Literary and musical composition
"My poems will have their turn"
Goals:
- to acquaint with the life and work of M Tsvetaeva ; reveal the originality of her poetics; show the tragic attitude of the poet, doomed to wandering, his disharmony internal state With surrounding life;
To teach children a deep respect for the history and culture of their country, attentive and careful attitude to the feelings of a person, his soul;
Develop the ability and skills of perception and interpretation of a poetic text;
Equipment: multimedia projector, presentation “My poems will have their turn”, recordings of the songs “I like that you are not sick of me”, “Requiem”, “Who is made of stone”, voiced poem by A. Akhmatova “Late response”; exhibition of books by Tsvetaeva.
Plan.
1. Organizational part.
Teacher: Tonight we will dedicate great poetess Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva ( slide 1)
As an epigraph to today's literary and musical composition, I took the words from the song "In Memory of Viktor Tsoi" (slide 2)
Poets are not born by chance
They fly to the ground from a height,
Their lives are surrounded deep mystery,
Although they are open and simple.
What mystery surrounds the life of Marina Tsvetaeva? We learn about this by flipping through the pages of our joint work - the oral journal "My poems will have their turn." You suggested several titles: “The mountain ash lit up with a red brush”, “Housesickness”, “I don’t need anything but my soul”, “If the soul was born winged” ... Why did we call the magazine “My poems will have their turn”? This is no coincidence.
Creativity of Marina Tsvetaeva - bright Star that flared up in Russian poetry of the early twentieth century. Home country, so dearly and truly loved by this great poet, failed and did not want to notice in time the original, unprecedented talent of M. Tsvetaeva. Recognition, fame, fame were never criteria for her talent, but she deeply believed that her homeland would eventually understand and appreciate endless love his poet, resulting in poetry.
We hear Tsvetaeva every year on December 31, when again show all of us favorite film "The Irony of Fate or Enjoy Your Bath". The song "I like that you are not sick of me" performed by Alla Pugacheva was written to the verses of M. Tsvetaeva .(slide 3)
2. Listening to a song to the words of M. Tsvetaeva from the movie "Irony of Fate"
Teacher."Thank you for loving me - not knowing yourself - so much." I hope that after our event you will fall in love with M. Tsvetaeva, just as you love Pushkin, Yesenin, Blok ... Let our evening be the answer to this song.
Back in 1913, M. Tsvetaeva foresaw the fate of her poems. She wrote:
To my poems written so early
That I did not know that I am a poet,
Ripped off like spray from a fountain
Like sparks from rockets
Bursting like little devils
In the sanctuary where sleep and incense
To my poems about youth and death,
- Unread verses! -
Scattered in the dust at the shops
(Where no one took them and does not take them!)
My poems are like precious wines
Your turn will come.
The prophecy of M. Tsvetaeva came true. Now her poems are firmly established in national culture, occupied high place in the history of poetry. “I don’t need anything but my soul,” the poetess said. And she wove her soul into the lines of her poems.
So, we open our magazine. We took the words of Shakespeare as the epigraph to the magazine:
"Receive them well: they are a mirror and a brief record of our time."
3. Opening the 1st page: "Childhood, youth" (slide 4)
Epigraph: Oh days where the morning was paradise
And noon paradise, and all the sunsets!
1st student: (slide 5)
red brush
The rowan lit up.
Leaves were falling.
I was born.
Hundreds argued
Bells.
The day was Saturday:
John the Theologian.
To me to this day
I want to gnaw
hot rowan
Bitter brush.
2nd student. So the poetess wrote about her birthday, as if she wanted to remember not only the year, but also the month. M. Tsvetaeva was born in Moscow on September 26, 1892 in a family of working scientific and artistic intelligentsia. (slide 6) Her father did not see her boots in the eye until she was 12. He was the son of a poor rural butt. With his labor and talent, he made his way in life, became a famous philologist and art critic, professor at Moscow University, founder of the museum fine arts(now the Pushkin Museum). The mother of the poetess is from a Russified Polish-German family, a musician.
