And the silver month froze brightly over the silver age. And the silver month brightly A.A. Akhmatova froze over the silver age

"Poem without a Hero" Anna Akhmatova

Part I
year thirteen
(1913)

Di rider finirai
Pria dell' aurora.
Don Giovanni

(Stop laughing
Before dawn comes.
Don Juan (it.)

“I still have a song or sorrow
The last winter before the war.
"White Flock"

Introduction

From the fortieth year
As from a tower I look at everything.
Like saying goodbye again
With what I said goodbye a long time ago
Like being baptized
And I go under the dark vaults.

dedication

And since I didn't have enough paper
I'm writing on your draft.
And now someone else's word comes through
And like a snowflake on my hand
Confidently and without reproach melts.
And the dark eyelashes of Antinous
Suddenly they got up, and there is green smoke,
And the breeze blew relatives ...
Is it not the sea? - No, it's just needles.
Graveyard and in boiling foam
Closer, closer… “Marche funebre1…”

"In my hot youth -
when George the Third was King…”
Byron.2

I lit the sacred candles
And together with those who did not come to me
Forty-first I meet the year
But the Lord's strength is with us,
The flame drowned in the crystal
And wine, like poison, burns ...
It's bursts of creepy conversation
When all delusions are resurrected,
And the clock still doesn't strike...
There is no measure of my anxiety,
I stand on the threshold like a shadow
I guard the last comfort.
And I hear a lingering call
And I feel cold wet.
I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm burning
And, as if remembering something,
Turning half a turn
In a quiet voice I say:
You Wrong: Doge's Venice
It's nearby. But masks in the hallway
And cloaks, and wands, and crowns
You will have to leave today.
I decided to glorify you today,
New Year's bastards.
This Faust, that Don Juan...
And some more with a tympanum
The goat-leg was dragged.
And the walls parted for them,
Sirens howled in the distance
And, like a dome, the ceiling swelled.
Everything is clear: not to me, so to whom ?!
Dinner was prepared here not for them.
And they weren't going to be forgiven.
Chromium last, coughs dryly.
I hope unclean spirit
You dare not enter here.
I forgot your lessons
Rednecks and false prophets,
But you have not forgotten me.
As the future ripens in the past,
So in the future the past smolders
Terrible holiday of dead leaves.
Only ... because I was afraid of mummers.
For some reason I always thought
That some kind of extra shadow
Among them without a face and a name
Messed up. Let's open the meeting
On New Year's Day.
That midnight Hoffmannian
I won't tell the world
And I would ask others ... Wait,
You don't seem to be on the list
In capuchins, clowns, lysis -
Striped dressed up with a mile,
Painted variegated and rude -
You are the same age as the oak of Mamre,
The age-old interlocutor of the moon.
Do not deceive feigned groans:
You write iron laws, -
Hamurabi, Lycurgi, Solons
You must learn.
A creature of strange disposition,
He doesn't wait for gout and fame
Hastily seated him
In jubilee lush chairs,
And carries along the flowering heather,
Through the deserts their triumph.
And I'm not guilty of anything - not of this,
Not in the other, and not in the third. Poets
In general, sins did not stick.
Dance before the Ark of the Covenant,
Or perish ... but what is there! about it
Poems told them better.

Shout: "Hero to the fore!"
Don't worry
Definitely out now...
Well you all run away together
As if everyone found a bride
Leaving eye to eye
Me in the dusk with this frame
From which the same looks
Still unmourned hour.
It doesn't all come up right away.
Like one musical phrase
I hear a few confused words.
After... a flat step ladder,
A flash of gas and in the distance
Clear voice: "I'm ready to die."

You are more voluptuous, you are more bodily
Alive, brilliant shadow.
Evgeny Baratynsky

The satin coat opened...
Don't be mad at me, little dove
Not you, but myself I will execute.
You see, there, behind the grainy blizzard,
Theatrical Arabchats
They start a fuss again.
How grandly the skids ring
And the goat's cavity drags.
Bye, shadows! He is there alone.
On the wall his thin profile -
Gabriel, or Mephistopheles
Yours, beauty, paladin?
You ran to me from the portrait
And an empty frame before the light
Waiting for you on the wall
So dance alone without a partner.
I'm the role of the ancient choir
Agree to accept...

You came to Russia from nowhere
Oh my blond wonder
Columbine of the tenth years!
Why are you looking so vaguely and vigilantly? —
Petersburg doll, actor,
You are one of my doppelgangers.
To other titles, this one is also necessary
Attribute. Oh friend of poets!
I am the heir of your glory.
Here, to the music of the marvelous master,
Leningrad wild wind
I see the dance of the court bones

Wedding candles float
Kissing shoulders under the veil
The temple thunders: "Dove, come! .."
Mountains of Parma violets in April
And a date in the Maltese Chapel,
Like poison in your chest.

