison with a material ship. The transition from inaction to action in stanzas 9-10 was made smoothly, here it is made instantly, through an exclamation but chu!.(Actually, chu! does not mean “look”, but “listen”: the visible picture of the ship is commented on by a word referring to the internally audible sound of the verses being composed.) The most remarkable thing in this stanza is the complete absence of a pronoun I: it was in each of the seven preceding stanzas, but here, at the turning point, it disappears, the materializing creative world already exists by itself. (At the beginning of the next stanza, he is mentioned where do we sail?) - in that we the ship of creativity unites (and on it the heroes - fruits of my dreams), both poet and reader.
<12-я строфа. Я: выбор темы>
The unfinished and discarded beginning of stanza 12 is the choice of the route, that is, the scenery for the poem being composed. All of them are exotic and romantic: first, the Caucasus and Moldavia, tested by Pushkin, then, further to the west, untouched Scotland, Normandy (with snow, i.e., probably not a French region, but the land of the Normans, Norway), Switzerland. Scotland reminds of Walter Scott, Switzerland - most likely about Byron "Childe Harold", "Manfred" and "The Prisoner of Chillon", rather than about Rousseau and Karamzin. Curiously, most of these countries are mountainous; however, in the sketches there are both Florida and the pyramids (with a picture). foreign words colossal and landscape accentuate the exotic. Is it possible to expect that this second wave of exoticism would be, like the first, in stanza 10a, interrupted by images similar to Russian young ladies? Hardly: a ship on a Russian background is impossible. The path of inspiration from autumn Russia to the big world is outlined and left to the reader's imagination. The rethinking of the epigraph is curious: Derzhavin Why does my dormant mind not enter then? opened the ending of "Life of Zvanskaya" with reflections on history (and then - the frailty of everything earthly and the eternity of the poet), in Pushkin it is revealed not to history, but to geography (and then to what?).
Noun dictionary
being (habits), world / manifestation
swarm (guests) / community
half a year, (whole) century, days, day, minute / time + (annual) times
shores
color, crimson, gold // noise, silence // stink
nature / heaven, sunbeam, moon / expanse, valley
moisture, waves // fire, light // dirt, dust
spring + thaw
summer / heat, drought,
winter, frost, snow, snow, ice + river mirror
autumn, october,
forests, oak forests, canopy, grove, branches, leaves / fields4, outgoing fields, meadows / stream / rocks, (eternal) snow / landscape
wind chill(wind), breath, haze, cold
road / sleigh run // ship, sails
horse, mane, hoof / dogs barking, bear, lair / mosquitoes, flies
hunting / winter / mill, pond
holidays, fun / iron (skates)
resident (lairs) / neighbor, acquaintances, guests / sailors, reader
knights, monks, corsairs, kings, princesses, countesses, sultans, boldkhans / dwarfs, giants / heroes / Greek women, Spaniards, Jews
under sable, in epanches // pancakes, wine, ice cream // stoves, stoves, glass // pen, paper, rosary
family / lover / child / maiden, ladies / Armides / old woman (winter),
body / legs, hand, fingers, heart, shoulders, head, temples, face, mouth, eyes / blood
life, dawn (youth), health, sleep, hunger, desires, withering, [consumptive] death, (grave) abyss - yawn
soul, spiritual abilities, habits
mind, thought4, thoughts, imagination, dream, its fruits
feelings, (lir.) excitement, melancholy, anxiety (holidays), anger, murmuring, threats (winter), courage / poor thing / love (to habits), favorites
(know) honor / beauty, charm
poetry, poems, rhymes, prose
Great about verses:
Poetry is like painting: one work will captivate you more if you look at it closely, and another if you move further away.
Little cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creak of unoiled wheels.
The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is that which has broken.
Marina Tsvetaeva
Of all the arts, poetry is most tempted to replace its own idiosyncratic beauty with stolen glitter.
Humboldt W.
Poems succeed if they are created with spiritual clarity.
The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is commonly believed.
If only you knew from what rubbish Poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion near a fence, Like burdocks and quinoa.
A. A. Akhmatova
Poetry is not in verses alone: it is spilled everywhere, it is around us. Take a look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life breathe from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.
I. S. Turgenev
For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.
G. Lichtenberg
A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. Not our own - our thoughts make the poet sing inside us. Telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He is a wizard. Understanding him, we become poets like him.
