Nikolai Gumilyov
Anna Akhmatova
Osip Mandelstam
Boris Pasternak
Nikolai Gumelev
(18861921) [ 1 ]
He walks the pearly way
Through the coastal gardens
People are busy with unnecessary
People are busy with earthly things.
"Hello, shepherd! Fisherman, hello! I call you forever, To watch over a different flock And other nets.
"Is fish or sheep better than the human soul? You, heavenly merchants, Do not count the profits! After all, not a house in Galilee is your reward for your labors A bright paradise, which is pinker than the pinkest star.
The sun is approaching the pit [ 3 ], The wind of the end is heard, But it will be joyful for the Son In the House of the Tender Father."
Does not torment, does not torment the choice, What is more captivating than miracles ?! And the shepherd and the fisherman go For the seeker of heaven.
GATES OF PARADISE Not with seven diamond seals In God's paradise, the eternal entrance is closed, It does not beckon with brilliance and temptations, And the people do not know it.
It's a door in a long-abandoned wall, Stones, moss, and nothing else, Near a beggar, like an uninvited guest, And the keys at his belt.
Knights and men-at-arms ride past, Trumpet howling, rattling of silver, And no one will look at the gatekeeper, Holy Apostle Peter.
Everyone dreams: "There, at the tomb of God, The doors of paradise will open for us, On Mount Tabor, at the foot, The promised hour will ring out."
So a slow monster passes, Howling, blowing a ringing horn, And the Apostle Peter in a holey rags, Like a beggar, pale and wretched.
THE BACKGROUNDS of NV Annenskaya The sun has disappeared in the west Behind the promised fields, And the quiet backwaters have become Blue and fragrant.
The reeds trembled drowsily, a bat flew by, a fish splashed in the pool...
And went to the house those who have a house C blue shutters, With old armchairs And a round tea table.
I was left alone in the air To look at the sleepy creek, Where it is so pleasant to swim during the day, And in the evening to cry, Because I love You, Lord.
* * * I didn't live, I languished Half of my earthly life, And, Lord, You appeared to me Such an impossible dream.
I see the light on Mount Tabor And I am insanely yearning, That I have loved both the land and the sea, All the dense dream of being;
That my young strength did not humble itself before Yours, That the beauty of Your daughters tormented my heart so painfully.
But is love a scarlet flower, To live only for a moment, But is love a small flame, That it is easy to put out? With this quiet and sad thought Somehow I will last my life, And think about the future, I already ruined one.
ANDREY RUBLEV I firmly, I know so sweetly, I am familiar with the art of the monks, That the face of a wife is like a paradise Promised by the creator.
Hoc is a tree trunk high;
Two thin arches of eyebrows Above him spread out, wide, Bent palm branches.
Two prophetic Sirins, two eyes, They sweetly sing under them, With the eloquence of a story All the secrets of the spirit betray.
An open forehead like a vault of heaven, And curls of a cloud above it, It is true, with charming timidity, A gentle seraph touched them.
And right there, at the foot of the tree, Mouth is like some kind of paradise flower, Because of which Mother Eve the Good broke the covenant.
Andrey Rublev drew all this for me with a laudable brush, And this sad labor of this life has become God's blessing.
THE TOWN Above the wide river, Tightened by a belt of bridge, The town stands small, Mentioned by the chronicler more than once.
I know that in this town Human life is real, Like a boat on the river, Leaving for the goal of the driven one.
Striped pillars At the guardhouse, where the soldiers Under the piercing howl of the trumpet Are marching, completely sleepwalking.
In the bazaar, all kinds of people, Peasants, gypsies, passers-by, Buy and sell, Preach the Word of God In heavily built houses, White, modest housewives are waiting, In Samarkand colored scarves, And their eyes are all so dark.
The governor's palace Is full of light in the evening hours, The leader of the stallion The surprise of the whole province.
And in the spring they go, lurking, At the cemetery, girls with their sweethearts, Whisper, fawning: "My yahontprince!" And kiss over the graves.
The cross is raised above the church, The symbol of clear, Fatherly power, And the raspberry ringing is buzzing With wise, human speech.
WORKER He stands in front of a red-hot forge, A short old man.
A calm look seems submissive From the blinking of reddish eyelids.
