slide1(Music is quiet)
The beginning of the 20th century gave such a number of talented poets that their number could be compared with a scattering of hundreds of stars on the black velvet of the night sky, and every second one can be called the Mozart of verse.
The poets of the Silver Age are a whole constellation in the Russian national galaxy: Dmitry Merezhkovsky and his wife Zinaida Gippius - Anna Akhmatova and Nikolai Gumilyov, Valery Bryusov, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Sergei Gorodetsky, young Boris Pasternak and Marina Tsvetaeva, Osip Mandelstam and Sergei Yesenin, Andrei Bely and Alexander Blok, Konstantin Balmont - this Paganini of verse and Igor Severyanin - officially recognized as the king of poets. The list of glorious names could be continued.
slide 2 Poets form many literary trends - symbolism, acmeism, futurism, imagism. Some of them in their creative development changed their attitude to the world, social phenomena and ideas about their purpose. Their divine poetic gift remained unchanged, thanks to which they brought the verse in the poetic sense to perfection: the sound, all the colors of the world and all the subtlest shades of feelings acquired hitherto unheard-of musicality.
If the poetry of the Silver Age is presented as a multi-volume book, then today we open only its first page - the preface.
Slide 3 Silver age ... Creative inspiration, flaring up with a bright flame, did not go out in 1917, but went deep, disappeared in the ashes from the hurricane of history. An interrupted soul, a suppressed word, an unfinished song... In the new 21st century, the poets of the Silver Age are with us again.
slide 4- Saint Petersburg. Foundry, 24 - Muruzi's house. Zinaida Gippius and Dmitry Merezhkovsky lived in this house for many years. The Merezhkovsky salon was one of the most famous literary collections in St. Petersburg of the Silver Age.
Slide 5 - The "House of Muruzi" played the same role that Vyach's "Tower" later played. Iv. Ivanova.
Slide 6 - In Muruzi's house, the Merezhkovskys were visited not only by writers and poets, but also by artists, philosophers, everyone who was not indifferent to culture.
Slide 7- The famous tower of Vyacheslav Ivanov. This house will become one of the centers where the poets of St. Petersburg will gather. They will argue for days about life and the appointment of the poet. The poet, who, according to their ideas, played a big role in the universe.
Slide 7 - Popova I. It was in the tower of V. Ivanov. They read poetry. Poetry then made people more drunk than wine. The tower overlooked the roof of the neighboring house, and one could see the pale gray night sky, without moon and stars, as it is on the white nights of St. poignant in poetic beauty "The Stranger". All the blood in me stopped when, after the famous line “spirits and mists she sits at the window”, this enveloping A was replaced by a magical E.
and breathe ancient beliefs
HER MAGIC SILKS…
(All enter) Slide-9 Zholnerovich A. More than 100 years ago, on the eve of the new year 1912 in St. Petersburg, an artistic cafe, an art cabaret "Stray Dog", was opened in the basement of the 2nd Dashkovs' house. The fame of the cafe is surprisingly scandalous, legendary came from a combination of modesty of the premises and the highest concentration of brilliant talents: Anna Akhmatova, Nikolai Gumilyov, Osip Mandelstam, Vladimir Mayakovsky - the list is inexhaustible .
All together
Basement in the second yard
It has a dog shelter.
Everyone who got here -
Just a stray dog.
But that is pride, but that is honor,
To get into that basement! Woof! - 2 times -
(tables, chairs are placed on the stage, tablecloths are covered) everyone dances to the music
Slide 10 Video Cafe "Stray Dog" sounds the song of A. Vertinsky "Magnolia". Popova I. The abandoned cellar, which once served as a wine cellar, has been remarkably transformed. The walls were decorated with manuscripts, the architect Fomin built a huge fireplace with his own hands. A knocker and a board were hung at the outer doors, on which everyone entering had to knock.
Michael: "Stray dog" - a living monument of the culture of the Silver Age.
Andrey:"Golden Age" - the sunny age of poets of the 19th century.
Inga: Silver - moon blues, a stormy heyday and an anticipation of the imminent collapse of the poets of the 20th century.
M.: The moon, according to ancient mythology, is a symbol of damage and inequality.
A.: True poetry is love, courage and sacrifice. - Frederico Garcia Lorca
AND.: Today we are back at Stray Dog
Many of them lacked the modest dignity of the classic poets of the 19th century. Their desire for self-affirmation, exaltation and self-praise cannot but cause a smile.
Slide-11 Scene #1- at the table
AND.: - Oh, gentlemen, how you want refined, sublime, refined. I would like to revel in the music of poetic lines!
