I break layered rocks
At low tide on a muddy bottom,
And my tired donkey drags
Their pieces are on a shaggy back.
Let's get to the railroad
Put it in a pile - and to the sea again
Hairy legs lead us
And the donkey starts screaming.
And he screams, and he trumpets - it is gratifying,
What goes light at least back.
And the road itself is cool
And a shady garden spread out.
Along the high and long fence
Extra roses flowers hang down to us.
The nightingale's chant does not stop,
Streams and leaves whisper something.
The cry of my donkey is heard
Every time at the garden gate
And in the garden someone laughs softly,
And then - depart and sing.
And, delving into the restless chant,
I look, urging the donkey,
Like a rocky and sultry shore
A blue haze descends.
A sultry day burns out without a trace,
The dusk of night creeps through the bushes;
And the donkey is surprised, poor man:
"What, master, are you thinking?"
Or the mind is troubled by the heat,
Did I dream in the twilight?
Only more relentlessly dreaming
Life is different - mine, not mine ...
And why in this cramped hut
I, the poor destitute, am waiting,
Repeating the chant unknown
In the nightingale ringing garden?
Curses do not reach life
Into this walled garden
In the blue twilight white dress
Behind the bars flashes carved.
Every evening in the sunset mist
Passing by these gates
And she, light, beckons me
And whirling, and singing calls.
And in inviting whirling and singing
I catch something forgotten
And I begin to love languor,
I love the inaccessibility of the fence.
The tired donkey is resting,
A crowbar is thrown on the sand under a rock,
And the owner wanders in love
Behind the night, behind the sultry haze.
And familiar, empty, rocky,
But today is a mysterious way
Again leads to the shady fence,
Fleeing into the blue haze.
And the languor is all hopeless,
And the clock follows the clock
And thorny roses tonight
They sank under the dew.
Whether punishment awaits, or reward,
If I deviate from the path?
As if at the door of a nightingale garden
Knock and may I enter?
And the past seems strange
And the hand does not return to work:
The heart knows that a welcome guest
I'll be in the nightingale garden ...
My heart spoke the truth
And the fence was not terrible.
I didn’t knock - I opened it myself
She is impregnable doors.
Along the cool road, among the lilies,
Streams sang in unison,
They stunned me with a sweet song,
The nightingales took my soul.
Alien land of unknown happiness
They opened their arms to me
And rang, falling, wrists
Louder than my poor dream.
Intoxicated with golden wine
scorched by golden fire,
I forgot about the rocky path
About my poor comrade.
Let her hide from the valley of grief
A wall drowned in roses,
Silence the roar of the sea
Nightingale song is not free!
And the anxiety that entered into singing
The roar of the waves brought me to me ...
Suddenly - a vision: a high road
And the tired step of the donkey...
And in the fragrant and sultry haze
Wrapped in a warm hand
She repeats uneasily:
"What is the matter with you, my beloved?"
But, staring into the darkness lonely,
Breathe in bliss in a hurry,
The distant sound of the tide
The soul cannot but hear.
I woke up in a hazy dawn
It is not known what day.
She sleeps smiling like children -
She had a dream about me.
As under the morning twilight charym
The face, transparent with passion, is beautiful!...
By distant and measured blows
I learned that the tide was coming.
I opened the blue window
And it seemed as if there was
Beyond the distant roar of the surf
An inviting pitiful cry.
The cry of the donkey was long and long,
Penetrated into my soul like a moan,
And I quietly drew the curtain,
To prolong the enchanted dream.
And, going down the stones of the fence,
I broke flowers oblivion.
Their thorns are like hands from a garden
They clung to my dress.
The path is familiar and not long before
This morning is flinty and heavy.
I enter the deserted shore,
Where was my house and donkey.
Or am I lost in the fog?
Or is someone kidding me?
No, I remember the outline of stones,
A skinny bush and a rock above the water...
Where is the house? - And a sliding foot
I stumble over the abandoned crowbar
Heavy, rusty, under a black rock
Covered in wet sand...
Swinging motion familiar
(Or is it still in a dream?)
I hit with a rusty crowbar
On the layered stone at the bottom...
And from where the gray octopuses
Swayed in the azure crack,
Agitated crab climbed
And sat down on the sandbank.
I moved, he got up,
Claws wide open,
But now I met someone else
They got in a fight and disappeared...
And from the path that I have trodden,
Where the hut used to be
A worker with a pick began to descend,
Chasing someone else's donkey.
A.A. Blok "The Nightingale Garden"
1
I break layered rocks
At low tide on a muddy bottom,
And my tired donkey drags
Their pieces are on a shaggy back.
Let's get to the railroad
Put it in a pile - and to the sea again
Hairy legs lead us
And the donkey starts screaming.
And he screams, and he trumpets - it is gratifying,
What goes light at least back.
And the road itself is cool
And a shady garden spread out.
Along the high and long fence
Extra roses flowers hang down to us.
The nightingale's chant does not stop,
Streams and leaves whisper something.
The cry of my donkey is heard
Every time at the garden gate
And in the garden someone laughs softly,
And then - depart and sing.
And, delving into the restless chant,
I look, urging the donkey,
Like a rocky and sultry shore
A blue haze descends.
2
A sultry day burns out without a trace,
The dusk of night creeps through the bushes;
And the donkey is surprised, poor man:
"What, master, are you thinking?"
Or the mind is troubled by the heat,
Did I dream in the twilight?
Only more relentlessly dreaming
Life is different - mine, not mine ...
And why in this cramped hut
I, the poor destitute, am waiting,
Repeating the chant unknown
In the nightingale ringing garden?
Curses do not reach life
Into this walled garden
In the blue twilight white dress
Behind the bars flashes carved.