All his comrades fell asleep, Only he alone does not sleep yet:
He is all busy casting a bullet that will separate me from the earth.
Finished, and eyes cheered up.
Returns. The moon shines.
At home waiting for him in a big bed Sleepy and warm wife.
The bullet cast by him will whistle Over the gray-haired, foamed Dvina, The bullet cast by him will find My chest, she came for me.
I will fall, mortally melancholy, I will see the past in reality, The blood will overflow with a key on the dry, Dusty and crumpled grass.
And the Lord will reward me in full measure For my short and bitter life.
This was done in a light gray blouse by a short old man.
Notes 1.
Nikolai Gumilyov was shot by the Bolsheviks at the end of August 1921, along with a large group of Russians, among whom were prominent intellectuals, military officers, sailors, peasants, bourgeois and workers. In [ 2 ] it is noted ... "in the memoirs of Gumelev, the phrase from his letter to his wife from prison was quoted more than once: "Don't worry about me. I am healthy, I write poetry and play chess. "It was also mentioned that in prison before his death, Gumelev read Homer and the Gospel. The poems written by Gumelev in prison did not reach us. They were confiscated by the Cheka and, maybe, who knows? preserved in the archive of this sinister institution. Nikolai Gumelev is the first great poet in the history of Russian literature, whose burial place is not even known. As Irina Odoevtseva said in her poem about him:
And there is neither a hill nor a cross on his grave." 2.
N. Gumelev. Collected works in four volumes. Volume 1, p.XLII. M.: TERRA, 1991. 3.
Pretty noon. Anna Akhmatova (18891966) CONFESSION The one who forgave my sins fell silent.
The lilac twilight extinguishes the candles, And the dark stole Has covered the head and shoulders.
"Virgo! Get up..."
Heartbeats more often, more often.
A touch through the fabric of the Hand, absentmindedly baptizing.
Tsarskoye Selo. TO MY SISTER I approached the pine forest.
The heat is great, and the path is not short.
He pushed back the curtain of the door, Came out gray, bright and meek.
The seer looked at me and said:
"Christ's bride! Do not envy the luck of the lucky ones, There is a place for you.
Forget about the parental home, Become like a heavenly krin.
You will sleep on the straw when you are ill, And you will end in bliss.”
It is true, the saint heard from his cell, How I sang on the way back About my inexpressible joy, And marveling, and rejoicing a lot.
Darnitsa. PRAYER Give me the bitter years of illness, Breathing, insomnia, fever, Take away both the child and the friend, And the mysterious gift of song So I pray for Your liturgy After so many languid days, So that the cloud over dark Russia Becomes a cloud in the glory of the rays.
Petersburg. * * * In this church I listened to the Canon of St. Andrew of Crete on a strict and sad day, And from that time on, the ringing of Lent All seven weeks until midnight on Easter Merged with indiscriminate shooting.
Everyone said goodbye to each other for a minute, so that they would never meet ...
"Come here, Leave your land, deaf and sinful, Leave Russia forever.
I will wash the blood from your hands, I will take out the black shame from your heart, I will cover the Pain of defeats and insults with a new name.
But calmly and indifferently With my hands I closed my hearing, So that this unworthy speech Would not defile the mournful spirit.
CRUCIFICATION [ 1 ] Do not cry for me, Mati, in the coffin you see.
The choir of angels glorified the great hour, And the heavens melted in fire.
Father said:
"Almost left me!" And Mothers:
"Oh don't cry for me..."
Magdalene fought and sobbed, The beloved disciple turned to stone, And where Mother stood silently, So no one dared to look.
* * * Who once people called the King in mockery, God indeed, Who was killed - and whose instrument of torture Is warmed by the warmth of my chest...
Witnesses of Christ have tasted death, And gossips, old women, and soldiers, And the procurator of Rome - all have passed.
Where the arch once towered, Where the sea beat, where the cliff turned black, They were drunk in wine, inhaled with They were drunk in wine, hot dust And with the smell of immortal roses.
Gold rusts and steel decays, Marble crumbles - everything is ready for death.
Sorrow is the strongest thing on earth, And the royal word is the most durable.
Notes 1.
From the poem "Requiem", dedicated to the victims of Stalin's executioners.