Marina spent her childhood and youth in Moscow, the Moscow region, as well as in Italy, Switzerland, Germany, France, because her mother fell ill with consumption and she had to be treated abroad. Tsvetaeva studied a lot, but haphazardly because of the constant moving. Her mother died of consumption when Marina was 14 years old. From her mother, Marina has a love for music, for Pushkin.
3 student: In her memoirs about her mother, M. Tsvetaeva writes: “When instead of the desired, predetermined, almost ordered son Alexander, only I was born, the mother, proudly swallowing a sigh, said: “According to at least When my first, clearly meaningless and quite distinct word was the word "gamma", my mother only confirmed: "I knew it," and immediately began to teach me music, endlessly singing this very scale to me : "Do, Musya, do, and this is re, do - re ..." (slide 7) My mother rejoiced at my hearing and involuntarily praised for it, immediately, after each broken "well done!", Coldly added: "However, you have nothing to do with it. Rumor - from God." So it is with me forever and it remains that I have nothing to do with it, that the rumor is from God. This protected me from both self-conceit and self-love. With the piano - do-re-mi - keyboard - I also agreed immediately. I have an amazingly flexible arm.
When, two years after Alexander - that is, me, the notorious Kirill was born - that is, Asya, the mother, accustomed at one time, said: "Well, there will be a second musician." But when the first, already quite meaningful word of this Asya, entangled in the blue mesh of the bed, turned out to be "ranka`" (leg), the mother was not only upset, but indignant: "The leg? So - a ballerina!" (slide 8)
The years went by. "Leg", as if, came true. In any case, Asya, who was very light on her feet, played the piano terribly - completely out of tune, but, fortunately, so weakly; that nothing could be heard from the adjoining living room. When it came to the ear, it cut like a razor.
Mother filled us with music. (From this Music, which turned into Lyrics, we never emerged - into the light of day!) After such a mother, there was only one thing left for me: to become a poet ”
4 student: The name Marina means "marine". Tsvetaeva loved the sea very much, wrote many poems dedicated to the sea and her sea name, for example, the poem "Who is created from stone" (slide 9)
4. Listening to the song "Who is made of stone"
4 student: Tsvetaeva began writing poetry at the age of 6 in Russian, French, German. She published from the age of 16, and at the age of 18, while still a high school student, secretly from her family released the first collection of poems "Evening Album" with a circulation of 500 copies. The collection was not lost, it was noticed by Bryusov, Gumilyov and other critics. The poems were still immature, but bribed with their talent and spontaneity. The first collection was followed by two more: "Magic Lantern" and from two books "Milestones". Sergey Efronson helped in their publishing house revolutionary figures (slide 10)
Sergey Yakovlevich Efron was also born on September 26, only a year later. They met, 17-year-old and 18-year-old on the deserted Koktebel, Voloshin coast, dotted with small pebbles. She was collecting pebbles - he began to help her - a handsome, sad young man ... with amazing, huge eyes half the size of his face. Looking into them and reading everything in advance, Marina thought: if he comes up and gives me a carnelian, I will marry him. Of course, he found the carnelian immediately, by touch. (slide 11)
Seryozha and Marina got married in January 1912, and the short interval between their meeting and the beginning of the First World War was the only period of worry-free happiness in their lives. These 5-6 years were the happiest in the life of the poetess. She has a wonderful family, a beloved husband, a lovely daughter Ariadna, many meetings, in her work she has a spiritual upsurge, a lot of friends: O. Mandelstam, M. Voloshin, A. Akhmatova, Blok, Mayakovsky, met with some, corresponded with others. And she wrote about each in her poems.
Teacher: A happy life... But still... In her poems, she has both a feeling of loneliness and an anxious expectation of something inevitable, something unknown, tragic. One of these poems became the title of the next page.
5. Opening the 2nd page of the magazine: "The end of the fairy tale" (slide 12)
Epigraph: Over the city rejected by Peter,
The bell thunder rolled.
Rattles capsized surf
Over the woman you rejected.
5th student: Marina Tsvetaeva "The end of the fairy tale."