M.: Excuse me, ma'am! Lilac ice cream! Lilac ice cream!
Anatoly: Pineapples in champagne! / 2 times /
A.: Champagne on the menu! / 2 times /
M.: I drank the dreams of violets violet violet ...
N.: Oh my God! Whose lines are these? Who is author?
A.: How, you do not know? This is the king of poets - I. Severyanin!
N.: Northerner?
AND.: Northerner?
- Se-ve-rya-nin ...
Champagne power in the poet seethed,
At meetings with him, the audience poured out,
And with the eyes of the maiden they caressed the poet,
And the lamps burst from applause.
On February 27, 1918, in the hall of the Polytechnic Museum, Severyanin was listened to in complete silence, subdued by the energy of rhythms and the melody of stanzas.
A.: When the poet finished reading, the audience burst into applause and cries of delight. After the votes were counted, it was announced: The King of Poets - I. Severyanin, 2nd place - V. Mayakovsky, 3rd place - K. Balmont
Slide-12 (the knock of a hammer, enters) Severyanin: Tatarchuk A.
From now on, my cloak is purple,
Beretta velvet in silver.
I have been chosen as the king of poets
To the envy of a boring midge.
Only to me admiration and worship
And glory spicy incense
My love and song -
To inaccessible verses
I'm so big and so sure
So convinced of myself
That I will forgive everyone and every faith
I will give you my respectful regards.
In the soul impulsive greetings
Uncountable number.
I have been chosen as the king of poets
Let it be light for the subjects
(Northerner sits in a chair)
Scene #2(Ladies and gentlemen at tables)
AND.: Why did the crowd praise the poet? What did she want to hear?
N.: Ah, ma'am, they demanded of him "to popularize delights", no one was interested in his "universal soul". He entered and saw the guests drinking wine, reclining on velvet, inhaling lilies. And the poet put on a mask, disappeared behind the shield of irony and self-irony .
Participants bring masks to their faces.
Severyanin Tatarchuk A.
In tuxedos, in chic, high-society rumors
In the prince's living room, they lined up, having served their faces:
I smiled tautly, remembering sacramentally about gunpowder.
Boredom was blown up by an unexpectedly non-poetic motif.
Every line is a slap. My voice is a mockery.
Rhymes are formed into cookies. The language seems to be assonance.
I despise you ardently, your dull excellencies,
And despising, counting on the global resonance.
Dim Your Excellencies! At the time of the Northerner
You should know that both Blok and Balmont were behind Pushkin.
A.: The most intimate, sincere, naked spilled out openly, could not resist! He finally slapped his listeners in the face, and those in the heat of enthusiasm did not even notice that they were being openly mocked!
AND.: With what skill it is written! Just think about it, listen to this brilliant pun: "I despise you, Your Excellencies!" The tragedy of Severyanin consisted in the fact that this almost obscenely mocking confession was not noticed at that time, they thought: he was joking, teasing on purpose. The beloved was forgiven.
All in unison
Take off your mask, poet!
Take off your mask, king!
(participants take off their masks)
Slide-13 Zholnerovich A. - I. Severyanin "Their way of life":
What do these people live
What's on a pair of legs pass?
Drink and eat, eat and drink
And in this life they find meaning ...
Inflate, cash in, rob,
To corrupt, humiliate, hurt...
What other passion do they have?
After all, that's enough for them!
And these, on a pair of legs,
The so-called people
"live for themselves" ... and the name Blok
For them, mired in vile fornication
Senseless, absurd syllable.
Severyanin - Zholnerovich A.-
Do not envy a friend if he is richer
If he is more beautiful, if he is smarter.
May his prosperity, may his good luck
Your sandals won't have the straps worn off.
Move smarter on your way
Smile wider from his luck.
Maybe bliss is on your doorstep
And he, perhaps, is waiting for need and crying
Weep his tears! Laugh out loud!
Feel with full heart along and across
Do not hinder a friend, rejoice in success:
This is a crime! This is an overkill!
Slide-14 M.: It is also indisputable that the star of the first magnitude in the constellation of poets of the Silver Age was Alexander Blok. Admiration for him and his work was universal, according to the memoirs of K. Chukovsky, magnetism did not come from anyone so clearly, so tangibly.
Inga. Words and lines line up and seem to be carried away on a musical wave. In soundless silence, images arise in which bitterness and delight, hopeless longing and joyful amazement at the miracle of beauty merged.
It is hard to imagine a woman who would not fall in love with him. In a sad, offended and even slightly contemptuous voice, he read his poems.