Osip Mandelstam (18931938) [ 1 ] * * * Inexorable words...
Petrified Judea, And, with every moment heavier, His head drooped.
Warriors stood all around Guarding the freezing body;
Like a corolla, the head hung on a stalk thin and alien.
And He reigned and sank, Like a lily in a native pool, And the depth, where the stems drown, Triumphed its law.
* * * Your image, painful and unsteady, I could not feel in the fog.
"God!" - I said by mistake, without thinking to say it myself.
God's name, like a big bird, flew out of my chest.
A thick fog swirls ahead, And an empty cage behind...
* * * Here is the monstrance, like the golden sun, A magnificent moment hung in the air.
Only Greek should be spoken here:
Taken in the hands of the whole world, like a simple apple.
Divine services solemn zenith, Light in the round temple under the dome in July, So that we can sigh with full breasts out of time About the meadow where time does not run.
And the Eucharist, like an eternal noon, lasts All communion, play and sing, And in front of everyone the divine vessel Flows with inexhaustible joy.
* * * I love under the vaults of gray silence Molebnov, requiem wandering And a touching rite, everyone owes him Isaac's funeral.
I love the priest's unhurried step, The broad carrying of the shroud, And in the dilapidated net The darkness of Gennesaret of Great Lenten Week.
Old Testament smoke on warm altars And the priest's orphan exclamation, Regal humility: pure snow on his shoulders And wild purples.
Eternal cathedrals of Sophia and Peter, Barns of air and light, Granaries of universal goodness And rigs of the New Testament.
It is not to you that the spirit is attracted in times of grave troubles, Here the wolf's trail drags along the steps Wide-clouded misfortunes, We will never change him:
A slave who has overcome fear is free, And preserved beyond measure In cool granaries, in deep bins A grain of deep, full faith.
* * * Help, Lord, to live this night:
I'm afraid for my life for Your servant In St. Petersburg to live like sleeping in a coffin.
January Notes 1.
For a long time, the date of Mandelstam's death was not known. It has now been established that Mandelstam died on December 27, 1938, in the Vladivostok transit camp. The exact circumstances under which he died are still unknown, but according to some reports [ 2 ] the remarkable Russian poet ended his life as a "camp scarecrow", and perhaps as a madman, "living near weed pits and eating garbage." Thus, we can talk about the actual execution of the poet by the communist regime.
O. Mandelstam. Collected works in four volumes. Volume 1, p.XLXL. M.: TERRA, 1991. Boris Pasternak (1890-1960) ON THE PASSIONATE [ 1 ] Still all around the darkness of the night.
It's still so early in the world, That there are no number of stars in the sky, And each one, like day, is bright, And if the earth could, She would sleep through Easter Under the reading of the Psalter.
Still around the darkness of the night.
It's so early in the world, That the square lies like an eternity From the crossroads to the corner, And before dawn and warmth Another millennium.
The earth is still naked, And at night it has nothing to swing the bells And echo with the will of the singers.
And from Good Thursday Until Good Saturday Water drills the shores And whirlpools whirl.
And the forest is stripped and uncovered, And on the Passion of Christ, Like a line of worshipers, stands a Crowd of pine trunks.
And in the city, in a small space, as at a meeting, the trees stare naked into the church lattices.
And their eyes are filled with terror.
Their concern is understandable.
Gardens come out of the fences, the way of the earth fluctuates:
They bury God.
And they see the light at the royal gates, And the black cloth, and the row of candles, Tear-stained faces And suddenly towards procession He comes out with a shroud, And two birch trees at the gate Must step aside.
And the procession bypasses the yard Along the edge of the pavement, And brings from the street into the porch Spring, spring conversation And air with a taste of prosphora And spring intoxication.
A. Gorsky
A voluntary wanderer and pilgrim, Gumilyov traveled and traveled thousands of miles, visited the impenetrable jungle Central Africa, made his way through the thickets of the Madagascar forest, was exhausted from thirst in the sands of the Sahara, bogged down in the swamps of northern Abyssinia, touched the ruins of Mesopotamia with his hands ... Constant tension, risk, deprivation ... How to explain all this? An indefatigable wanderlust, a thirst for adventure? Desire to test your character, will? Or an escape from the civilized "paradise" described in Knut Hamsun's novels "Pan" and "Glan's Death"? Most likely both those, and others, and the third. With the only amendment that, unlike Hamsun's hero, Lieutenant Glan, who drew strength from his own pride and contempt for people, the poet's spiritual support in his wanderings and hardships was a deep religious feeling and love for his neighbor.