The house of the motley comedy wagon,
Peeling cupids
They guard the Venus altar.
You cleaned the bedroom like a gazebo.
Village girl-neighbor -
The cheerful stapler does not recognize.

And golden candlesticks
And on the walls of azure saints -
It's half-stolen good.
All in flowers, like "Spring" by Botticelli,
You took friends in bed
And the duty Pierrot languished.

I haven't seen your husband
I, the cold clinging to the glass
Or the chiming of the fortress clock.
Do not be afraid, I do not sword at home,
Come boldly towards me,
Your horoscope has been ready for a long time.

“The Bryansk people are falling, growing at Mantashev.
There is no longer a young man, no longer ours.
Velimir Khlebnikov

Christmas holidays were warmed by bonfires.
And carriages fell from the bridges,
And the whole mourning city floated
For an unknown purpose
Along the Neva, or against the current, -
Just away from your graves.
In Summer, the weather vane sang subtly
And silver month brightly
Above silver age cold.

And always in frosty silence,
Pre-war, prodigal and formidable,
There was a hidden rumble.
But then he was heard deafly,
He hardly touched the ear
And drowned in the snowdrifts of the Nevsky

Who wanders under the windows after midnight,
On whom mercilessly directs
Dim beam corner lamp -
He saw how a slender mask
On the way back from Damascus
She did not return home alone.
Already on the stairs smells of perfume,
And a hussar cornet with verses
And with senseless death in my chest
Call if you have the courage
He is for you, he is for his La Traviata,
I came to bow. Look.
Not in the damned Masurian marshes.
Not on the blue Carpathian heights...
He is on your doorstep...
Across..,
May God forgive you!

I am yours old conscience —
Found a burnt story
And on the edge of the windowsill
In the house of the deceased
She put it down and left on tiptoe.

Afterword

Everything is fine; lies a poem
And, as usual, she is silent.
Well, what if the topic breaks out,
Knock on the window with a fist?
And to this call from afar
Suddenly a terrible sound
Rumble, groan and scream ...
And a vision of crossed arms.

Part II

Tails
(Intermezzo)

V. G. Garshin

“I drink Leta’s water…
The doctor forbade me to be despondent"
Alexander Pushkin

My editor was unhappy
He swore to me that he was busy and sick,
Locked up my phone...
How is it possible! three themes at once!
Reading the last sentence
Don't know who is in love with whom.

I gave up at first. But again
The word fell out after the word,
The music box rumbled.
And over that broken vial,
With a straight and green tongue,
A poison unknown to me burned.

And in a dream everything seemed to be
I'm writing a libretto for someone
And there is no end to music.
But sleep is also a thing!
«Soft embalmer»3, Blue bird.
Elsinore terraces parapet.

And I myself was not happy
This infernal harlequinade
From afar heard a howl.
I hoped that by
Flies like flakes of smoke
Through the mysterious dusk of needles.

Do not fight off the motley junk!
It's the old freak Cagliostro
For my dislike for him.
And the bats fly
And the hunchbacks run on the roof,
And the gypsy licks the blood.

Roman carnival midnight
And it does not smell, - the chant of the Cherubim
Behind the high window is trembling.
No one knocks on my door
Only a mirror dreams of a mirror,
Silence guards silence.

But there was a topic for me
Like a crushed chrysanthemum
On the floor when the coffin is being carried.
Between remember and remember, others,
Distance as from Luga
To the country of satin bouts.

Bes beguiled in laying to rummage ...
Well, it can still happen
That it's all my fault.
I am the quietest, I am simple
- "Plantain", "White Flock" -
Justify? But how, friends!?

So you know: accused of plagiarism ...
Am I guilty of others? ..
In fact, this is the last time...
I agree to fail
And I do not hide my embarrassment
Under a secluded gas mask.

That centennial charmer
Suddenly woke up and have fun
I wanted to. I don't care.
The lacy one drops the handkerchief,
Squinting languidly because of the lines
And Bryullov beckons with his shoulder.

I drank it in a drop of each
And, demonic black thirst
Obsessed, didn't know how
I have to deal with the demoniac.
I threatened her with a star chamber
And drove to the native attic,

Into the darkness, under Manfred's firs,
And to the shore where Shelly is dead
Looking straight at the sky, lay,
And all the larks around the world
Ripped apart the abyss of the ether
And George held the torch,

But she insisted stubbornly:
"I'm not that English lady
And not at all Clara Gazul,
I don't have a pedigree at all.
Except sunny and fabulous.
And July himself brought me.