Every evening in the sunset mist
Passing by these gates
And she, light, beckons me
And whirling, and singing calls.
And in inviting whirling and singing
I catch something forgotten
And I begin to love languor,
I love the inaccessibility of the fence.
3
The tired donkey is resting,
A crowbar is thrown on the sand under a rock,
And the owner wanders in love
Behind the night, behind the sultry haze.
And familiar, empty, rocky,
But today is a mysterious way
Again leads to the shady fence,
Fleeing into the blue haze.
And the languor is all hopeless,
And the clock follows the clock
And thorny roses tonight
They sank under the dew.
Whether punishment awaits, or reward,
If I deviate from the path?
As if at the door of a nightingale garden
Knock and may I enter?
And the past seems strange
And the hand does not return to work:
The heart knows that a welcome guest
I'll be in the nightingale garden ...
4
My heart spoke the truth
And the fence was not terrible.
I didn’t knock - I opened it myself
She is impregnable doors.
Along the cool road, among the lilies,
Streams sang in unison,
They stunned me with a sweet song,
The nightingales took my soul.
Alien land of unknown happiness
They opened their arms to me
And rang, falling, wrists
Louder than my poor dream.
Intoxicated with golden wine
scorched by golden fire,
I forgot about the rocky path
About my poor comrade.
5
Let her hide from the valley of grief
A wall drowned in roses,
Silence the roar of the sea
Nightingale song is not free!
And the anxiety that entered into singing
The roar of the waves brought me to me ...
Suddenly - a vision: a high road
And the tired step of the donkey...
And in the fragrant and sultry haze
Wrapped in a warm hand
She repeats uneasily:
"What is the matter with you, my beloved?"
But, staring into the darkness lonely,
Breathe in bliss in a hurry,
The distant sound of the tide
The soul cannot but hear.
6
I woke up in a hazy dawn
It is not known what day.
She sleeps, smiling like children, -
She had a dream about me.
As under the morning twilight charym
The face, transparent with passion, is beautiful!...
By distant and measured blows
I learned that the tide was coming.
I opened the blue window
And it seemed as if there was
Beyond the distant roar of the surf
An inviting pitiful cry.
The cry of the donkey was long and long,
Penetrated into my soul like a moan,
And I quietly drew the curtain,
To prolong the enchanted dream.
And, going down the stones of the fence,
I broke flowers oblivion.
Their thorns are like hands from a garden
They clung to my dress.
7
The path is familiar and not long before
This morning is flinty and heavy.
I enter the deserted shore,
Where was my house and donkey.
Or am I lost in the fog?
Or is someone kidding me?
No, I remember the outline of stones,
A skinny bush and a rock above the water...
Where is the house? - And a sliding foot
I stumble over the abandoned crowbar
Heavy, rusty, under a black rock
Covered in wet sand...
Swinging motion familiar
(Or is it still in a dream?)
I hit with a rusty crowbar
On the layered stone at the bottom...
And from where the gray octopuses
Swayed in the azure crack,
Agitated crab climbed
And sat down on the sandbank.
I moved, he got up,
Claws wide open,
But now I met someone else
They got in a fight and disappeared...
And from the path that I have trodden,
Where the hut used to be
A worker with a pick began to descend,
Chasing someone else's donkey.
The subtle lyricist and master of composition Alexander Blok made a great contribution to Russian and world classical poetry. Paying tribute to romanticism and symbolism, the poet creates a wonderful work - the poem "The Nightingale Garden", in which he speaks ornately, beautifully and mysteriously about the meaning of life and the place of man in it. It is this poem that belongs to the most perfect works of Blok (it is no coincidence that he was often called the singer of the Nightingale Garden). The poem summarizes the motifs of many poems (“The earthly heart freezes again ...”, “How did it happen, how did it happen?”, “On a decorated Christmas tree ...” and others), which raised the issue of the writer's appointment in life, about the duty of a person to society.
Blok's poems are always accurately dated. The poem "The Nightingale Garden" was written on January 6 - October 14, 1915. There was the First World War. Not only for the poet, but also for any person, this was a particularly disturbing time, when life's contradictions were most acutely felt. Shortly before this, a line arose - "We are the children of the terrible years of Russia." Around the same time, I.A. Bunin wrote the story "The Gentleman from San Francisco", which contains reflections on the fate of civilization - a topic relevant to most writers during this period.
The poem "The Nightingale Garden" is a confession of a lyrical hero, a story about his desire to find peace and happiness in a nightingale garden, about disappointment and a return to the former life of a worker. The “heart” of the poem is in the depiction of the tragic gap between the craving for happiness and beauty and the consciousness of the impossibility of forgetting about the “terrible world”.
The poem is small in volume, but complex in form and content because of its symbolism and ambiguity.
The title of the poem “The Nightingale Garden” is already ambiguous. It refers us to many sources. First, to the Bible: the Garden of Eden, the earthly paradise, from where God expelled Adam and Eve, and since then people in hard labor must earn their daily bread. Secondly, the image of the garden as a symbol of beauty, unattainable happiness, temptation appears in Russian folk and oriental tales.
The composition of the poem is symbolic - 7 chapters and the ring structure of the work (it begins and ends on the seashore). The narration is conducted in the first person, which gives the work the character and intonation of a confession, a sincere and sincere narration about the experience. From the very beginning, the first theme arises, which, echoing the second, continues for three chapters. Already from the fourth chapter, the hero enters the garden. Staying in the garden, that is, the second theme, is devoted to only 3 stanzas. And then the first theme reappears, but this is no longer a life filled with content and action, but the result of being in the garden is loneliness, the meaninglessness of existence.
In the first chapter, a picture of the exhausting work of a stonemason is recreated:
I break layered rocks
At low tide on a muddy bottom,
And my tired donkey drags
Their pieces are on a shaggy back.