"The princess is melting like a candle,
Crossed her hands
On a golden ring
Looks sad." - "And then?"
“Suddenly, behind the fence - pipes!
The knight flies with a shield.
He kissed her on the lips.
Pressed to my heart." - "And then?"
“The wedding was played and marvelously
In her castle with gold.
Time is spent happily
Children are raised." - "And then?".
6- student: And then the tragic wheel of history began to spin. M. Tsvetaeva was far from politics, she was not interested in imperialist war(although her husband traveled on the ambulance train as a nurse, and she was very worried about him), nor February Revolution. She lived her spiritual life, but Time and History burst into her life.
In April, the second daughter, Irina, was born to the poetess. M. Tsvetaeva thought about her poems, and to where to live, how to live, she showed complete indifference. “Everything will work out,” she writes in letters. But nothing "worked out". A long separation from her husband began, which lasted 4 years. He is in the army of Kornilov - white officer. (slide 13) M. Tsvetaeva calls him a white swan, beautiful and doomed.
And from Tsvetaeva's pen, poems about the "White Camp" appear. During the years of the revolution, the drama of her fate was aggravated by the dangerous ambiguity of the position in which she found herself due to the fact that her husband was in the ranks of the white army. Without going into politics, she glorifies this army simply because her beloved was in its ranks. However, over time, she began to feel more and more sympathy for "red" Moscow.
When 1917 was completed October Revolution, the government became the sole owner and distributor of goods. It introduced ration cards. Only workers or well-known intellectuals and artists were entitled to them. Intellectuals like Tsvetaeva often went without food or warmth, selling books and exchanging things for food and firewood.
Marina had no one to turn to for support. Alya's younger sister remained in the south; her half-brother and sister Andrei and Valeria lived in Moscow, but she completely lost touch with them. The most painful was the lack of news from Efron. Absolutely one Tsvetaeva had to provide the family with food, firewood and clothes. She chopped up furniture to heat rooms, sold everything she could, accepted food and clothes from friends and neighbors. .(slide14)
In the fall of 1919, Marina Tsvetaeva sends her daughters to an orphanage, where the eldest Ariadna falls seriously ill. Mother picks her up and nurses her, and during this time on March 2, 1920, the youngest, Irina, dies of longing and hunger.
7th student.
Two hands, lightly lowered
On a baby's head!
There were - one for each -
I have been given two heads.
But both - clamped -
Furious - as she could! -
Snatching the elder from the darkness -
Didn't save the little one.
Two hands - caress, smooth
Delicate heads are lush.
Two hands - and here is one of them
The night turned out to be too much.
Light - on a thin neck -
Dandelion on a stem!
I still don't quite understand
That my child is in the ground.
This poem is the cry of a mother's soul. After the death of her daughter, Tsvetaeva achieved ration cards for herself and Ariadne, which gave her the opportunity to devote more time to creativity. In a frenzy, she wrote many poems, although only a few were published.
6. Opening of the 3rd page: "Life in a foreign land" (slide 15)
Epigraph: Through the slums of the earth's latitudes
We were scattered like orphans.
8th student. For almost three years, living in starving Moscow, in poverty, having lost a child, she had no information about her husband. Only later it turned out that Efron, along with the retreating white army, ended up in the Czech Republic and became an emigrant. Tsvetaeva loved her husband very much. Separation from him was torture for her. And yet in 1922 Tsvetaeva, drawn by love and fidelity, was forced to go abroad to find her husband. He lived in Prague, was a university student. She immediately decides to go to her husband.
Poems about Moscow, about the Motherland, poems, plays remain in the homeland; he takes with him only poems about the "White Stan", about the White Guard, because they are not needed in Russia.
Wanderings along the borders began: Germany, the Czech Republic, France. But M. Tsvetaeva does not lose touch with the poets who remained in their homeland: with Mayakovsky, Pasternak, she writes a requiem for Bryusov, she conceived a poem on the death of Yesenin.
9th student: (reads a poem dedicated to B. Pasternak).