And your ambiguous glory
Twenty years lying in a ditch
I will not serve like that yet;
We are still drinking with you
And I'm royal with my kiss
I will reward your evil midnight.

1941. January. (3-5th in the afternoon)
Leningrad.
Fountain House.
Rewritten in Tashkent
January 19, 1942 (at night during
light earthquake).

Epilogue
City and Friend

So under the roof of the Fountain House,
Where the evening wanders languor
With a lantern and a bunch of keys, -
I came around with a distant echo
Inappropriate disturbing laughter
The impenetrable dream of things, -

Where is the witness of everything in the world,
At sunset and at dawn
Looks into the room old maple,
And, foreseeing our parting,
me withered black hand,
How does he reach out for help?
…………..
And the ground was burning under my feet
And such a star looked
Into my yet abandoned house,
And I was waiting for the conditional sound ...
It's somewhere out there - near Tobruk,
It's around here somewhere.
You are my formidable and my last,
Bright listener of dark nonsense:
Hope, forgiveness, honor.
Before me you burn like a flame,
Above me you stand like a banner
And kiss me like flattery.
Put your hand on my head.
Let time stop now
On your watch.
We are not spared by misfortune
And the cuckoo won't crow
In our scorched forests.
And not become my grave
You are granite
Pale, dead, quiet.
Our separation is imaginary
I'm inseparable from you
My shadow on your walls
My reflection in the channels
The sound of footsteps in the Hermitage rooms
And on the echoing arches of bridges,
And on the old Wolf Field,
Where can I cry at will
In the thicket of your new crosses.
I thought you were chasing me
Are you left there to die
In the glare of the spiers in the reflection of the waters.
Did not wait for the desired messengers,
Above you are only your charms
White nochenek round dance.
A cheerful word is at home
Nobody knows now
Everyone looks into someone else's window
Who is in Tashkent, who is in New York
And exile the air is bitter,
Like poisoned wine.
All of us could admire me,
When in the belly of a flying fish
I escaped the evil chase
And over Ladoga and over the forest,
Like one possessed by a demon
As the night rushed to Broken.
And behind me a secret sparkling
And called herself - the Seventh
Rushed to an unheard-of feast
Pretending to be a music book
Famous Leningradka
She returned to her native air.

Analysis of Akhmatova's poem "A Poem without a Hero"

The poetess worked on the final work, which earned a reputation as mysterious and mystical, for more than two decades. In a complex and multifaceted main theme - the fate of compatriots and the life of the country in the first half of the 20th century. - all included the most important directions Akhmatov's creativity. Chamber relationships of lovers in early lyrics, honest and fearless civil poetry of the late period, Petersburg motifs - all this is present in the text of the poem, everything is subject to reflection and sometimes acquires a new meaning.

"A poem without a hero" is full of puzzles, and the first of them lies in the title. Who became the main actor? There is no single answer. Among the discordant choir, the abundance of names and encrypted nameless images, the voice of the lyrical heroine, who is sometimes called the true "mistress" of the poem, stands out. This voice often resembles a fragmentary speech, overflowing with emotions, the stream of consciousness of a medium broadcasting memories in the course of a séance.

More correct is the opinion that puts forward the image of Time or the Epoch for the role of the hero. The multi-layer structure of this image is based not on the usual forward movement, but on the simultaneous coexistence of different time layers. The present holds the shadows of the past and glimpses the future, creating the basis for prophetic visions.

The final piece remains open. Portrait of the "Guest from the Future", who did not appear to the heroine in new year's eve, surrounded by a gloomy halo, but devoid of certainty. The story ends with a tragic and suffering image of a Russian woman, tormented by fear and waiting for retribution.

The theme of duality, relevant to Akhmatov's work since the first collections, has reached its climax here. In one of the remarks, the author claims three reflection portraits, but the subsequent text multiplies their number. It seems that "mirror writing" has brought the number of reflections to infinity. Ghosts from the "hellish harlequinade" who visited the heroine in festive evening, also multiply in the mysterious looking glass.

The form of the poem is also unusual: the author endowed it with elements of a play. Directions not only define the scene, but describe in detail the scenery for each part or chapter. “A poem without a hero” from birth “asked” for the stage, but theatrical performances, created on the basis of the work, appeared only in early XXI in.

Literature lesson in grade 11

"And the silver month froze brightly over the silver age."

Form of organization learning activities: group.

Lesson form: project protection.

At the heart of the lesson- project method.

Lesson Objectives: awareness of the poetry of the "silver age" as a spiritual and aesthetic phenomenon of the era of the turn of the century; development of students' skills to work independently with the text, to analyze piece of art, work with critical and memoir literature; development monologue speech students and their creativity.