Let's take it to the railroad.
Put it in a pile - and to the sea again ...
The work is hard not only for man, but also for the animal. Its monotony, monotony is conveyed by the words:we'll bring it... put it down... and to the sea again.Everything will be repeated over and over again.
There are not so many works in Russian poetry in which the instrumentation of verse would be so diverse as in Blok's poem. Let's take a look at the above stanza. It alternates:
1 line: sl - sk
2nd line: s - st
3rd line: sk - s - st
4th line: sk - sp
The repetition of consonants (s - st - sk) somehow conveys the tired tread of the owner and the donkey.
An important role in the second chapter is played by sketches of nature. They help to understand how the idea of escaping from the "life of curses" into a calm and serene nightingale garden is born and matures. Dreams and languor appear in the evening hour, when "a sultry day burns out without a trace." The signs of the coming night are mentioned several times: "in the sunset fog", "twilight of the night", "in the blue twilight". In the sultry evening fog and then in the night twilight, clear outlines of objects are not visible, everything around seems unsteady, indefinite, mysterious. "In the blue twilight, a white dress" flickers like some ghostly vision. "Incomprehensible" is the name of the tune that is heard in the garden. With her "circling and singing" the girl beckons to herself, like a magical, fabulous power. In this chapter, the image of the Beautiful Lady is outlined: “white dress”, “she is light”, “beckons”, “calling”, that is, the image is given in the traditional manner for Blok. The image of a woman is unsteady. Its enticing charm is conveyed by repetitions of individual words, expressions, sounds, internal rhyme (whirling - singing).
In the third chapter, the "dialectic" of a difficult mental struggle is revealed to the reader. The decision to go to the nightingale garden does not arise so suddenly, suddenly. Leaving the donkey and the crowbar, "the owner wanders in love," again comes to the fence, "the clock follows the clock." "And the languor is getting more and more hopeless" - it must be resolved soon. And it will probably happen today. A well-known road seems mysterious today. "And the thorny roses today fell under the dew" (Obviously, they will not delay the guest with their thorny thorns if he goes to the garden). The hero still only poses the question: "Is there a punishment waiting, or a reward if I deviate from the path?" But if we think about this question, we can say that the choice has already been essentially made. "And the past seems strange, and the hand does not return to work." The turning point in the hero's soul has already occurred, it is clear to us that he, not satisfied with his former life, will try to fulfill his dream.
The central part in the composition of the poem is the fourth, in which the hero enters the garden. He does not disappoint the lyrical hero: “cool road” (after the heat), lilies (the flower of the Beautiful Lady in Blok’s early poetry, and in the Bible an attribute of the Virgin Mary, symbolizing her purity) on both sides of the road, “streams sang”, “sweet song of the nightingale ". He experiences "unfamiliar happiness"; the garden even surpassed the dream of beauty. The mystery of the garden is emphasized by the use of indefinite pronouns: "something", "someone". In the Garden of Eden, “curse lives” do not reach, but there is no life itself.
The seventh chapter is a return to the familiar road, where everything is so memorable and dear in its own way: the shape of the stones, and the skinny bush, and “the rock above the water…”. It would seem that, leaving the nightingale garden, the hero will continue his work as before. But in the same place there was neither a hut nor a donkey, only rusty, sand-covered crowbars were lying around, and the usual path turned out to be "siliceous and heavy."Wordsiliceousresurrects in our memory the lines of Lermontov: “I go out alone on the road / Through the fog, the flinty path shines.” This association enriches our perception of the hero's attitude, his loneliness and restlessness. The hero was deprived of everything. There is no hut, no "comrade of the poor", only rusty scrap, "dragged in wet sand ...", has survived.
An attempt to break the stone with a "familiar movement" meets with resistance. The "Agitated Crab" "rose up, opening its claws wide", as if protesting against the return to work of one who had already lost the right to it. Another has now taken his place. Thus, to the question of the lyrical hero: “is there a punishment or a reward if I deviate from the path?” Block responds at the end of the poem in the scene of the clash of crabs.
The composition of the poem is clearly symbolic, and scholars are arguing about the options for deciphering it.In some works, the idea was expressed that the seven chapters of the poem correspond to the seven days of the week. The hero, they say, violated the covenant given to man from above: to earn his daily bread by the sweat of his brow. That is why he was punished. Note that the poem is devoid of edification. And its plot does not fit into the time frame of the week.
Each of the chapters is a certain stage in the life of the hero, his attitude. The first chapter is about the bleak life of the poor; the second is a dream of another life; the third - reflections on the choice of the path; the fourth - in the realm of the "garden"; fifth - memories of the past; sixth
Escape from the world of a fairy tale; the seventh is the return to the deserted shore. Each of the chapters has its own emotional tonality, its own intonation (narrative and colloquial, melodious and emotional).
There is nothing strained, complex, requiring special explanations in the images of the poem, but some of them are ambiguous.
The image of the garden is ambiguous. On the one hand, a garden is both an image of happiness unattainable for a person, and an image of an alluring dream, and a selfish life path, when a person lives only with his love in his own small personal world, and an image of art for the sake of art, devoid of any civic interests. The nightingale garden is a kind of test, the temptation of a hero that occurs in the life of every person. The poem shows the tragic gap between a person's craving for happiness and beauty and a sense of duty, the consciousness of the impossibility of forgetting about the "terrible world". On the other hand, withthe tin garden is a symbol of beauty, love, peace.
Its antithesis is the everyday pile of a stonemason: layered rocks, a rocky road, a hut are metaphors for the hard way of a hard worker. The roar of the waves, the sound of the tide, the growl of the surf, the cry of the donkey - all this symbolizes life with its many voices, vanity and worries.