Distance: versts, miles...
We were placed, seated,
To be quiet
On two different ends of the earth.
Distance: versts, gave ...
We were glued, unsoldered,
In two hands they parted, crucified,
And they did not know that it was an alloy.
Inspirational and sinewy…
Not quarreled - quarreled,
Stratified…
Wall and moat.
They settled us like eagles.
Conspirators: miles, gave ...
Not upset - lost.
Through the slums of the earth's latitudes
Dispersed us like orphans.
Which is already - well, which - March ?!
They smashed us like a deck of cards!
10-student. In exile, Tsvetaeva did not take root. She was far from politics. Differences between it and the bourgeois émigré circles quickly became apparent. The situation worsened and vigorous activity her husband and daughter Ariadne in the Union of Friendship with the Soviet Union. Further developments her life developed in such a way that she could no longer work fruitfully. If in 1922-1923 she published 5 books, then in 1924 - only one.
In 1925, her long-awaited son George was born. (slide 16)
Sergei Efron is graduating from the university, changing many things. Tsvetaeva is more and more eager to return to her homeland. Her reader is there ... Her fate is there ... Tsvetaeva is afraid to return to her homeland, but she always pulls her (slide 17)
11-student:
Oh, stubborn tongue!
Why would it be simple - a man,
Understand, he sang before me:
Russia, my homeland!
But also from the Kaluga hill
She opens up to me
Far away, distant land!
Foreign land, my homeland!
Distance, born like pain,
So motherland and so-Rock
that everywhere, throughout
I carry it all with me!
The distance that moved me near,
Dal saying "Come back
Home!" From all - to the mountain stars -
Me taking off seats!
Not without reason, doves of water,
I furrowed my forehead.
You! I will lose this hand of mine,
At least two! I'll sign with my lips
On the chopping block: strife of my land-
Pride, my homeland!
7. Opening the 4th page: "On native land» (slide 18)
E pygraph: Tired of you, enemies, of you, friends.
And from the pliability of Russian speech, -
I will put a silver cross on my chest,
I will cross myself and quietly set off on my way.
Teacher: In 1937, first the daughter, then the husband leaves for the USSR. In July 1939, after 17 years, Tsvetaeva returned to her homeland. The family was reunited, but ... not for long: in August, the daughter was arrested, in October - the husband, the son fell ill. And as if everything returned 20 years ago: poverty, disorder, loneliness. Russia was needed by Tsvetaeva, but Tsvetaeva is not needed new Russia (slide 19)
Anna Akhmatova, who faced the same trials, dedicated her poem "Late Response" to Tsvetaeva ( slide 20)
8. Listening to M. Akhmatova’s poem “Late Answer” ...
12th student. In 1940, they were allowed to print a small collection of Tsvetaeva's poems. She carefully selected poems, but the collection was rejected. The last poem printed in the Motherland during his lifetime dates back to 1920.
In 1941, finally, Tsvetaeva was accepted into the trade union committee of writers, but then the war began. Fear also for her son seized the desperate woman. In August, Tsvetaeva and her son go on an evacuation to Yelabuga, a small quiet town in Tatarstan, where no one knows her, she knows no one, an attempt to get a job did not work.
And then her strength left her, she writes that she was at an impasse. Her husband is executed, all the people she loves are in danger, she is without a job, without a livelihood, her son will probably go to war. She decides to take the last exceptional step - she commits suicide.
Teacher. In Yelabuga there is a conditional grave of Tsvetaeva - is it real or not? Nobody knows for sure. And the poems of the poetess are remembered (slide 21):
You go, you look like me
Eyes looking down.
I dropped them too!
Walker, stop!
Read - chicken blindness
And poppies typing a bouquet,
That they called me Marina
And how old was I.
Don't think that this is a grave.
That I will appear, threatening ...
I loved myself too much
Laugh when you can't!
And the blood rushed to the skin
And curls curled ...
I was too, passerby!
Walker, stop!
Pick yourself a wild stem
And a berry after him, -
Cemetery strawberries
There is no bigger and sweeter.