Lesson layout: a stand with portraits, illustrations, books on the topic of the seminar; presentations prepared by creative teams.

According to the requirements stipulated by this technology, the eleventh-graders, a week before the lesson, were divided into three groups and chose tasks for themselves:

Theme “The Silver Age of Russian Poetry. Literary currents ”.

Subtopics in the Project Theme

The composition of the creative team

Questions to expand the subtopic

Total Expression Form project activities

Symbolism

Aesthetics and poetics of symbolism.

Basic principles of symbolism.

The role of symbols.

Founders.

Messages about symbolist poets;

Prepare a presentation.

Acmeism

How was the birth of acmeism indicated?

What is acmeism? What are its main principles? Founders.

What is the Poets' Workshop?

What is the role of Apollo magazine?

Messages about acmeist poets;

Reading and analysis of the poem;

Write a stylized poem;

Prepare a presentation.

Futurism

What is futurism?

Main groups.

What were the main requirements of the futurists?

The main collections and almanacs of the futurists.

representatives of futurism.

Messages about futurist poets;

Reading and analysis of the poem;

Write a stylized poem;

Prepare a presentation.

This lesson is the final in the work of students, which was carried out over several lessons.

Members creative groups they defend their projects in turn, while the teacher is the link in this chain and ensures the logical harmony of the lesson. He also corrects the work, asking additional questions to the students, if necessary.

During the classes:

1. opening speech teachers.

(To the music of S. Rachmaninov)

Christmas time was warmed by bonfires,

And carriages fell from the bridges,

And the whole mourning city floated

For an unknown destination

Along the Neva or against the current, -

Just away from your graves.

On Galernaya arch blackened,

In Summer, the wind vane sang subtly.

And the silver moon is bright

Frozen over the Silver Age.

These are lines from A. Akhmatova's "Poem Without a Hero", where for the first time in literary creativity the expression "silver age" was used. The turn of the century became a true Renaissance, the flowering of Russian spirituality, which gave the world brilliant discoveries in the field of music, painting, architecture, and poetry.

This was the period when it was poetry, with its brightness and power of experience, that became the main mouthpiece of the mood of the era. They were very different, the poets of the Silver Age. They lived a complex inner life, tragic and joyful, filled with searches, feelings, poems. "The world split, and the crack went through the poet's heart." G. Heine.

In today's lesson, we will check how much you were able to feel the "spirit of the era", realize this miracle phenomenon of the "Silver Age", systematize and summarize knowledge on the topic studied, get acquainted with your creative works. And I also ask you to think about the question: what explains our increased interest in the poetry of the "Silver Age"? What is this - another tribute to fashion? What is close to us, today, in it? We will return to this question at the end of the lesson.

2. Speech by a student with a question: "Silver Age". What is this age?

3. Teacher:

We have already said that Russian modernism was represented by different currents. Now let's talk about these currents. The word is given to the symbolists.

4. Speech by a group of symbolists according to plan.

Messages about symbolist poets;

Prepare a presentation.

Poem-stylization.

We can love while hating

And we can love, loving.

We find a home with happiness

With separation, trouble comes to us.

What do I see in your eyes?

Bitterness, resentment and just longing ...

Or maybe the other way around?

you are happy swimming

In this nonsense!

What is the temple of love to us? – unknown.

What is love to us? - emptiness.

What is happiness for us?

To be honest, I can't find the answer myself.

Yes. Our world is beautiful

But it's too hard

Find that piece of beauty

That the eye would caress unfairly,

And sincerely, and for the soul!

(Gurina E., Savvateeva E.)

5. Teacher:

The crisis of symbolism in the 1910s and 1911s gave rise to a new poetic school, proceeding from the fact that the beyond - the ideal of the Symbolists - cannot be comprehended, no matter how original attempts to do so.

So, a new direction with refined severity and elegant simplicity is being established on the literary scene - acmeism.

A word to the acmeists.

6. Speech by a group of acmeists according to plan.

Messages about acmeist poets;

Reading and analysis of the poem;

Write a stylized poem;

Prepare a presentation.

7. Teacher:

The origins of acmeism are the poetry of pastel halftones, a leisurely legato, behind which, however, is a tense life full of dramatic contradictions.

Another opponent of the Magicians and Priests of Symbolism - far less respectful - were the Futurists. Word to them.

8. Performance of the futurists according to plan.

Messages about futurist poets;

Reading and analysis of the poem;

Write a stylized poem;

Prepare a presentation.

Poem-stylization

Boltology.

(imitation of futurism)

What is the science of boltology?

Much has already been said about her.

