Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "HOUR"

1. * * * (To lose the freshness of the words and sense, for us)

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2. To my dear one

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3. * * * (When with a strong but tired hand)

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4. In Memory of June 19, 1914

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5. * * * (Divine angel, who betrothed us)

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6. Тименчик Р.: Храм премудрости Бога: стихотворение Анны Ахматовой "Широко распахнуты ворота... "

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7. * * * (On the blooming lilac bushes)

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8. * * * (Has my fate really been so altered)

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9. * * * (How I love, how I loved to stare)

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10. * * * (How spacious are these squares)

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1. * * * (To lose the freshness of the words and sense, for us)

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Часть текста: To lose the freshness of the words and sense, for us, Is it same as for an artist to lose vision, Or for an actor - voice and motion, Or for a gorgeous woman - her finesse? But do not seek now for yourself to keep What heaven has given to you below: We have been judged - and we ourselves both know - To give away, and not to keep. Or else alone you go to heal the blind, To know yourself in heavy hour of doubt The students' smug shaudenfreude And the uncaring of mankind.

2. To my dear one

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Часть текста: Do not send a dove in my direction, Do not write tumultuous notes at all, Do not fan my face with the March breeze. I have now entered a green heaven, Where there's calm for body and for soul Underneath the shady maple trees. And from here I can see a town, Booths and barracks of a palace made of stone Chinese yellow bridge over the ice. For three hours now you wait for me - you're frozen, But you cannot move from the perron, At the stars you marvel with your eyes. Like a gray squirrel you'll jump on the alder, Like a frightful swallow I will go, I will then call for you like a swan, So that the bridegroom would not fear In the blue and swirling falling snow To await his deceased bride alone.

3. * * * (When with a strong but tired hand)

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Часть текста: When with a strong but tired hand In dreary capital of nation Upon the whiteness of the page I did record my recantations, And wind into the window round Poured in a wet and silent stream The sky was burning, burning bright With smoky dawn, it so did seem. I did not look at the Nieva, The dawn-drenched granite did not view, And it appeared that that I, awake, my Unforgettable, saw you.. But then the unexpected night Covered the before-autumn town, That, so as to assist my flight, The ashen shadows melted down. I only took with me the cross, That you had given on day of treason That wormwood steppe should be in bloom And winds, like sirens, sing in season. And here upon an empty wall He keeps me from the broodings dour And I don't fear to recall Anything - even the final hour.

4. In Memory of June 19, 1914

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Часть текста: We have grown old by hundred years, and this Happened to us in one hour then: The brief summer was already ending, Steamed the body of ploughed-up plain. Suddenly glistened the quiet road, Cry flew, ringing silverly.. Closing my face, I was praying to God Before first battle to murder me. From mind the shades of songs and passions Disappeared like load from misuse. To her - descended - the Almighty ordered To be the fearful book of menacing news.

5. * * * (Divine angel, who betrothed us)

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Часть текста: Divine angel, who betrothed us Secretly on winter morn, From our sadness-free existence Does not take his darkened eyes. For this reason we love sky, And fresh wind, and air so thin, And the dark tree branches Behind fence of iron. For this reason we love the strict, Many-watered, and dark city, And we love the parting, And brief meetings' hour.

6. Тименчик Р.: Храм премудрости Бога: стихотворение Анны Ахматовой "Широко распахнуты ворота... "

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Часть текста: Храм премудрости Бога: стихотворение Анны Ахматовой "Широко распахнуты ворота... " Slavica Hierosolymitana. The magnes press. The Hebrew University. Jerusalem. 1981. № 5-6. C. 297-317. Храм премудрости Бога: стихотворение Анны Ахматовой "Широко распахнуты ворота..."   Почти все писавшие об акмеизме останавливались на "архитектурных" стихотворениях. Получив тему собора в наследство от символизма, а вместе с темой и "символистские" обертоны, Гумилев и Мандельштам воспели христианские храмы: Падуанский собор, средневековый храм, где "в ночи работали масоны", блеск мозаики в венецианском соборе, евангелическую церковь, Казанский, Исаакиевский и пятиглавые московские соборы, Нотр-Дам и Айя-Софию. "Айя-София" вошло в специальную подборку собственно акмеистических стихотворений в "Аполлоне" (1913, № 3; отметим, кстати, в этой подборке и стих. Нарбута "Как быстро высыхают крыши...", где тема храма преломлена в особой, нарбутовской поэтике "богохульства"). С началом войны мандельштамовское стихотворение по неизбежности приобрело патриотическое звучание, актуализировались его славянофильские подтексты, на первый план выступила тютчевская тема: И своды древния Софии В возобновленной Византии Вновь осенят Христов алтарь! В первый год войны было сочинено немало новых стихотворений на этот предмет - "У Босфора" Сологуба 1 , "Босфор" Кузмина, "Царьград" Скалдина, "Царьград" Городецкого ("Святой Премудрости собор / Давно пленил славянский взор...") и мн. др. На публичных выступлениях 1915 года, в которых он почти всегда участвовал наряду с Ахматовой, Мандельштам неизменно читал "Айя-София". В этот год идеи Владимира Соловьева и других русских религиозных мыслителей о Софии как мире...

7. * * * (On the blooming lilac bushes)

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Часть текста: On the blooming lilac bushes Sky is sowing the light rain. Beats with wings upon the window The white, the white Spirits' day. For a friend to be returning From the sea - especial hour. I am dreaming of the far shore, Of the stone, sand and tower. I will enter, meeting light, On the top of one of these towers. In the land of swamps and fields There are in memory no towers. Only I will sit on the porch, There, where dense shadows lay. Help me in my fright, at last, The white, the white Spirits' day.

8. * * * (Has my fate really been so altered)

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Часть текста: Has my fate really been so altered, Or is this game truly truly over? Where are winters, when I fell asleep In the morning in the sixth hour? In a new way, severely and calmly, I now live on the wild shore. I can no longer pronounce The tender or idle word. I can't believe that Christmas-tide is coming. Touchingly green is this the steppe before The beaming sun. Like a warm Wave, licks the tender shore. When from happiness languid and tired I was, then of such quiet With trembling inexpressible I dreamed And this in my imagining I deemed The after-mortal wandering of the soul.

9. * * * (How I love, how I loved to stare)

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Часть текста: How I love, how I loved to stare At the ironclad shores, On the balcony, where forever No foot stepped, not mine, not yours. And in truth you are - a capital For the mad and luminous us; But when over Nieva sail Those special, pure hours And the winds of May fly over You past the iron beams You are like a dying sinner Seeing heavenly dreams

10. * * * (How spacious are these squares)

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Часть текста: How spacious are these squares, How resonant bridges and stark! Heavy, peaceful, and starless Is the covering of the dark. And we walk on the fresh snow As if we were mortal people. That we are together this hour Unseparable - is it not a miracle? The knees go unwittingly weaker It seems there's no air - so long! You are my life's only blessing, You are the sun of my song. Now the dark buildings are stirring And I'll fall on earth as they shake - Inside of my village garden I do not fear to awake.