But just don't stand gloomy,
She lowered her head to her chest.
Think of me easily
It's easy to forget about me.
How the beam illuminates you!
You're covered in gold dust...
– And don't let it bother you
9. Listening to the song "Requiem" performed by A. Pugacheva.
10. Opening of the last 5th page of the magazine "The poet is always with people"
Epigraph: Dancing step passed on the ground! -
Heaven's daughter!
Teacher. Marina Tsvetaeva cannot be confused with anyone else. Her poems can be unmistakably recognized by a special chant, by intonation. Marina Tsvetaeva is a great poet, and her contribution to the culture of Russian poetry of the twentieth century is significant. The legacy of the poetess is great and difficult to see. Among the created by her, in addition to lyrics - 17 poems, 8 poetic dramas, auto-biographical, memoir, historian - literary and philosophical-critical prose. Time saw Marina Tsvetaeva, recognized her as necessary and called her. She came confidently, her hour has come, her real hour.
“My poems are a diary,” wrote M. Tsvetaeva. In poetry, the whole person is visible. It shines through everything. It is impossible to hide neither excitement, nor vulgarity, nor indifference. Marina Tsvetaeva wrote without concealment, prayerfully, takeaway. She delivers a monologue the length of a lyrical volume, the length of a lifetime.
It's time to put out the lantern
Overdoor…
Thus ends the "diary" of Tsvetaeva.
13 student:
Poets are not born by chance
They fly to the ground from a height,
Their life is surrounded by deep mystery,
Although they are open and simple.
They leave after completing their mission.
They are recalled by the higher worlds,
Unknown to our minds
According to the rules of the space game.
They leave without finishing the verse,
When the orchestra plays touches in their honor:
Actors, musicians and poets -
Healers of our weary souls.
“My poems ... their turn will come” (M. I. Tsvetaeva)
Art in the light of conscience
Formation Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva(1892-1941) as a poet is associated primarily with the Moscow Symbolists. First poetry collection "Evening Album" with the subtitle "Childhood - Love - Only shadows" (1910), dedicated to the artist who died early M. K. Bashkirtseva, was highly appreciated V. Ya. Bryusov, rendered strong influence on her early poetry, poets Ellis (L. L. Kobylinsky), N. S. Gumilyov, M. A. Voloshin.
Already in the early poems, the confessional inherent in the poetess, diary orientation, dialogism, a combination of unreality with real people and events, a bright personal beginning.
Scattered in the dust at the shops
(Where no one took them and does not take them!),
My poems are like precious wines
Your turn will come.
M. I. Tsvetaeva, not wanting to belong to any literary direction, created an individual poetic style, easily coping with the most complex artistic tasks.
In the early 1920s, the poetic style of M. I. Tsvetaeva was finally formed ("Versts"(1921-1922); "Craft"(1923)): richness of images, suggestive meaning, synthesis of folk and modern language, an unusual syntax using a dash as a word replacement.
But my river - yes with your river,
But my hand is yes with your hand
They will not converge, my joy, until
Dawn will not catch up - dawn.
Poems about Blok
In the center of the cycles of poems by M. I. Tsvetaeva, there is always a person who is not understood by contemporaries and descendants, who stands above narrow-minded sympathy. The poetess, to a certain extent, identifies herself with her heroes and with contemporary poets. A. A. Blok, A. A. Akhmatova, O. E. Mandelstam, and with historical figures or literary heroes Marina Mniszek, Don Giovanni and others, classifying them as the upper world soul, love, poetry.
M. I. Tsvetaeva did not accept Soviet power. Poems 1917-1921 full of sympathy white movement("Swan camp"). She did not want to leave her homeland, despite the devastation, hunger and death of one of her daughters. Only the desire to restore the family forced her to take this step. M. I. Tsvetaeva outlined her concept of art in an essay "Art in the light of conscience"(1932), in which she stipulated that she does not reveal the full truth to the reader, but reserves the right to change her point of view. Art appears to her in the form of a world where opposites unite, and poetry becomes a border point where these forces merge without mutually annihilating.