Hey, chatter-arms and chatter-legs,

it new science about bolts and bolts!

Hey you, nibbles and half-eaters,

Talkers and talkers!

Are you tired of chatting chatter yet?

Isn't it enough to flounder in chatter?

Who needs talkers talkers,

Whose tongue dangles like an unscrewed bolt?

I tell you for the ninety-ninth, for the hundredth time,

Enough, enough foolishness toil!

Stop running the talkers

So all ears are covered with chatter.

They would have more bolt commanders

And more voters, of course.

But unscrewed bolts are waiting for us,

Nuts not threaded,

Let the talkers number in the thousands,

We will soon be numbered in the millions!

If each by a bolt - a screw

Will screw in a common cause, with joy

Let's conduct a new bolt policy,

And let's put the old one on the bolts as unnecessary.

(Kovin Denis)

9. Teacher:

As you can see, Russian poetry of the "Silver Age" has passed big way in a very short time frame. She threw her seeds into the future.

The poetry of the "Silver Age" reflected in itself, in its large and small magic mirrors, a complex and ambiguous process of socio-political, spiritual, moral, aesthetic and cultural development Russia in a period marked by three revolutions, a world war, and an especially terrible for us - an internal war. Civil. In this process, captured by poetry, there are ups and downs, light and dark, dramatic and comic sides, but in its depths it is a tragic process. And although time pushed aside this amazing layer of poetry of the "silver age", but it radiates its poetry to this day. The Russian "Silver Age" is unique. Never - neither before nor after - was there in Russia such agitation of consciousness, such tension of searches and aspirations, as when, according to an eyewitness, one line of Blok meant more and was more urgent than the entire content of Tolstoy's journals. The light of these unforgettable dawns will forever remain in the history of Russia.

And now I would like to return to the question that was raised at the beginning of the lesson: how is the poetry of the “Silver Age” close to us?

Possible answer: it seems to me that we are going through the same time of crisis as the poets of the turn of the century. The collapse of old ideals, the intense search for new ones, the dream of a new future of goodness and light... They were painfully looking for a way out of the impasse... Are we not now at the same crossroads?

10. Teacher:

I think that O. Mandelstam was right when he said about the poets of the "Silver Age": "After all, these are all Russian poets, not for yesterday, not for today, but for always." So let this amazing miracle of Russian poetry remain with us forever -

The embodiment of dreams

Life with a dream is a game

This world of charms

This world of silver!

V. Bryusov.

Homework: Write an essay on the topic: "Reading the poetry of the" Silver Age ..."

The end of the nineteenth century ... the beginning of the twentieth ... The turn of the century ... A sense of crisis, upheaval, catastrophe ... The twentieth century ... even more homeless, More scarier than life haze, Still blacker and more enormous Shadow of Lucifer's wing. And disgust from life, And insane love for it, And passion, and hatred for the homeland... And black earthly blood Promises us, inflating veins, Destroying all frontiers, Unheard-of changes, Unseen rebellions... A.A.Blok

Silver Age () ? Otsup N.A. By strength and energy, by the abundance of amazing creations, the poetry of this period is a worthy continuation of the "golden age" Russian cultural Renaissance Berdyaev N.A.

Modernism (fr. Moderne - the latest, modern) is an artistic and aesthetic system that developed at the beginning of the 20th century, embodied in a system of relatively independent artistic directions and movements characterized by a sense of disharmony of the world, a break with the traditions of realism, a rebellious and shocking worldview, the predominance of motives for losing touch with reality, loneliness and illusory freedom of the artist, closed in the space of his fantasies, memories and subjective associations.

Symbolism (D. Merezhkovsky) The symbol is the main aesthetic category Themes of the works: denial of reality (the world is a menagerie, a prison, a cell); life is a dream, A game of shadows; self-deification; throwing a person from darkness to light (swing motif); loneliness; Eternal Femininity, Soul of the World

A pale young man with burning eyes, Now I give you three testaments. Accept the first: do not live in the present, Only the future is the domain of the poet. Remember the second: do not sympathize with anyone, Love yourself infinitely. Keep the third: worship art, Only him, thoughtlessly, aimlessly. V. Bryusov

Futurism (Future) Manifesto "Slapping Public Taste": "We deny spelling"; "We loosened the syntax"; "We have destroyed punctuation marks" "We are the new people of a new life" Collections: "Roaring Parnassus", "Dead Moon", "Milkers of Exhausted Toads" Groups: "Jack of Diamonds", " donkey tail”,“ Budetlyane ”