Where graceful verses flow, there is no place for vainglory.
Murasaki Shikibu
I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in Russian. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. Because of the feeling, art certainly peeps out. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
- ... Are your poems good, tell yourself?
- Monstrous! Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! the visitor asked pleadingly.
I promise and I swear! - solemnly said Ivan ...
Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "The Master and Margarita"
We all write poetry; poets differ from the rest only in that they write them with words.
John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"
Every poem is a veil stretched out on the points of a few words. These words shine like stars, because of them the poem exists.
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
The poets of antiquity, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. It is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times, a whole Universe is certainly hidden, filled with miracles - often dangerous for someone who inadvertently wakes dormant lines.
Max Fry. "The Talking Dead"
To one of my clumsy hippos-poems, I attached such a heavenly tail: ...
Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea and not a plague!
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore drive away critics. They are but miserable drinkers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let the verses seem to him an absurd lowing, a chaotic jumble of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from tedious reason, a glorious song that sounds on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.
Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"
Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing but pure poetry that has rejected the word.
I
October has already come - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has died - the road freezes through.
The murmuring stream still runs behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
In the departing fields with his hunt,
And they suffer winter from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes the sleeping oak forests.
II
Now it's my time: I don't like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stink, dirt - in the spring I'm sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings, the mind is constrained by melancholy.
In the harsh winter I am more satisfied,
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
As an easy sleigh run with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!
III
How fun, shod with sharp iron feet,
Glide on the mirror of stagnant, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant anxieties of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; half a year snow yes snow,
After all, this is finally the inhabitant of the lair,
Bear, get bored. You can't for a century
We ride in a sleigh with the young Armides
Or sour by the stoves behind double panes.
IV
Oh, red summer! I would love you
If it weren't for the heat, and dust, and mosquitoes, and flies.
You, destroying all spiritual abilities,
you torment us; like fields, we suffer from drought;
Just how to get drunk, but refresh yourself -
There is no other thought in us, and it is a pity for the winter of the old woman,
And, seeing her off with pancakes and wine,
We make a wake for her with ice cream and ice.
V
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she is dear to me, dear reader,
Silent beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the native family
It draws me to itself. To tell you frankly
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her alone,
There is a lot of good in it; lover is not vain,
I found something in her a wayward dream.
VI
How to explain it? I like her,
Like a consumptive maiden to you
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows without grumbling, without anger.
The smile on the lips of the faded is visible;
She does not hear the yawn of the grave abyss;
Still purple color plays on the face.
She is still alive today, not tomorrow.
VII
Sad time! oh charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the magnificent nature of wilting,
Forests clad in crimson and gold,
In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with mist,
And a rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
VIII
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I again feel love for the habits of being:
Sleep flies in succession, hunger finds in succession;
Easily and joyfully plays in the heart of blood,
Desires boil - I'm happy again, young,
I am full of life again - this is my body
(Allow me to forgive unnecessary prosaism).
IX
Lead me a horse; in the expanse of the open,
Waving his mane, he carries a rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire burns again - then a bright light pours,
It smolders slowly - and I read before it
Or I feed long thoughts in my soul.
X
And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I am sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds, and searches, as in a dream,
To pour out at last a free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes to me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
XI
And the thoughts in my head are worried in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for a pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the verses will flow freely.
So the ship slumbers motionless in motionless moisture,
But chu! - the sailors suddenly rush, crawl
Up, down - and the sails puffed out, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and cuts through the waves.
XII
Floats. Where are we to sail?
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Analysis of the poem "Autumn" by Alexander Pushkin
It is widely known which season was Pushkin's favorite. The work "Autumn" is one of the most beautiful poems dedicated to autumn in all Russian literature. The poet wrote it in 1833, during his stay in Boldino (the so-called "Boldino Autumn").
Pushkin acts as a talented artist, who paints a picture of an autumn landscape with great skill. The lines of the poem are imbued with great tenderness and love for the surrounding nature, which is in the phase of withering. The introduction is the first sketch for the picture: falling leaves, the first frosts, dog hunting trips.