The donkey is present in all chapters except the fourth. He is always “tired” and “poor”. On the one hand, the donkey is a symbol of the real world, low reality. On the other hand, this is the image of an assistant who helps the hero to do dirty, difficult work, and then with his cries reminds him of the abandoned labor path, of duty. In the Bible, the donkey is one of the first animals to recognize Christ and at the same time represents obedience. This does not contradict Blok's image: everyone must go his own way, without deviating, to the end, no matter how difficult it may be. And the reward awaits the one who does it. Balaam, sent to curse the Israelites, did not see God's angel, but his donkey saw, helped Balaam to see and believe. It seems to me that in Blok's poem, the donkey helps the hero return to the right path - the path of the worker. True, when the hero returns, he does not find his donkey, but this is the punishment for apostasy, for the rejection of former ideals, from the path destined from above.
Roses are the most important symbol of dreams, happiness, without which the existence of a nightingale garden is impossible:“along the fence ... flowers hang down to us with extra roses”, “and thorny roses today fell under the dew”, “a wall drowned in roses”.In Greco-Roman mythology, the rose is the flower of Aphrodite, symbolizing love. In this sense, the rose has become a traditional symbol of romantic poetry. Roses also bloomed in the Garden of Eden, but they did not have any thorns. In medieval courtly culture, a maiden was painted surrounded by a rose garden: the thorns of the plant protected the chastity of the bride.
In Blok, the rose takes on a different meaning: it is a symbol of empty illusions, an element of prettiness, and not true beauty. The same can be said about the image of the nightingale. In romantic poetry, this is a symbol of real art, in which external homelessness is opposed to internal beauty and talent. At Blok's, the nightingales sing in the enchanted garden:“the song of the nightingale does not stop”, “in the ringing garden of the nightingale”, “they deafened me with a sweet song, the nightingales took my soul”.But their song is part of an alluring pipe dream, temptation, seduction. It is opposed to the cry of a donkey and the roar of the sea, which symbolize life with its anxieties, work, worries. “The murmur of the sea”, “the roar of the waves”, “the distant sound of the tide” turn out to be much stronger than the nightingale’s song: “To drown out the rumble of the sea / Nightingale's song is not free.
The nightingale and the rose are traditional images of tender love in world lyrics, and the sea is used by many poets as a symbol of life. It can be said that Blok affirms the need to subordinate personal interests to public interests.
There are two layers of vocabulary in the poem. One is colloquial, household. The other is romantic poetry. Note that these layers are not isolated, but interact organically. Colloquial vocabulary is mainly found in chapters that tell about the hero's life outside the nightingale garden. The words and expressions of the poetic series are in the chapters on the "garden".
Let's turn to the first chapter. Here we find everyday words and expressions:drags, shaggy back, hairy legs, put in a pile, goes light even back, urging the donkey.And next to it are words and expressions of a different plan:It is gratifying, the shady garden spreads, the nightingale's song does not stop, the streams and leaves whisper, the chant is restless, the shore is rocky and sultry, a blue haze descends.
In the fifth chapter, mainly such expressions:sheltered from distant grief, a wall drowned in roses, the song is not free, anxiety entered into singing, the roar of the waves, in the fragrant and sultry haze, breathe in bliss, the soul cannot but hear;words:vision, action.There are few spoken words in this chapter.
In the sixth chapter, along with poetic expressions(a hazy dawn, a dream was dreamed of, a enchanted dusk, a transparent face, a blue window, an enchanted dream, the oblivion of flowers was broken)there are colloquial turns:no one knows what day, a dream about me, I found out that the tide was coming, I pulled the canopy, clung to the dress. It is worth paying attention to the meaning of the word charim. It is derived from the noun chara. Twilight charym means magical twilight.
What is the meaning of the interaction of these different stylistic layers? The intrusion of poetic language into the description of the life of the poor pays tribute to labor as a duty of man. The penetration of colloquial vocabulary into the narrative of the "garden" largely clarifies the allegorical nature of the poem. And the very contrasting image of the two worlds (the joyless existence of a stonemason and the idle, full of fun life in the garden) dictates the choice of a dictionary, expressive means. In stylistic polyphonism, the unique originality of the language of the poem.
K. Chukovsky reproached A. Blok for the “excessive sweetness” of “The Nightingale Garden”. But the poet can be justified. The description of the garden can only be precisely "excessively mellifluous." Because such a life cannot be portrayed in a different way, it cannot be described otherwise.No matter how attractive the nightingale garden may seem, no matter how difficult it is to part with it, the poet's duty is to go into the thick of life, responding to her calls. Therefore, it was especially important for Blok to show life in the nightingale garden as captivating and enchanting. And it was necessary to talk about it in the same captivating, sweet-sounding verses.
On the one hand, this is a poem about the meaning of life, about the choice of one's life path, about moral values and guidelines in this life. On the other hand, The Nightingale Garden is largely autobiographical; it can be viewed as a poetic confession about the poet's creative path in which the poet says goodbye to his romantic past. When Blok sang the Beautiful Lady, he did not hear the "rumble" of real life, he was fascinated only by the idea of priestly service to the ideal of Eternal Femininity. But soon the poet abandoned this, chose true life, because only it is the source of creativity.
With his poem, Blok argues that the poet should actively participate in public life and fulfill his civic duty, and not take refuge in the serene garden of "pure art". Remembering the literary tastes and hobbies of the author of The Nightingale Garden, his literary predecessors and teachers, one can name, along with other poets, A.A. Fet, whose poems were well known and loved by Blok. In particular, literary critics find connecting threads between Blok's poem and Fet's poem "Key":
Between the village and the mountain grove
The river winds like a light ribbon,
And on the temple above the black winter
A bright cross rose into the clouds.