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To my poems written so early
That I did not know that I am a poet,
Ripped off like spray from a fountain
Like sparks from rockets
Bursting like little devils
In the sanctuary where sleep and incense
To my poems about youth and death,
- Unread poems! —
Scattered in the dust at the shops
(Where no one took them and does not take them!),
My poems are like precious wines
Your turn will come.
Analysis of the poem "To my poems written so early" by Tsvetaeva
M. Tsvetaeva began to write poetry in a very early age. They quickly gained recognition in literary society. However, in wide circles her largely cryptic lyrics, laced with symbolism, never caught on. The ensuing revolution generally banned the work of the poetess at the official level. Forced emigration also did not bring Tsvetaeva the long-awaited fame. The literary circles of the Russian diaspora were more concerned about criticism Soviet Union and were in no hurry to accept into their ranks the poetess, who rejected the ideological struggle and strove only for pure creativity. Returning to her homeland finally buried Tsvetaeva's hopes for recognition.
The poem "To my verses written so early ..." is now perceived as prophetic. It was created by Tsvetaeva back in 1913, but contains thoughts that became reality after the death of the poetess.
Tsvetaeva talks about the sad fate of her poems. She claimed that inspiration always comes to her suddenly. It doesn't look heavy at all. literary work which some poets and writers like to flaunt. The works of Tsvetaeva are like "splashes from a fountain", "sparks from rockets". They are not subject to her will. The poetess only has the duty to transfer elusive fleeting thoughts to paper. These "little devils" are rapidly bursting into everyday life, but remain incomprehensible to most readers. Deeply personal works, conveying all the subtlety of the sensations and experiences of the poetess herself, become "unread poems."
Tsvetaeva's prophecy appears at the end of the poem. She applies a very precise comparison of her works with wines. And those and others for a long time collecting dust on the shelves of shops (wine cellars). But time only makes them more valuable and expensive. The statement of the young poetess that her poems would still “take their turn” at that time looked overly self-confident. But after almost half a century, this prediction completely came true. Tsvetaeva was overtaken by later recognition, both at home and around the world. Her works, like "precious wines", are considered one of the pinnacles of Russian poetry.
Marina Tsvetaeva wrote an innovative, expressive and highly dramatic page in the history of Russian poetry. She was born on September 26, 1892, almost in the center of Moscow, in a quiet Trekhprudny Lane, in a small cozy house. She loved her home like a native creature. Marina Tsvetaeva was born into the family of an art professor and a talented pianist. She began writing poetry at the age of six. First of all, musicality passed from her mother to her - a special gift to perceive the world through sound. Musicality most directly affected her poems, in the very methods of verse "performing". Sound, music in her mind were the womb of verse and the progenitor poetic image. It seems to me that the music of speech is the most important thing for Marina Tsvetaeva.
The first collections of poetry by Marina Tsvetaeva are "Evening Album" and "Magic Lantern". Both books included almost semi-childish poems, sincere, spontaneous and pure. It was in these books, naive and talented, that her precious quality as a poet was revealed. In her album, Tsvetaeva is distinguished by at least two features: firstly, she did not invent anything, that is, she did not fall into writing, and, secondly, she did not imitate anyone. To be herself, not to borrow anything from anyone, not to imitate, not to be influenced - such Tsvetaeva came out of childhood and remained such forever.
Voloshin was the first to read the "Evening Album". His response was a great joy and support for the poetess. “Marina Tsvetaeva is internally talented and internally original,” Gumilyov also responded approvingly. He said: “This book is not just a book of girlish confessions, but also a book beautiful poems» . Although the estimates of Voloshin and Gumilyov seemed too high, Tsvetaeva soon justified them. As a poet and as a person, she developed rapidly.
"Evening Album" and "Magic Lantern" are interesting to us now as books - forerunners of the future Marina Tsvetaeva. She is all in them: with her utmost sincerity, a clearly expressed personality, and even a note of tragedy nevertheless sounded muffled among the childish, ingenuous, naive and bright verses:
You gave me childhood better than fairy tales
And give me death at seventeen...