Further, Pushkin depicts the rest of the seasons. At the same time, he lists their advantages, but focuses on the shortcomings. The description of spring, summer and winter is quite detailed, the author resorts to playful, rude remarks. Signs of spring - "stink, dirt." Winter seems to be full of many joyful events (walks and fun in nature), but it continues unbearably long and will get bored "and the inhabitant of the lair." Everything is good in the hot summer, "yes dust, yes mosquitoes, yes flies."
Having made a general overview, Pushkin, as a contrast, proceeds to a specific description of the beautiful autumn season. The poet admits that he loves autumn with a strange love, similar to the feeling for a “consumptive maiden”. It is precisely for its sad appearance, for its fading beauty that the autumn landscape is infinitely dear to the poet. The phrase, which is an antithesis, - "" has become winged in the characteristics of autumn.
The description of autumn in the poem is an artistic model for the entire Russian poetic society. Pushkin reaches the height of his talent in the use of expressive means. These are various epithets (“farewell”, “magnificent”, “wavy”); metaphors ("in their vestibule", "threat winters"); personifications ("clothed forests").
In the final part of the poem, Pushkin proceeds to describe the state of the lyrical hero. He claims that only in the fall does true inspiration come to him. Traditionally for poets, spring is considered a time of new hopes, the awakening of creative forces. But Pushkin removes this limitation. He again makes a small playful digression - "this is my body."
The author assigns a significant part of the poem to the visit to the muse. The hand of a great artist is also felt in the description of the creative process. New thoughts are "an invisible swarm of guests", completely transforming the loneliness of the poet.
In the finale, the poetic work is presented by Pushkin in the form of a ship ready to sail. The poem ends with the rhetorical question "Where can we go?" This indicates an infinite number of themes and images that arise in the mind of the poet, who is absolutely free in his work.
No other season is represented as widely and vividly in Pushkin's work as autumn.
Pushkin repeated more than once that autumn is his favorite season. In autumn, he wrote best and most of all, he was “inspired”, a special state, “a blissful state of mind, when dreams are clearly drawn in front of you, and you acquire living unexpected words to embody your visions, when poems easily fall under your pen, and sonorous rhymes run towards harmonious thought” (“Egyptian Nights”).
Why is autumn so dear to the poet?
Pushkin in the poem "Autumn" says this about his attitude to this season:
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she is dear to me, dear reader ...
In this poem, with wonderful descriptions of autumn nature, the poet wants to infect the reader with his special love for this season, and in the last lines of this unfinished passage, he shows with extraordinary persuasiveness and poetry how inspiration is born in his soul, how his poetic creations appear:
Sad time! oh charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the magnificent nature of wilting,
Forests clad in crimson and gold,
In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with mist.
And a rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats ...
... And the thoughts in my head are worried in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for a pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the verses will flow freely.
("Autumn", 1833)
The poet knows how to find poetic features in the withering of autumn nature: the yellowing foliage of trees turns purple and gold in him. This is a loving perception of her by a person who really loves and knows how to notice the poetic features of autumn. No wonder the French writer Prosper Mérimée noted that "poetry blossoms in Pushkin from the most sober prose."
We meet many descriptions of autumn nature in the novel "Eugene Onegin". Familiar from childhood, the passage “Already the sky was breathing in autumn” introduces us to late autumn in the village. In this passage there is also a traveler rushing at full speed on a horse, frightened by a wolf, and a shepherd who worked during the summer suffering, and a village girl singing behind a spinning wheel, and boys skating along a frozen river.
Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less
The day was getting shorter
Forests mysterious canopy
With a sad noise she was naked,
Fog fell on the fields
Noisy geese caravan
Stretched to the south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
November was already at the yard.
(Chapter IV, stanza XL)
Another passage from the famous novel is imbued with a different mood. It also speaks of autumn, but there is no direct, simple depiction of pictures of nature and images of people closely related to the life of nature. In this passage, nature itself is poetically humanized, allegorically represented in the form of a living being.
... Golden autumn has come,
Nature is quivering, pale,
Like a victim, magnificently removed ...
(Chapter VII, stanza XXIX)
Indeed, in the fall, A.S. Pushkin experienced an extraordinary surge of strength. The Boldin autumn of 1830 was marked by an extraordinary upsurge and scope of the poet's creative genius. In the history of all world literature, it is impossible to give another example when a writer would have created so many wonderful works in three months. In this famous "Boldino autumn" Pushkin finished chapters VIII and IX of the novel "Eugene Onegin", wrote "The Tales of Belkin", four "little tragedies" ("The Miserly Knight", "Mozart and Salieri", "The Stone Guest", "Feast of time of the plague”), “The history of the village of Goryukhino”, “The Tale of the priest and his worker Balda” about 30 poems (including such as “Demons”, “Elegy”, “Prank”, “My family tree”), several critical articles and notes. The works of one "Boldino autumn" could perpetuate the name of the poet.