Everything will come running from the steppes to the dawn,
Like news over a cool wave
Swept by; refresh and drink!
But not a single one in the noisy crowd
Do not look closely at the bushes of trees.
And they do not hear the call of the nightingale
In the roar of the herds and the splashing of the rolls.
Only one in the evening hour, cherished,
I to the murmuring sweet key
On the path of the forest, imperceptible,
I will find the usual path in the darkness.
Treasuring nightingale peace,
I won't scare away the night singer
And lips, burned with heat,
I cling to refreshing moisture.
Fet managed to convey the charming and alluring charm of "refreshing moisture", a shady grove and a nightingale's call. Blok's nightingale garden is depicted just as attractively. The lyrical hero of the poem "Key" strives for that bliss that, we saw, the hero of "The Nightingale Garden" found behind the "wall drowned in roses". The poem resembles the poem "Key" with its rhythm, melodiousness, similar image-symbols.
It should be noted that literary critics in their studies drew attention to the subtext of "The Nightingale Garden", to the polemical orientation of this poem by Blok in relation to A. Fet's poem "Key". This idea was first expressed by V.Ya. Kirpotin in the article "The Polemical Subtext of the Nightingale Garden". Vl. Orlov joined him in the comments on the Nightingale Garden, L. Dolgopolov in a monograph on Blok's poems.
“The Nightingale Garden is a complex and rich allegory, a poem in abstract forms that solves the most important issues of life and art, the problem of the relationship between the artist and society. These questions are the artistic core around which the action of the poem develops, its complex romantic plot, ”the latter notes.
From the drafts of the poem, one can see that it was originally built as a third-person story. Subsequently replacing the face of the narrator, Blok made the narrative more emotional, close to the reader, introduced autobiographical elements into it. Thanks to this, readers perceive the poem not as a story about the sad fate of some poor man, but as an excited confession of the narrator about his experiences, about his spiritual struggle. The meaning of The Nightingale Garden cannot therefore be reduced to a mere polemic with Fet or other supporters of "pure art". This poem, concludes V. Kirpotin, was not only "a response to a multi-branched and noisy dispute about the appointment of the writer and the paths of the Russian intelligentsia." In his work, Blok "created an answer in which he said goodbye to his own past, or, rather, to much of his own past." "The controversy with Fet," writes L. Dolgopolov, "grew into a controversy with himself."
But one cannot confine oneself to such an autobiographical reading, just as one cannot leave it outside the scope of analysis. Summing up, we can schematically depict three possible interpretations of the poem.
Firstly, this is the attitude of A. Blok to life, to his duty as a man and a poet. Secondly, this is a poem about poetry and its relation to life. And finally, thirdly, The Nightingale Garden is a work about the meaning of human life.
The poem "The Nightingale Garden" is mysterious and captivating. Blok was able to express his aesthetic and philosophical views in it. This work gives readers the opportunity to enjoy the beautiful Russian language, captivating with its sonority, harmony and beauty.
The short poem "The Nightingale Garden" (1915) is one of Blok's most perfect works. (It is no coincidence that Blok was often called the singer of the Nightingale Garden). It reflects the poet's constant thoughts about his place in life, in the social struggle. The poem helps to understand Blok's very important "turn in life" from individualism towards rapprochement with the people.
Schoolchildren are reading "The Nightingale Garden" with interest. What is the best way to organize the work on this poem? It is advisable to have a title for each chapter. This will allow you to see a very slender, well-thought-out composition of the poem.
The plan might be something like this:
- Tiresome labor and heat.
- Dreams about the "inaccessible fence" of the nightingale garden.
- Desire to enter the garden.
- "An alien land of unknown happiness."
- "The nightingale's song is not free to drown out the roar of the sea!"
- Escape from the garden.
- Loss of a former home, job and friend.
After reading the poem, we offer the students a task: using the text of the first chapter (and partly of the subsequent chapters), trace how the hard working life of the hero is depicted and what is opposed to it in the poem. They will notice that the chapter is built on contrasts. The "poor destitute" lives "in a cramped hut", his work is exhausting ("a tired donkey", "it is gratifying" that he walks light even back"). And in the garden "the nightingale's melody does not stop, streams and leaves whisper something."
In the first chapter, built on contrasts, it is not difficult to find two opposite lexical layers. The prose vocabulary used to describe everyday work (carrying, furry back, hairy legs, etc.) is replaced by romantically upbeat speech, when he sings, talks about a nightingale garden. The content of the first chapter, which is an exposition, speaks naturally and logically, motivates the events of the second chapter, which forms the plot of the plot: a beautiful mysterious nightingale garden, opposed to bleak work, gives rise to dreams of a different life.
It is interesting to follow from the second chapter how the hero's dream of the "impregnable fence" of the garden develops. At the same time, attention should be paid to how Blok managed to convey the power of an unrelenting dream and reveal the spiritual world of the hero. Something extraordinary is happening to him. Thoughts about the possibility of another life cause dissatisfaction with one's fate ("And what am I, a destitute poor man, waiting for in this cramped hut:?"), a reassessment of one's usual work, which is now perceived as a "life of damnation". The incessant nightingale melody, "Her" "circling and singing", relentless dreams cause "hopeless languor" that filled the whole soul, crowding out everything else.
An important role in the second chapter is played by sketches of nature. They help to understand how the idea of escaping from the "life of curses" into a calm and serene nightingale garden is born and matures. Dreams and languor appear in the evening hour, when "a sultry day burns out without a trace." The signs of the coming night are mentioned several times: "in the sunset fog", "twilight of the night", "in the blue twilight". In the sultry evening fog and then in the night twilight, clear outlines of objects are not visible, everything around seems unsteady, indefinite, mysterious. "In the blue twilight, a white dress" flickers like some ghostly vision. "Incomprehensible" is the name of the tune that is heard in the garden. With her "circling and singing" the girl beckons to herself, like a magical, fabulous power.