The poems of 1916-1917 and later years made up the books of "Verst". There were two of them: "Versts-1" and "Versts-2". There was a war. Tsvetaeva's poetry distinguished the voices of countless roads leading to different parts of the world, but equally breaking off in the dark abyss of war:
The world began in the darkness of the nomadic ...
Pity and sadness overwhelmed Tsvetaeva's heart:
Insomnia pushed me on my way.
- Oh, how beautiful you are,
my dim Kremlin! -
Tonight I kiss on the chest -
All the round warring earth!...
Tragically, sadly, disastrously sounded her poems, caused by the war. Tsvetaeva retained the position of a person shaken by universal sorrow. But the voice in defense of a suffering person is well heard in her poems. In the poem " White sun and low, low clouds" the disaster of the people pierced the soul of Marina Tsvetaeva:
What angered you these gray huts -
God! - and why shoot so many in the chest?
The train went, and the soldiers howled, howled,
And dusted, dusted the retreating path ...
In the time of national grief, Tsvetaeva accepted the people's cry and responded to it to everyone.
heart. Together with the people's grief, her verse also included vernacular. Tsvetaeva lived like everyone else, she lived in poverty, like everyone else, and this made her related to many people. In the verses we hear Tsvetaev's hatred for "bourgeoisness" and for the world of the "well-fed":
I have two enemies in the world,
Two twins, inextricably merged:
The hunger of the hungry - and the satiety of the well-fed! ..
She was on the side of the "hungry", not the "satiated" and always liked to emphasize this important circumstance for her. “... I rank myself among the rabble,” she said in one of the poems of those years. During the years of the revolution, she appreciated the trumpet voice of Mayakovsky:
Above crosses and trumpets,
Baptized in fire and smoke
Heavyfoot Archangel -
Hello, forever, Vladimir!
Her lyrics of the years of the revolution and civil war filled with sadness as she was absorbed in waiting for news from her husband.
“I am all wrapped up in sadness,” she wrote. “I live in sorrow.”
In 1922, Marina Tsvetaeva emigrated abroad. The first three years she lived in Prague. She wrote a lot. She finished the poem "Well Done", brought with her, wrote poems dedicated to separation from her homeland. In exile, Tsvetaeva often turns to prose. He writes memoir articles dedicated to Voloshin, Mandelstam, Bely. In exile, she did not take root. More and more often her poems were rejected by both newspapers and magazines. Poverty, humiliation surrounded the poet from all sides, but Tsvetaeva continued to work every day and every free hour. Loneliness, inability to work, thoughts about the death of her husband led to suicide. On August 31, 1941, Marina Tsvetaeva passed away.
The poet dies - his poetry remains. Tsvetaeva's prophecy was fulfilled that her poems "would have their turn." Now they are in cultural life world, into our spiritual life, having taken a high place in the history of poetry.
Marina Tsvetaeva is a star of the first magnitude. For her, poetry is not a job, not a craft, but a spiritual state, the only way existence. Saturation of images, capacity and brevity - all the qualities that not the past, but our years demand from poetry. More than fifty years ago, to the question of a Parisian newspaper: "What do you think about your work?" Marina Tsvetaeva replied with lines from her early poem:
... to my poems, like precious wines,
Your turn will come...
And in 1939 she stated:
My poems will always be good ...
Both Marina Tsvetaeva's "formulas of the writer's destiny" have come true today.
By decision of UNESCO, 1992 was named the year of Marina Tsvetaeva, whose 100th birthday was then celebrated. And it really wasn't a formality. calendar date, but a fair (but, as always! - posthumous) recognition of a life and creative feat great Poet.
In Tsvetaeva, everything is striking: both poetry and fate. Undoubtedly, in Russian poetry it is the most tragic of lyric poets. Emigrated in 1922 after her beloved husband, Sergei Yakovlevich Efron, to Prague, she was not published there because she was too Russian for emigration, and was not published in her homeland, in Russia, because she was an emigrant. She lost her homeland twice, leaving in 1922 and returning in 1939, when her husband was repressed, her daughter was arrested when she did not know what would happen to her tomorrow, when she could not have a job or a permanent place of residence. And as a result - suicide on August 31, 1941:
Oh black mountain
Eclipsed - the whole world!