I ran into the forest from the cities,
Fled to the desert from people ...
Now I'm ready to pray
Cry like you never cried before.
Here I am alone with myself...
It's time, it's time for me to rest
The light is merciless, the light is blind
I drank my brain, burned my chest.
I am a terrible sinner, I am a villain:
God gave me the strength to fight
I loved truth and people
But I trampled on the ideal...
"I fled to the forest from the cities ..."
It is no coincidence that a significant part of Gumilyov's poetic heritage consists of poems and poems filled with gospel stories and images, imbued with love for the main thing. acting person New Testament - Jesus Christ. Noteworthy in this sense is the poetic study "Christ", made in delicate pastel colors, in a truly impressionistic spirit:
He walks the path of pearl
Through the coastal gardens
People are busy with unnecessary
People are busy with earthly things.
"Hello pastor!
Hello fisherman.
I call you forever
To guard another flock
And other nets.
Is it better to fish or sheep
Human soul?
You heavenly merchants,
Do not count the profits:
It's not a house in the Galilee
You are rewarded for your labors, -
Bright paradise, which is pinker
The pinkest star.
The sun is approaching the tide,
Hear the breath of the end
But it will be joyful for the Son
In the House of the Gentle Father."
Does not torment, does not torment the choice,
What is more captivating than miracles?!
And the shepherd and the fisherman go
For the seeker of heaven.
The masterfully created spatial perspective is clearly felt in this poem: the road running along the coast of the sea, fishing boats buried in the sand, the calm expanse of the sea, merging with the sky on the horizon, the sun approaching "to the den" ... All this is filled with transparent, "pearl" air , warm colors: the white color of spring gardens, the bluish halftones of a cloudless sky, the blue of the sea waves, the pinkish rays of the setting sun ...
It is interesting to compare Gumilyov's poem with the notorious gospel story:
“And as he was passing near the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew, his brother, throwing nets into the sea; for they were fishermen; and he said to them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. And they Immediately they left their nets and followed Him" (Matt. 4:18-20).
As you can see, the poet, from a rather dry message from one of the evangelists, created an amazingly beautiful picture that conveys it sincere love to the central image of the New Testament. How can one not recall the memoirs of A. Gumilyova, the wife of the poet's elder brother Dmitry, "Forgotten Tale Sheets", which talk about the origins of this sympathy, about the atmosphere that surrounded the brothers in the parental home: "Children were brought up in the strict principles of the Orthodox religion. Mother often went with them to the chapel to light a candle, which Kolya liked. From childhood he was religious and remained the same until the end of his days - a deeply believing Christian. Kolya liked to go to church, light a candle, and sometimes prayed for a long time in front of the icon of the Savior "(Family. - 1989. - No. 47. - P. 8). And in these memoirs we find the words of the poet himself: "How carefully one must approach a child! How shocked I was when I first heard of the Savior's suffering!"
Jesus Christ becomes Gumilyov's moral and ethical ideal, and New Testament narrating about the life and deeds of the Savior - his handbook.
Gumilyov's worldview concept received an extremely clear expression in the final stanza of the poetic novel "Fra Beato Angelico":
There is a God, there is a world, they live forever,
And the life of people is instantaneous and miserable.
But a person contains everything in himself,
Who loves the world and believes in God.
More than a dozen poems and poems by Gumilyov were created on the basis of gospel legends, parables, and instructions. Suffice it to recall the poem "The Prodigal Son"; the poem "The Gates of Paradise", "Christ said:" The poor are blessed "...", "Paradise", "Christmas in Abyssinia", "Your temple, Lord, is in heaven ..." and others
Analyzing these works of the poet, one cannot fail to notice what a constant struggle takes place in his soul, how it rushes between two irreconcilable feelings - pride (pride) and humility. How can one not remember Dostoevsky, who once exclaimed: "Humble yourself, proud man!"