Everything connected with the nightingale garden is closely intertwined in the mind of the hero with relentless dreams of an unknown life. It is difficult for him to separate the real from the fictional, the fantastic. Therefore, the garden that attracts and alluring seems inaccessible, like a bright dream, like a pleasant dream. The poet shows very emotionally and psychologically convincingly the impossibility of getting rid of this languor. Therefore, it is not difficult to say what will happen in the future: the hero will inevitably go to the nightingale garden.
In the third chapter, the "dialectic" of a difficult mental struggle is revealed to the reader. The decision to go to the nightingale garden does not arise so suddenly, suddenly. Leaving the donkey and the crowbar, "the owner wanders in love," again comes to the fence, "the clock follows the clock." "And the languor is getting more and more hopeless" - it must be resolved soon. And it will probably happen today. A well-known road seems mysterious today. "And the thorny roses today fell under the dew" (Obviously, they will not delay the guest with their thorny thorns if he goes to the garden). The hero still only poses the question: "Is there a punishment waiting, or a reward if I deviate from the path?" But if we think about this question, we can say that the choice has already been essentially made. "And the past seems strange, and the hand does not return to work." The turning point in the hero's soul has already occurred, it is clear to us that he, not satisfied with his former life, will try to fulfill his dream.
The fourth chapter, which tells about the achievement of a cherished dream, is logically clearly separated from the previous one and at the same time is naturally connected with it. The "bridge" connecting them is the phrase: "The heart knows that I will be a welcome guest in the nightingale garden:". The new chapter begins with the continuation of this thought: "My heart spoke the truth:". What did the hero find behind the impregnable fence of the garden?
Along the cool road, between the lines,
Streams sang in unison,
They stunned me with a sweet song,
The nightingales took my soul.
Alien land of unknown happiness
They opened their arms to me
And rang, falling, wrists
Louder than my poor dream.
Why did the poet consider it necessary to reveal to the reader all the charm of this heavenly bliss?
The dream did not deceive the hero, the "alien land of unfamiliar happiness" turned out to be even more beautiful than it was in the lover's dreams. He reached the pinnacle of his bliss and forgot everything else. The situation in which the "poor destitute" found himself is able to charm and captivate everyone. Few would be able to resist the temptation to surrender to this wonderful, almost heavenly life, to refuse the opportunity to experience happiness. And it is quite natural that the hero, having reached the pinnacle of bliss, "forgot about the stony path, about his poor comrade."
This phrase leads us to a new "tonality", a new chapter, a new thought. Is it possible to forget your friend, your work, your duty? And did the hero of the poem really forget about all this?
Let her hide from the valley of grief
A wall drowned in roses,
Silence the roar of the sea
Nightingale song is not free!
"The roar of the sea", "the roar of the waves", "the distant sound of the tide" turn out to be much stronger than the nightingale's song. This is quite true in terms of simple likelihood. Let's remember something else at the same time. The nightingale and the rose are traditional images of tender love in world lyrics. For many poets, the sea acts as a symbol; it can be said that Blok affirms the need to subordinate personal interests to public ones.
In spite of everything, "the distant sound of the tide can no longer be heard by the soul." The next, sixth chapter speaks of the flight of the hero of the poem from the nightingale garden. Let's ask students questions:
What is the role of the sixth chapter of the poem?
Could it have been done without it?
Why not simply write that the hero left the garden as soon as he realized that it was necessary to do so?
The sixth chapter gives the reader a sense of how difficult it was to leave the garden. After all, the hero was fascinated not only by the coolness, flowers and nightingale songs. With him was a beauty who discovered "an alien land of unfamiliar happiness."
She is not an evil sorceress, a temptress, who lures her victim in order to destroy. No, this is a caring, passionately loving woman, childishly tender, sincere and trusting.
C pit she, smiling like children, -
She had a dream about me.
She is worried, noticing some kind of anxiety in the soul of her lover. It is difficult for the hero to leave the garden, not only because he deprives himself of bliss. It is a pity to leave such a pure, trusting, loving being, to destroy "her" happiness. And you need to have great spiritual strength in order to leave the beautiful garden in spite of everything, responding to the call of life. Without seeing these difficulties, without learning about the happiness that the hero of the poem is forced to give up, readers would not be able to understand and appreciate his act.
What new thought is connected by the seventh, last chapter? It would seem that, leaving the nightingale garden, the hero will continue his work as before. But in the same place there was neither a hut nor a donkey, only a rusty, sand-covered crowbar was lying around. An attempt to break the stone with a "familiar movement" meets with resistance. The "Agitated Crab" "rose up, opening its claws wide", as if protesting against the return to work of one who had already lost the right to it. Another has now taken his place.
And from the path that I have trodden,
Where the hut used to be
A worker with a pick began to descend,
Chasing someone else's donkey.
An attempt to get away from the "life of curses" in a serene nightingale garden did not go unpunished. The seventh chapter of the poem leads us to such a thought.
After getting acquainted with the content of all the chapters, the students conclude what significance the "Nightingale Garden" had in disputes about the role and purpose of the poet. With his poem, Blok argues that the poet should actively participate in public life and fulfill his civic duty, and not take refuge in the serene garden of "pure art."
We will invite students to name the poets of "pure art", Blok's predecessors and teachers. Remembering the literary tastes and hobbies of the author of "The Nightingale Garden", schoolchildren will name, along with other poets, A.A. Fet, whose poems Blok knew and loved well. The teacher will read A. Fet's poem "Key".