I know the merry lines of mysterious countries About the black maiden, about the passion of the young leader, But you have inhaled the heavy fog for too long, You don't want to believe in anything but rain. And how can I tell you about a tropical garden, About slender palm trees, about the smell of unimaginable herbs. You cry? Listen ... far away, on Lake Chad Exquisite giraffe wanders N. Gumilyov Comparative table modernist movements the turn of the century Criteria for comparison Symbolism Acmeism Futurism 1. Attitude to the world The world is not cognizable The world is cognizable The world needs to be redone 2. The role of the poet The poet-prophet unravels the secrets of life, the words The poet returns clarity to the word, simplicity The poet destroys the old 3. Attitude to the word The word is ambiguous And symbolically Clearly defined - the nature of the word Freedom in dealing with the word 4. Features of the form Hints, allegories Concrete imagery Abundance of neologisms, distortions of words 5. A close kind of art Music Painting, architecture, sculpture Painting

"And the silver month is bright above the silver age
cold"
There are 3 groups on stage:
symbolists in black suits
acmeists - strict clothes


 futurists - loose shirts, disheveled.
Stage back:
 Poster “The Silver Age of Russian Poetry”

Enlarged covers of books by M. Tsvetaeva, A. Akhmatova, O. Mandelstam, V. Bryusov and others.
Music by Rachmaninov
Lead 1.
Christmas time was warmed by bonfires,
And carriages fell from the bridges,
And the whole mourning city floated
For an unknown destination
Along the Neva or against the current -
Just away from your graves.
Along the Galernaya arch blackened,
In Summer, the weather vane sang subtly,
And the silver moon is bright
Frozen over the Silver Age.
Presenter 2. Silver age! What is it? What are its limits? More about the beginning of the Silver Age
or less easily. AT scientific papers the beginning is usually taken as the mid-1890s (Merezhkovsky and early
Bryusov). And the second frontier should be pushed back towards the end of the twentieth century. You can associate it with a shot,
who ended the life of N. Gumilyov in 1921. The Silver Age is, of course, not a century in the direct sense
this word, but a period of several decades, when a group of poets appeared who managed to declare themselves new,
extraordinary creativity.
Presenter 1. They were very different, the poets of the Silver Age. They lived complex inner lives,
tragic and joyful, filled with quests, feelings, poems.
The groups are displayed on the stage so that the names on the tables are visible (“symbolists”, “acmeists”,
"futurists").
Symbolist. I believe, gentlemen, that poetry is the way to the highest knowledge of the World. And knowledge can only be
through a symbol. Did you read latest work Merezhkovsky “On the Causes of the Decline and New Trends in Russian
literature"?
Acmeist. And here's what I'll say, dear symbolists, if we talk about new trends, then first of all we are talking about
we must talk about acmeism. Well, why do you need these symbols, mysticism, other world when there are so many around us
wonderful, down to earth. The beyond cannot be comprehended, no matter how original your attempts may be.
Symbolist. But how musical our poems are. Here, listen to the lines of K. Balmont. Sounds are the music itself
(“Reeds”).
Midnight sometimes in the swamp wilderness
Slightly audible, noiselessly rustling reeds.
What are they whispering about? What are they talking about?
Why are the lights between them burning
Flashing, blinking - and again they are gone.
And again the wandering light dawned.
Isn't it lovely?!