Despite frequent assurances that his soul meekly accepts God's world, strives to be humble and submissive - "A reader of books, and I wanted to find my quiet paradise in the humility of creation ..." ("Reader of Books"); "Only the weary is worthy of praying to the gods..." ("Submission"); “After all, I’m not a sinner, oh God, I’m not a blasphemer, I’m not a thief, and I believe, why can’t my eyes see you?” ("Happiness"), etc., - the poet, unexpectedly for himself, enters into a sharp controversy with those who "dear the beggar Lazar of the magnificent sorcerer":
Christ said: "The poor are blessed,
The fate of the blind, the crippled and the poor is enviable,
I'll take them to the over-stellar villages,
I will make them. sky knights
And I will call the most glorious of the glorious ... "
Let be! I will accept! But what about those others
Whose thought we now live and breathe,
Whose names sound like calls to us?
They will redeem their greatness,
How will the will of balance pay them?
Il Beatrice became a prostitute
Deaf-mute - the great Wolfgang Goethe
And Byron - a public jester ... Oh, horror!
Apogee of human pride lyrical hero reaches in the first part of the poem "The Prodigal Son", a kind of interpretation of the famous gospel parable. Let's restore the plot of this uncomplicated didactic fragment of Holy Scripture: "He also said: a certain man had two sons; and the youngest of them said: Father, give me the next part of the estate. And the father divided the estate for them. After a few days, the youngest son, having collected everything, he went to a far country and there he squandered his possessions, living dissolutely" (Luke 15:11-13). And compare it with the beginning of Gumilyov's poem:
There is no house like this house!
It contains books and incense, flowers and prayers!
But you see, father, I languish in a different way:
Let there be tears in the world, but there are battles in the world.
Whether, father, I was born and raised,
Beautiful, powerful and full of health,
So that your choir replaces the happiness of victories
And the hum of the astonished crowd - praises.
I'm not a boy anymore, I don't believe in lies
Arrogance and meekness - two strokes of the censer,
And Peter will not humble himself before John,
And the lion before the lamb, as in Daniel's dream.
Let me, yes. I will increase your wealth,
You cry over the sinner, and I am indignant,
With a sword I will strengthen freedom and brotherhood,
I will teach the ferocious with fire a kiss.
The whole world opens up for me,
And I will be a prince in the name of the Lord...
Oh happiness! O singing of rebellious blood!
Father, let me go... tomorrow... today!...
Having rethought the gospel parable, the poet fills it with content that has a direct connection with what is happening in his soul: the ongoing struggle of religious feelings, calling for humility of the spirit, "meekness", and a genetic craving for eternal change of place, for the discovery of new lands, unthinkable without the "singing of the rebellious blood", pride and "arrogance", as well as a desperate attempt to reconcile these two warring forces. As you can see, the beginning of the poem "The Prodigal Son" testifies to the unconditional surrender of humility. It was hidden for a long time in the depths of the soul of the one who sang in his poems "discoverers new lands", hunters of lions and rhinos, reckless sailors, "strong, evil and cheerful", ready to exclaim after him:
And I won't die in bed.
With a notary and a doctor,
And in some wild crack,
Drowned in thick ivy,
To enter not in everything open,
Protestant, tidy paradise
And where the robber, publican
And the harlot will shout: "Get up!"
"Me and You"
And yet, no, no, but the “voice crying in the wilderness” breaks out - humility, as happened in the poem “Introduction”, which opens the collection “Tent”, dedicated to the poet’s African wanderings:
Doomed to you, I will tell
About leaders in leopard skins,
What is in the darkness of the forests for victory
Hordes of gloomy warriors lead;
About villages with ancient idols,
That laugh with an unkind smile,
And about the lions that stand over the villages
And they hit the ribs with their tail.
Give me the road for this,
Where there is no way for man
Let me call the black one my name
A hitherto undiscovered river.
And the last mercy with which
I will go to the holy villages, -
Let me die under that sycamore tree
Where Mary rested with Christ.
There is no doubt that the worship of the Muse of Distant Wanderings, repeatedly glorified by Gumilyov, was mixed with the hope of finding that primeval, untouched by civilization "paradise" corner on earth, which was once called by Hesiod in "Works and Days" the Blissful Isles.