Students will note what makes the poem "The Nightingale Garden" related to Fet's poem. Fet managed to convey the charming and alluring charm of "refreshing moisture", a shady grove and a nightingale's call. Blok's nightingale garden is depicted just as attractively. The lyrical hero of the poem "The Key" strives for that bliss that, as we saw, the hero of "The Nightingale's Garden" found behind the "wall drowned in roses". Blok's poem resembles the poem "Key" with its rhythm, melodiousness, similar images-symbols.
It should be noted that literary critics in their studies drew attention to the subtext of "The Nightingale Garden", to the polemical orientation of this poem by Blok in relation to A. Fet's poem "Key". This idea was first expressed by V.Ya.
No matter how attractive the "nightingale garden" may seem, no matter how difficult it is to part with it, the poet's duty is to go into the thick of life, responding to her calls. Therefore, it was especially important for Blok to show life in the nightingale garden as charming and captivating. And it was necessary to talk about it in the same captivating, sweet-sounding verses.
From the drafts of the poem, one can see that it was originally built as a third-person story. Subsequently replacing the face of the narrator, Blok made the narrative more emotional, close to the reader, introduced autobiographical elements into it. Thanks to this, readers perceive the poem not as a story about the sad fate of some poor man, but as an excited confession of the narrator about his experiences, about his spiritual struggle. The meaning of The Nightingale Garden cannot therefore be reduced to a mere polemic with Fet or other supporters of "pure art". This poem, concludes V. Kirpotin, was not only "a response to a multi-branched and noisy dispute about the appointment of the writer and the paths of the Russian intelligentsia." In his work, Blok "created an answer in which he said goodbye to his own past, or, rather, to much of his own past." "The controversy with Fet," writes L. Dolgopolov, "grew into a controversy with himself."
C this process was false for Blok. He does not hide difficult, painful experiences from readers, he opens his soul to us. Ultimate sincerity and frankness, the ability to convey the subtlest shades of spiritual life - this is perhaps the strongest side of Blok's poetry. The poem "The Nightingale Garden" helps to see the difficult path along which the poet went to his main feat of life - to the creation of the poem "The Twelve".
Literature.
- Blok A.A. "Lyric" - M.: Pravda, 1985.
- Gorelov A. "Essays on Russian Writers". L., Soviet writer, 1968.
- Fet A.A. "Complete collection of poems" L., Soviet writer. 1959.
- Questions of Literature. 1959, No. 6, p. 178-181
- Dolgopolov L.K. "Poems of Blok and the Russian poem of the late 19th and early 20th centuries", M. - L., Nauka, 1964, p. 135-136.
- Serbin P.K. The study of the work of Alexander Blok. - K .: Radianska school, 1980.
Alexander Blok
NIGHTINGALING GARDEN
I break layered rocks At low tide on a muddy bottom, And my tired donkey drags Their pieces on a shaggy back.
We'll carry it to the railroad, We'll put it in a pile, and again hairy legs lead us to the sea, And the donkey starts screaming.
And he shouts and trumpets, - it is gratifying, That he goes light even back. And by the road itself - a cool And shady garden spread out.
Along the high and long fence Of extra roses, flowers hang down to us. The nightingale's melody does not stop, Streams and leaves whisper something.
The cry of my donkey is heard Every time at the garden gate, And in the garden someone laughs softly, And then - he will move away and sing.
And, delving into the restless melody, I look, urging the donkey, How the blue haze descends on the rocky and sultry shore.
The sultry day burns down without a trace, The twilight of the night creeps through the bushes; And the donkey is surprised, the poor one: "What, master, have you thought about it?"
Or the mind is troubled by the heat, Did I dream in the twilight? Only more and more relentless dreams Life is different - mine, not mine ...
And why in this cramped hut Am I, a destitute poor man, waiting, Repeating an unknown chant, In a nightingale ringing garden?
Life's curses do not reach In this walled garden, In the blue twilight a white dress Carved flickers behind a lattice.
Every evening in the sunset fog I pass by these gates, And she, light, beckons me And whirls and calls to singing.
And in the inviting whirling and singing I catch something forgotten, And I begin to love languishing, I love the inaccessibility of the fence.
A weary donkey is resting, A crowbar is thrown on the sand under a rock, And the owner wanders in love Behind the night, behind the sultry haze.
And the familiar, empty, stony, But today - the mysterious path Again leads to the shady fence, Running away into the blue haze.
And the languor is getting more and more hopeless, And the clock follows the clock, And today the prickly roses Have fallen under the dew.
Is there a punishment, or a reward, If I deviate from the path? How would one knock on the door of a nightingale garden, and is it possible to enter?
And the past seems strange, And the hand does not return to work: The heart knows that I will be a welcome guest in the nightingale's garden ...
My heart spoke the truth, And the fence was not terrible. I did not knock - she herself opened the impregnable doors.
Along the cool road, among the lilies, The streams sang monotonously, They deafened me with their sweet song, The nightingales took my soul.
Alien land of unfamiliar happiness They opened their arms to me, And the wrists rang as they fell, Louder than in my impoverished dream.
Drunk with golden wine, Golden scorched by fire, I forgot about the stony path, About my poor comrade.
Let the wall drowned in roses shelter from the valley's grief, To drown out the rumble of the sea The nightingale's song is not free!
And the alarm that entered into singing The roar of the waves brought me to me ... Suddenly - a vision: a high road And the tired tread of a donkey ...
And in the fragrant and sultry haze Wrapping a hot hand around her, She repeats uneasily: "What is the matter with you, my beloved?"
But, staring into the darkness lonely, Breathe in bliss in a hurry, The distant sound of the tide Already the soul cannot help but hear.
I woke up at a hazy dawn. It is not known what day. She sleeps, smiling like children, She had a dream about me.