It's time - it's time - it's time
Return the ticket to the creator...
... I do not need any holes
Ear, nor prophetic eyes.
To your crazy world
There is only one answer - refusal. But you can even still not know anything about the fate of Tsvetaeva, but read only a few of her poems, and you are already overcome by the feeling that you are standing on the edge of the abyss. Seventeen-year-old Marina speaks passionately about her desire to know the world, to experience everything:
I want everything: with the soul of a gypsy
Go to the songs for robbery,
For all to suffer to the sound of the organ
And the Amazon rush into battle ...
And suddenly, unexpectedly, on the highest note, it breaks off:
I love the cross, and silk, and helmets,
My soul is a trace of moments ...
You gave me childhood - better than a fairy tale
And give me death - at seventeen!
In general, extreme maximalism, exactingness to oneself and others, insatiable thirst for feelings, knowledge, movement forward, whirlwind play of passions are the most bright features lyrical heroine Tsvetaeva. She rather male character, and perhaps that is why Tsvetaeva's poems about love had such a strong effect on me: a unique combination of female pain (because there are almost no happy endings in her poems) and unfeminine stamina in the face of an opponent, no matter who they are - a man, a woman, the unrhyming word or Destiny itself.
Who else can say this to a woman left by her beloved:
I know everything - do not argue!
Again sighted - no longer a lover!
Where love recedes
There comes Death the gardener.
Surrendering completely to the seething passions, it is not in them, however, that he finds support lyrical heroine Tsvetaeva in the most difficult moments of her life. When it seems that the pain is insurmountable, that everything - for the umpteenth time! - destroyed and burned to the ground, the most intimate, reviving feelings come to the rescue. This is a sense of the Word, one's own, God-given, poetic purpose, and a sense of the Motherland. That's what Tsvetaeva's desk was like - a place of everyday voluntary imprisonment, the jailer she sang " normal life”:
The pillar of the stylite, the mouth of the shutter -
You were my throne, space -
That was to me that the sea of crowds
Jewish - a burning pillar!
Poetry and life for Tsvetaeva are not just synonyms. Moreover, “to live” literally meant “to write”. In 1927, telling her sister about the difficult life of an emigrant, Tsvetaeva wrote: “... I trudge with a purse, knowing that the morning is lost: now I will clean, cook, and when everyone is fed, everything is cleaned - I lie, like this, all empty, not a single line! And in the morning I’m so torn to the table - and this is every day! The poems she wrote - the revelation of the poet's soul - were as necessary for life as blood. Yes, they were the blood of the soul:
Opened the veins: unstoppable,
Irreversibly gushing life.
Bring bowls and plates!
Every plate will be small,
The bowl is flat.
Over the edge - and past -
Into the black earth, feed the reeds.
Irrevocable, unstoppable
Irreversibly whipping verse.
Perhaps, in a fit of extreme despair, she wrote one of her most tragic poems, "Longing for the Motherland." She refuses everything, she has no place anywhere; even the word native language, always who were salvation, can no longer help. Every house turns out to be someone else's, and the temple is empty. There seems to be nothing in the world that can withstand the emptiness. And suddenly everything changes:
Every house is alien to me, every temple is empty to me.
And everything is the same, and everything is one.
But if on the way - a bush
It rises, especially the mountain ash ...
The feeling of one's own land, therefore, remained in spite of everything, and a simple rowan bush, a twin of Tsvetaeva's soul, returns meaning, communes to the world. Loneliness is no longer limitless, just the soul of the Poet is out of time and is involved not only in the world, but also in infinity, the Universe.
It is difficult for Tsvetaeva to read, her poems require great mental work. But it seems to me that this is good: it does not allow us to calm down in warm comfort, it turns our faces to tension, passion, pain. To the question of eternity.
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