From the poet's pen appear lines in which one hears a song-hope fanned with romance, a song-dream that invites the reader to believe in the existence of such an "earthly paradise":
I know funny fairy tales mysterious countries
About the black maiden, about the passion of the young leader,
But you inhaled the heavy mist for too long
You don't want to believe in anything but rain.
"Giraffe"
However, disappointment soon comes: a hurricane flurry of civilization with all its horrors and grimaces burst into the exotic world with its rich colors, lush vegetation, amazing customs and mores of the natives, based on the natural fair laws of human coexistence. And then the "Abyssinian Songs" appear, in which the pain and despair of the African slave sound:
Birds wake up in the morning
Gazelle run out into the field
And a European comes out of the tent,
Waving a long whip.
He sits under the shade of a palm tree,
Wrapping her face in a green veil,
Puts whiskey bottles next to him
And whips lazy slaves.
Where is that primordial world, Adam's abode, where "there are no offensive and powerful words"? Where are the beautiful "maiden-priestesses with ebony skin" worshiping " strange gods"? Only a "golden memory" remains of Gauguin's "ancient paradise" ... "Zanzibar girls dance and sell love for money."
As a result of experiences, the poem “I did not live, I languished ...” is born:
I didn't live, I languished
Half the life of the earth
And, Lord, you appeared to me
Such an impossible dream.
I see a light on Mount Tabor
And I'm terribly sad
Who loved both the land and the sea,
All the dense dream of being;
What is my youthful strength
Not resigned to your...
The desire hidden in the depths of the soul is revealed to atone for human sins, to free oneself from the fetters of worldly fuss, vices and temptations of a civilized "paradise":
On my best, brightest day,
On that day of Christ's Resurrection,
I suddenly felt redeemed
What I was looking for everywhere.
It suddenly occurred to me that,
Wounded, naked, I lie in the thicket,
And I began to cry over everything
Tears of joy seething.
"Happiness"
If earlier everything was hidden behind youthful bravado, romance of adventure, passion for the exotic, now there is no desire to pretend and play pranks, I want to confess, talk about the secret:
I was young, I was greedy and sure
But the spirit of the earth was silent, arrogant,
And blinding dreams died
How birds and flowers die.
Now my voice is slow and measured
I know life has failed...
"Iambic pentameter"
The unsuccessful search for an "earthly paradise" was transformed in Gumilyov's lyrical revelations into a search for the "heavenly paradise" promised by religion. This is especially noticeable in the poems "Paradise" and "Gate of Paradise", which are based on the gospel legend about the keeper of the keys to paradise, the Apostle Peter, one of the favorite disciples of Christ.
I often dreamed of paradise gardens,
Among the branches are ruddy fruits,
Rays and angelic voices
Miracles of extraterrestrial nature.
And you know that morning dreams
As omens are given to us.
Apostle Peter, because if I leave
Rejected, what am I to do in hell?
"Paradise"
But here, too, disappointment lies in wait for the poet:
Not with seven diamond seals
In God's paradise, the eternal entrance is closed,
He does not attract with brilliance and temptations,
And the people don't know it.
It's a door in a wall long abandoned
Stones, moss and nothing else
Near - a beggar, like an uninvited guest,
And the keys at his belt.
Knights and men at arms ride past,
Trumpet howl, rattling of silver,
And no one will look at the gatekeeper,
Holy Apostle Peter.
"Gate of Heaven"
"Knights and men at arms", "a conquistador in an iron shell", "a dreamer and a tsar, the Genoese Columbus", "a beast tamer", "a lieutenant who drove gunboats" ... All this is the same "vanity of vanities", not at all closer to spiritual harmony, which has been striving for for long years poet. Dreams of an "earthly" and "heavenly" paradise are the same search for perfect life circumstances that can put in order chaotic spiritual impulses, eliminate confusion and vacillation that cause outbursts of exorbitant human pride.
Gradually, the poet comes to the conclusion that a person is a toy in the hands of heaven, and hopes are sometimes crossed out by the instantaneous will of almighty fate:
All of us, saints and thieves,
From the altar and prison,
We are all funny actors
In the theater of the Lord God.