Acmeist. I have nothing personally against K. Balmont, but you must admit - sheer pessimism. And in general we
Association "Workshop of Poets" abandoned the idea of ​​knowing the unknowable. I agree with N. Gumilyov, S.
Gorodetsky is that it is simple, real, object world significant in itself. And quite in vain accuses us A.
The block is that our creativity is "without a deity, without inspiration." Yes, you just listen (sounds
poem by N. Gumilyov “Giraffe”).
Futurist. I listened to you, gentlemen poets, I listened and I will say frankly: I'm tired! Merezhkovsky, Gumilyov, Pushkin - there,
Lermontov all must be forgotten, thrown out of the head. Our poetry is the beginning of all new paths. We dream about
unheard of unseen model of art. This will renew the decrepit world. We blow up the language
disharmony in poetry! Listen to one of last poems Velimir Khlebnikov.
The poem by V. Khlebnikov “Oh, laugh, laughers!”
Symbolist. And you still talk about our incomprehensible poetry. Everything is clear with us, but here !!! What's the point?
Futurist. So you, the Symbolists, are sheer sadness: oh, yes, ah! And here they offer to laugh. Didn't like
our V. Khlebnikov, well! But I. Severyanin will conquer you.
The poem “Overture” by I. Severyanin sounds.
Presenter 1. Why are you all arguing?! And I know what unites you all. These are love poems. And at
symbolists, this topic was generally leading.
Symbolist. Unearthly divine love. The search for eternal femininity is what, for example, A. Blok wrote about.
A. Blok's poem about love is read from the audience (at the reader's choice).
Acmeist. And our Anna Akhmatova writes about earthly love. Writes correctly.
A. Akhmatova's poem about love is read from the audience (at the reader's choice).
Futurist. And our V. Mayakovsky gave it out.
From the hall sounds the poem “Naval Love”
Acmeist. It's easy to write about love. At least everyone is allowed. And our
O. Mandelstam wrote poems about things that could not be whispered about. Of course he was punished. When he was arrested
wife and A. Akhmatova, who was friends with the family, immediately decided what kind of poems about Stalin they were.
A poem by O. Mandelstam “We live under ourselves, not smelling the country” sounds from the hall.
A poem by M. Tsvetaeva “To my poems written so early” sounds from the hall
(1913).
Presenter 1. Excuse me, gentlemen, poets, something I can’t remember, whose verses have now sounded? But it's already clear
not O. Mandelstam.
Presenter 2. They don't know, I think.
Acmeist. Why do we not know Marina Tsvetaeva. She is not like everyone else. We just can't get her involved either.
in one of our group, but this did not make her poems worse. Listen.
Poems by M. Tsvetaeva sound from the hall:
“I like that you are not sick of me…”
"Mom"
“Yesterday I looked into your eyes”
Lead 2. I give up. And you know M. Tsvetaeva, and you know her poems! I am very happy! And the poetry of the silver age
love.
Presenter 1. In general, if we talk about poetry, we can remember what is in it unusual phenomenon. Here,
like an acrostic. The poets of the Silver Age were not fond of anything! The acrostic was also characteristic of them.
Although the phenomenon in the literature is not new. Derzhavin was a master of such amusements. Here he has (demonstrated
poster with Derzhavin's lines)

I will sing you as I sang
Good Father! What to call, I do not know
Hustle the souls to ring as it rang,
Starting with alpha, I go dumb with omega.
(G.F. Derzhavin)
Many poets wrote acrostics in the 17th century. But it was more considered table-album fun. But in XX
century a new understanding of the acrostic.
Symbolist time is a time of premonitions, active rethinking of all forms, understanding of poetry as
some kind of cipher. It seems important to run someone's name on the edge of the line? But that's the point,
the easier it is to read the name along the edge, the more difficult it is to get to the bottom of the meaning of the text itself. Nikolai Gumilyov stubbornly
inscribed the name in the vertical
A. Akhmatova. B. Pasternak has the name of Marina Tsvetaeva in two acrostics. Innokenty, Annensky, Igor
Severyanin, Sergei Yesenin, Sergei Gorodetsky and many others wrote acrostics.
Presenter 2. I would like to talk separately about the sonnet. Let me remind you that a sonnet is a poem of 14 lines,
having a canonical system of rhyming and strict stylistic laws. Among various kinds
There are two main sonnets - Italian and English.
Italian consists of two quatrains (quatrains) and two tercetes (tercetes).
The English sonnet consists of three quatrains and a final couplet. Other options include
note French, which differs from Italian in a special rhyme in tercetes. That's just what he has
importance for the history of the Russian sonnet.
Traditional style requirements for a sonnet: sublime vocabulary and intonation, precise and rare rhymes,
a ban on hyphenation and repetition of a significant word in the same meaning. All these restrictions
due to the artistic purpose of the sonnet as an intellectual genre of lyrics.
The wreath of sonnets is a chain of 15 sonnets, where 14 poems form a ring, since
the last line of each sonnet is repeated in the first line of the next, with the last line
The fourteenth verse repeats the first line of the first. The fifteenth sonnet, called the madrigal,
consists of the first lines of all fourteen others, in the order in which they follow each other.
The wreath of sonnets was also born in Italy, and in modern form developed towards the end of the 17th century. At the beginning of the 20th century
accounts for the "golden age" of the Russian sonnet. In the work of V.Ya. Bryusova, V.I. Ivanova, I.F. Annensky, M.A.
Voloshin, O.E. Mandelstam, I. Severyanin, the sonnet acquired diversity and freedom. Sonnets appear
acrostics, “headless” sonnets (with one quatrain), “tailed” (with an extra tercet), “lame” (written
strings of unequal length).
The art of the sonnet reaches special strength in the work of I.A. Bunin, where this genre is marked by the clarity of language,
perfection of syntax, impeccable clarity of thought and transparency of intonation.
I. Bunin's sonnet “In his poems, a cheerful drop” sounds from the hall.
Symbolist. But V. Bryusov's sonnet was written in front of an astonished audience in the Tenth Muse cafe in May
1918.
The poem “Remember death” by V. Bryusov sounds from the hall.
Acmeist. Well, let's say with light hand V. Bryusov, a lover of sonnets, he, the sonnet, becomes the property and
acmeists. N. Gumilyov and representatives of the Poets' Guild preferred strict traditional forms.
The only exception was the willful A. Akhmatova. Of the 16 sonnets, two-three corresponded to the accepted
norms. Here is a sonnet
N. Gumilyov, a lover of long-distance travel unusual countries. Hence the exotic moods in his
poetry, including sonnets. Get acquainted with one of N. Gumilyov's sonnets.
N. Gumilyov's sonnet “There were five of us ... We were captains” sounds from the hall.
Futurist. And we're all rebuilding the language. The number of correct sonnets generally changed dramatically. recognize
the classic sonnet among the futurists was often difficult. But at
I. Severyanin is interested in the fact that he dedicated his sonnets to figures of culture and art. He has such sonnets
there were more than 100. Some characteristics of the figures are remarkably insightful and objective.