How, under the morning twilight, a bewitching face, transparent with passion, is beautiful!
I threw open the blue window, And it seemed as if there had arisen Behind the distant growl of the surf An inviting plaintive cry.
The cry of the donkey was long and long, Penetrated into my soul like a groan, And I quietly drew the canopy, To prolong the enchanted dream.
And, going down the stones of the fence, I broke the oblivion of the flowers. Their thorns, like hands from a garden, Cling to my dress.
The path is familiar and previously short This morning is flinty and heavy. I enter the deserted shore, Where my house and donkey are left.
Or am I lost in the fog? Or is someone kidding me? No, I remember the shape of the stones, The skinny bush and the rock above the water...
Where is the house? - And with a sliding foot I stumble over the abandoned crowbar, Heavy, rusty, under the black rock Dragged in wet sand ...
Swinging with a familiar movement (Or is it still in a dream?), I hit with a rusty crowbar On the layered stone at the bottom ...
And from where the gray octopuses Swayed in the azure crack, A crab clambered agitated And crouched on the sandy shallows.
I moved, - he got up, Opening his claws wide, But immediately I met another, They fought and disappeared ...
And from the path trodden by me, Where the hut used to be, A worker with a pick began to descend, Chasing someone else's donkey.
I break layered rocks
At low tide on a muddy bottom,
And my tired donkey drags
Their pieces are on a shaggy back.
Let's get to the railroad
Put it in a pile - and to the sea again
Hairy legs lead us
And the donkey starts screaming.
And he screams, and he trumpets - it is gratifying,
What goes light at least back.
And the road itself is cool
And a shady garden spread out.
Along the high and long fence
Extra roses flowers hang down to us.
The nightingale's chant does not stop,
Streams and leaves whisper something.
The cry of my donkey is heard
Every time at the garden gate
And in the garden someone laughs softly,
And then - depart and sing.
And, delving into the restless chant,
I look, urging the donkey,
Like a rocky and sultry shore
A blue haze descends.
A sultry day burns out without a trace,
The dusk of night creeps through the bushes;
And the donkey is surprised, poor man:
"What, master, are you thinking?"
Or the mind is troubled by the heat,
Did I dream in the twilight?
Only more relentlessly dreaming
Life is different - mine, not mine ...
And why in this cramped hut
I, the poor destitute, am waiting,
Repeating the chant unknown
In the nightingale ringing garden?
Curses do not reach life
Into this walled garden
In the blue twilight white dress
Behind the bars flashes carved.
Every evening in the sunset mist
Passing by these gates
And she, light, beckons me
And whirling, and singing calls.
And in inviting whirling and singing
I catch something forgotten
And I begin to love languor,
I love the inaccessibility of the fence.
The tired donkey is resting,
A crowbar is thrown on the sand under a rock,
And the owner wanders in love
Behind the night, behind the sultry haze.
And familiar, empty, rocky,
But today is a mysterious way
Again leads to the shady fence,
Fleeing into the blue haze.
And the languor is all hopeless,
And the clock follows the clock
And thorny roses tonight
They sank under the dew.
Whether punishment awaits, or reward,
If I deviate from the path?
As if at the door of a nightingale garden
Knock and may I enter?
And the past seems strange
And the hand does not return to work:
The heart knows that a welcome guest
I'll be in the nightingale garden ...
My heart spoke the truth
And the fence was not terrible.
I didn’t knock - I opened it myself
She is impregnable doors.
Along the cool road, among the lilies,
Streams sang in unison,
They stunned me with a sweet song,
The nightingales took my soul.
Alien land of unknown happiness
They opened their arms to me
And rang, falling, wrists
Louder than my poor dream.
Intoxicated with golden wine
scorched by golden fire,
I forgot about the rocky path
About my poor comrade.
Let her hide from the valley of grief
A wall drowned in roses,
Silence the roar of the sea
Nightingale song is not free!
And the anxiety that entered into singing
The roar of the waves brought me to me ...
Suddenly - a vision: a high road
And the tired step of the donkey...
And in the fragrant and sultry haze
Wrapped in a warm hand
She repeats uneasily:
"What is the matter with you, my beloved?"
But, staring into the darkness lonely,
Breathe in bliss in a hurry,
The distant sound of the tide
The soul cannot but hear.
I woke up in a hazy dawn
It is not known what day.
She sleeps smiling like children -
She had a dream about me.
As under the morning twilight charym
The face, transparent with passion, is beautiful!...
By distant and measured blows
I learned that the tide was coming.
I opened the blue window
And it seemed as if there was
Beyond the distant roar of the surf
An inviting pitiful cry.
The cry of the donkey was long and long,
Penetrated into my soul like a moan,
And I quietly drew the curtain,
To prolong the enchanted dream.
And, going down the stones of the fence,
I broke flowers oblivion.
Their thorns are like hands from a garden
They clung to my dress.
The path is familiar and not long before
This morning is flinty and heavy.
I enter the deserted shore,
Where was my house and donkey.
Or am I lost in the fog?
Or is someone kidding me?
No, I remember the outline of stones,
A skinny bush and a rock above the water...
Where is the house? - And a sliding foot
I stumble over the abandoned crowbar
Heavy, rusty, under a black rock
Covered in wet sand...
Swinging motion familiar
(Or is it still in a dream?)
I hit with a rusty crowbar
On the layered stone at the bottom...
And from where the gray octopuses
Swayed in the azure crack,
Agitated crab climbed
And sat down on the sandbank.
I moved, he got up,
Claws wide open,
But now I met someone else
They got in a fight and disappeared...
And from the path that I have trodden,
Where the hut used to be
A worker with a pick began to descend,
Chasing someone else's donkey.