Pushkin lived in Boldin this autumn for about three months. Here he summed up the thoughts and ideas of previous years and outlined new themes, especially in prose.
The poet will visit Boldin two more times (in 1833 and 1834), also in autumn. And these visits left a noticeable mark on his work. But the famous "Boldino autumn" of 1830 remained unique in the poet's creative life.
The poem in octaves "Autumn" by A. S. Pushkin was written in the fall in 1833 during the poet's second visit to the village. Boldino, upon returning from the Urals.
Both in prose and in verse, A. S. Pushkin repeatedly wrote that autumn is his favorite time of the year, the time of his inspiration, creative upsurge and literary works.
It was not without reason that the poet was glad of autumn and considered it the time of his heyday: the second autumn of A. S. Pushkin on the Boldino estate, a month and a half long, turned out to be no less fruitful and rich in works than the first, epoch-making, Boldin autumn of 1830.
The most famous excerpt is “A sad time! Eyes of charm! ”, Which is the VII octave of the poem“ Autumn ”, belongs to the landscape lyrics of A. S. Pushkin. The lines of the passage are a complete picture, realistically accurately conveying the awakening of poetry in the soul of a poet inspired by his beloved sometimes.
The poetic size of the passage is iambic six-foot; the stanza of the poem is an octave.
Sad time! oh charm!
The work "Autumn", and in particular the excerpt, was not published during the author's lifetime, it was first published by V. A. Zhukovsky in the posthumous collection of works by A. S. Pushkin in 1841.
We bring to your attention the text of the poem in full:
October has already come - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has died - the road freezes through.
The murmuring stream still runs behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
In the departing fields with his hunt,
And they suffer winter from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes the sleeping oak forests.
Now it's my time: I don't like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stink, dirt - in the spring I'm sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings, the mind is constrained by melancholy.
In the harsh winter I am more satisfied,
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
As an easy sleigh run with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!
How fun, shod with sharp iron feet,
Glide on the mirror of stagnant, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant anxieties of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; half a year snow yes snow,
After all, this is finally the inhabitant of the lair,
Bear, get bored. You can't for a century
We ride in a sleigh with the young Armides
Or sour by the stoves behind double panes.
Oh, red summer! I would love you
If it weren't for the heat, and dust, and mosquitoes, and flies.
You, destroying all spiritual abilities,
you torment us; like fields, we suffer from drought;
Just how to get drunk, but refresh yourself -
There is no other thought in us, and it is a pity for the winter of the old woman,
And, seeing her off with pancakes and wine,
We make a wake for her with ice cream and ice.
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she is dear to me, dear reader,
Silent beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the native family
It draws me to itself. To tell you frankly
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her alone,
There is a lot of good in it; lover is not vain,
I found something in her a wayward dream.
How to explain it? I like her,
Like a consumptive maiden to you
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows without grumbling, without anger.
The smile on the lips of the faded is visible;
She does not hear the yawn of the grave abyss;
Still purple color plays on the face.
She is still alive today, not tomorrow.
Sad time! oh charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the magnificent nature of wilting,
Forests clad in crimson and gold,
In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with mist,
And a rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I again feel love for the habits of being:
Sleep flies in succession, hunger finds in succession;
Easily and joyfully plays in the heart of blood,
Desires boil - I'm happy again, young,
I am full of life again - this is my body
(Allow me to forgive unnecessary prosaism).
Lead me a horse; in the expanse of the open,
Waving his mane, he carries a rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire burns again - then a bright light pours,
It smolders slowly - and I read before it
Or I feed long thoughts in my soul.
And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I am sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds, and searches, as in a dream,
To pour out at last a free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes to me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
And the thoughts in my head are worried in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for a pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the verses will flow freely.
So the ship slumbers motionless in motionless moisture,
But chu! - the sailors suddenly rush, crawl
Up, down - and the sails puffed out, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and cuts through the waves.
Floats. Where are we to swim? . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