Chapter Three

And under the arch on Galernaya...
A. Akhmatova

In Petersburg we will meet again,
Like the sun we buried in it.
O. Mandelstam

That was Last year...
M. Lozinsky

Petersburg in 1913. Lyrical digression: last memory about Tsarskoye Selo. The wind, either remembering or prophesying, mutters:

Christmas time was warmed by bonfires,
And carriages fell from the bridges,
And the whole mourning city floated
For an unknown destination
Along the Neva or against the current, -
Just away from your graves.
On Galernaya arch blackened,
In Summer, the weather vane sang subtly,
And the silver moon is bright
Frozen over the Silver Age.
Because on all roads,
Because to all thresholds
A shadow slowly approached
Vteer tore posters from the wall,
Smoke danced squatting on the roof
And the cemetery smelled of lilacs.
And cursed by Queen Avdotya,
Dostoevsky and the demoniac,
The fog was leaving the city.
And looked out of the darkness again
An old Petersburger and a reveler,
As before the execution, the drum beat ...
And always in the frosty darkness,
Pre-war, prodigal and formidable,
Lived some future rumble
But then it was heard more muffled,
He almost did not disturb the soul
And drowned in the snowdrifts of the Neva.
As if in the mirror of a terrible night
And rages and does not want
Recognize yourself a person
And along the embankment of the legendary
Not a calendar one was approaching -
The real Twentieth Century.

And now I'd rather go home
Cameron Gallery
In the icy mysterious garden,
Where the waterfalls are silent
Where all nine will be glad to me
How happy you were once.
There behind the island, there behind the garden
Won't we meet eyes
Our former clear eyes,
Won't you tell me again
The word that conquered death
And the clue to my life?

Chapter four and last

Love passed and became clear
And death features are close.
Sun. TO.

Corner of the Champ de Mars. house built in early XIX century by the Adamini brothers. It will be directly hit by an aerial bomb in 1942. A high fire burns. Beats of the bell ringing from the Savior on Blood are heard. On the field behind the blizzard is the ghost of the palace ball. Between these sounds, Silence itself speaks:

Who froze at the faded windows,
On whose heart is a “fawn curl”,
Who has darkness before their eyes? -
Help, it's not too late!
Never are you so cold
And a stranger, the night, was not!
Wind full of Baltic salt
Snowstorm ball on the Champ de Mars
And the invisible ringing of hooves...
And immeasurable anxiety
Who has little to live
Who only asks God for death
And who will be forever forgotten.
He wanders under the windows after midnight,
Relentlessly directs at him
Dim beam corner lamp, -
And he waited. slim mask
On the way back from Damascus
Returned home... not alone!
Someone with her is "without a face and a name" ...
Unambiguous parting
Through the slanting fire
He saw buildings collapse.
And in response, a snatch of sobs:
“You are Dove, sun, sister! -
I will leave you alive
But you will be my widow
And now...
It's time to say goodbye!"

The site smells of perfume
And a dragoon cornet with verses
And with senseless death in my chest
Call if you have the courage...
He spends the last moment
To praise you.
Look:
Not in the damned Masurian marshes,
Not on the blue Carpathian heights...
He is on your doorstep!
Across.
May God forgive you!

(How many deaths went to the poet,
Silly boy: he chose this one, -
First, he did not tolerate insults,
He did not know at what threshold
It costs and what road
A view will open before him...)

It's me - your old conscience
Found a burnt story
And on the edge of the windowsill
In the house of the deceased
Put -
and left on tiptoe...

Afterword

It's all right: a poem lies
And, as usual, she is silent.
Well, what if the topic breaks out,
He will knock on the window with his fist, -
And will respond from afar
At the call of this terrible sound -
Rumble, groan and scream
And the sight of crossed arms?