"Theater"
In the article "The Life of the Poet" Gumilyov bitterly asks: "Who has not had to bend over his dream, feeling that the opportunity to realize it is irretrievably lost?" It would seem that the situation is hopeless. And yet... The choice turns out to be completely unexpected: monastic seclusion! Does it not contribute to the taming of soul-rending passions, pride, ambition? Doesn't humility strengthen? Doesn't help self-improvement? Creativity? Similar reflections resulted in the lines of the poem "Fra Beato Angelico", dedicated to the Florentine painter, Dominican monk Fra Giovanni da Fiesole (c. 1400-1455):
On everything that my master has made, the seal
Earthly love and humble simplicity.
Oda, he could not draw everything,
But what he painted is perfect.
A peculiar result of a long and painful search, introspection and self-flagellation was the poetic confession "Iambic Pentameters", in the final stanza of which an idea was expressed that, according to Gumilyov, was capable of bringing moral purification and peace of mind so necessary to a creative nature:
There is a desert monastery on the sea
I would go there, leaving the evil world,
Of white stone, golden-headed,
Look at the expanse of water and the expanse of the sky ...
He is illumined with unfading glory.
To that golden and white Monastery!
L-ra: All-world literature and culture in the beginnings. - 2005. - No. 1. - S. 24-27.
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He walks the pearly way
Through the coastal gardens
People are busy with unnecessary
People are busy with earthly things.
"Hello pastor! fisherman,
Hello!
I call you forever
To guard another flock
And other nets.
“Is it better to fish or sheep
Human soul?
You heavenly merchants,
Do not count the profits!
It's not a house in the Galilee
You are rewarded for your labors -
Bright paradise, which is pinker
The pinkest star.
The sun is approaching the tide,
Hear the breath of the end
But it will be joyful for the Son
In the House of the Gentle Father.
Does not torment, does not torment the choice,
What is more captivating than miracles?!
And the shepherd and the fisherman go
For the Seeker of Heaven.
Analysis of the poem "Christ" by Gumilyov
The work "Christ" by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilyov is a retelling of the eternal gospel story.
The poem was written in the spring of 1910. The poet, already on the verge of creating his own poetic school, as a counterbalance to symbolism, visited Africa three times, once again proposed to A. Akhmatova - and this time he received consent. By genre - romantic religious lyrics, 6 stanzas with cross rhyming. It should be said that the poet was brought up in the Orthodox faith from childhood. However, in his youth he was overtaken by a spiritual crisis, the temptation of Nietzscheanism. The verse opens with a simple thought: "people are busy with unnecessary things." Indeed, man is mortal and spends his life in vanity, in an attempt to get better on the ground, on which he will not linger. And his fate is clearly not only in his own hands, and therefore the most optimistic plans are crumbling. Meanwhile, in an idyllic landscape, He walks. Meekly, but with words full of power, Christ addresses the shepherd and the fisherman. “I call you forever”: this case, like gold, can go through fire. To graze and catch human souls - for a reward not earthly, but heavenly, eternal. "Do not count the profits": get rich good deeds. The "bright paradise" of the poet is painted in the finest pink light. It is a symbol of harmony, joy, transformation. "The sun to the pritin": that is, approaching the noon zenith. “The breath of the end is heard”: the passionate path of Christ. "In the House of the Tender Father": this house is also promised to believers. Adopted to the Father through the Son, they will be adopted into eternity. “The choice does not torment”: The Jewish people have been waiting for the Savior since ancient times. But at the decisive moment, few responded, moreover, more simple people than well-read in Holy Scripture. The story described in in general terms coincides with the presentation of the Gospel story by the Apostle Matthew. “What is more captivating than miracles ?!”: once expelled from paradise, a person vaguely remembers that he was involved in them. "The shepherd and the fisherman" go for the promised miracle, the reward, while Christ goes to his Golgotha. The vocabulary is both simple and sublime, the intonation is slightly melancholy. The atmosphere of the verse is transparent, touching, almost childlike. Epithets: "heavenly merchants", "pearl way" (a similar expression will appear in the finale of A. Blok's revolutionary poem "The Twelve", however, with a completely different meaning). Anaphora: "people are busy." Diminutive word: "house". Repetitions of words, coloring, musicality. Questions and exclamations. Periphrase: "Seeker of Heaven". Appeals. Dialogue.
For the first time, the poem "Christ" by N. Gumilyov appeared on the pages of his collection "Pearls".
