Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "TURNED"

1. * * * (Like a white stone at the bottom of the well)

Входимость: 2. Размер: 2кб.

2. Sleep

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

3. Михайлова Галина: "Миф о поэте" Анны Ахматовой в западноевропейском литературном контексте: интертекстуальный анализ

Входимость: 1. Размер: 86кб.

4. * * * (We noiselessly walked through the house)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

5. * * * (He was jealous, fearful and tender)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

1. * * * (Like a white stone at the bottom of the well)

Входимость: 2. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: Like a white stone at the bottom of the well, One memory lies in me. I cannot and I do not want to struggle, It is both joy and suffering. I think that anyone who looks into my Eyes will all at once see him. More sad and pensive he'll become That heard the story of this suffering. I know that the gods had turned People to objects, without killing mind, That divine sadness lived eternally. You're turned into my memory, I find.

2. Sleep

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: I know that you dreamed of me, That's why I could not sleep. The muddy light had turned blue And showed me the path to keep. You saw the queen's garden, White palace, luxurious one, And the black patterned fence Before resounding stone perron. You went, not knowing the way, And thinking, "Faster, faster! If only to find her now, Not wake before meeting her." And the janitor at the red gate Shouted at you, "Where to, alack!" The ice crackled and broke, Underfoot, water went black. "This is the lake, and inside There's an island," thus thought you. And then suddenly from the dark Appeared a fire hot-blue. Awakening, you did moan In harsh light of a nasty day, And then at once you called For me loudly by my name.

3. Михайлова Галина: "Миф о поэте" Анны Ахматовой в западноевропейском литературном контексте: интертекстуальный анализ

Входимость: 1. Размер: 86кб.

Часть текста: литературный статус "Поэмы без героя" Ахматова обозначила свое новаторство как предельную смысловую интенсификацию стиха1. Уточним: в "Поэме без героя" информационная емкость тождественна предельной цитатности поэтической строки. Пути, на которых Ахматова в "триптихе" реализует тайную знаковость2 своего письма, способы "перечитывания" ею источников, ставших предтекстами ее стихов, - предмет дальнейших рассуждений, в результате которых обнаруженные неявные смыслы исследуемого сегмента текста организуются в единое целое и проясняют более глубокую во временном и в онтологическом плане сущность. Объектом анализа станут следующие строфы поэмы: Ты... Ровесник Мамврийского дуба, Вековой собеседник луны. Не обманут притворные стоны, Ты железные пишешь законы, Хаммураби, ликурги, солоны У тебя поучиться должны. Существо это странного нрава. Он не ждет, чтоб подагра и слава Впопыхах усадили его В юбилейные пышные кресла, А несет по цветущему вереску, По пустыням свое торжество. И ни в чем не повинен: ни в этом, Ни в другом и ни в третьем... Поэтам Вообще не пристали грехи. Проплясать пред Ковчегом Завета Или сгинуть!.. Да что там! Про это Лучше их рассказали стихи3 Текст семантически...

4. * * * (We noiselessly walked through the house)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 3кб.

Часть текста: We noiselessly walked through the house, Not waiting for anything. They showed me way to the sick man, And I did not recognize him. He said, "Now let God have the glory" And became more thoughtful and blue. "It's long time that I hit the road, I've only been waiting for you. So you bother me in my fever, I keep those words from you. Tell me: can you not forgive me?" And I said, "I can do." It seemed, that the walls were shining From floor to the ceiling that day. Upon the silken blanket A withered arm lay. And the thrown-over predatory profile Became horribly heavy and stark, And one could not hear the breathing Through the bitten-up lips turned dark. But suddenly the last bit of strength Came alive in the eyes of blue: "It is good that you released me, Not always kind were you." And then the face became younger, And I recognized him once more. And then I said, "Holy Father, Accept a slave of yours."

5. * * * (He was jealous, fearful and tender)

Входимость: 1. Размер: 2кб.

Часть текста: He was jealous, fearful and tender, He loved me like God's only light, And that she not sing of the past times He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" And I buried the joyous songbird Behind a round well near a tree. I promised that I would not mourn her. But my heart turned to stone without choice, And it seems to me that everywhere And always I'll hear her sweet voice.