A.: Love bloomed in the mouth
And in the early sadness of tears,
And I was in pink chains
Women have many times.
He was addressed with poems by Z. Gippius, A. Akhmatova, M. Tsvetaeva.
Slide-15 M. Tsvetaeva: Popova I.
Your name is a bird in your hand
Your name is ice on the tongue
One - the only movement of the lips,
Your name is 5 letters.
Ball caught on the fly
Silver bell in the mouth.
Your name - oh, you can't! -
Your name is kisses in the eyes
In the tender string of motionless eyelids,
Your name is a kiss in the snow.
Key, icy, blue sip…
With your name - sleep is deep
It appeared to us - the whole wide area
Holy name of Alexander Blok.
Slide-16(Video Night, street, pharmacy)
Slide-17 M.: The flaming and bitter mountain ash became a symbol of Tsvetaeva's fate, also "bitter, blazing with creativity and constantly threatening the winter of oblivion."
Tsvetaeva's poetry is called "the poetry of her soul!" In May 1913, in the Crimea, in Koktebel, Marina created the now widely known untitled poem, which became a kind of prediction.
Medvedeva N. reads a poem M. Tsvetaeva
To my poems written so early
That I did not know that I am a poet,
Ripped off like spray from a fountain
Like sparks from rockets
Bursting like little devils
In the sanctuary where sleep and incense
To my poems about youth and death,
Unread verses! -
Scattered in the dust at the shops
(Where no one took them and does not take them!),
My poems are like precious wines
Your turn will come.
A. The poems of Marina Tsvetaeva are melodic, sincere and charming, composers constantly turn to them, and then they turn into romances of amazing beauty.
Slide-18 video - "Under the caress of a plush blanket" from the film Cruel Romance
M.: Tsvetaeva is a poet of "the ultimate truth of feelings."
Her poems are surprisingly modern, because they preached eternal values.
Slide 19 "I like that you are not sick of me ..."
Slide-20 Tsvetaeva: Inga
Yesterday I looked into your eyes
And now - everything is squinting to the side!
Yesterday, before the birds sat, -
All larks today are crows!
I'm stupid and you're smart
Alive and I'm dumbfounded.
O cry of women of all times:
"My dear, what have I done to you?!"
And her tears are water, and blood -
Water, - in blood, in tears washed!
Not a mother, but a stepmother - Love:
Don't expect judgment or mercy.
They take away cute ships,
The white road leads them away ...
And a groan stands along the whole earth:
Yesterday I was still at my feet!
Equated with the Chinese power!
Immediately opened both hands, -
Life fell out - a rusty penny!
Child killer on trial
I stand - unloving, timid.
I'll tell you in hell
"My dear, what have I done to you?"
I'll ask for a chair, I'll ask for a bed:
"For what, for what do I endure and suffer?"
"Kissed - to wheel:
Kiss the other," they answer.
I taught to live in the fire itself,
I threw it myself - into the icy steppe!
That's what you, dear, did to me!
My dear, what have I done to you?
I know everything - do not argue!
Again sighted - no longer a lover!
Where love retreats
There comes Death the gardener.
Itself - what a tree to shake! -
In time, the ripe apple falls ...
For everything, for everything, forgive me
My dear, what have I done to you
Sounds like improvisation of the song "Besame mucho" couples dancing to the music
M. Presenter: And at this time, millions of fortunes arise, as if out of thin air, banks, music halls, magnificent restaurants are being built, where people deafen themselves with music, the reflection of mirrors, light, champagne, half-naked women.
Slide-21-A.: Russian Sappho - A. Akhmatova.
She was subject to all the secrets and mysteries of poetry. Her entry into literature was like a triumphal procession.
M.: The divine uniqueness of the personality ... was emphasized by its stunning beauty. Just looking at her took her breath away. Tall, dark-haired, swarthy, slender and incredibly flexible, with the bottomless green eyes of a snow leopard, she has been painted, painted, sculpted in plaster and marble for half a century, photographed by many, starting with Amadeo Modigliani.
Medvedeva N. (A. Akhmatova) gets up from her chair and reads a poem:
Song of the last meeting
So helplessly my chest went cold,
But my steps were light.
I put on my right hand
Left hand glove.
It seemed that many steps
And I knew there were only three of them!
Autumn whisper between the maples
He asked: "Die with me!"
I'm deceived by my despondent,
Changeable "evil fate".
I said, "Darling, dear!
And me too. I'll die with you..."
This is the song of the last meeting.
I looked at the dark house.
Candles burned in the bedroom
Indifferent yellow fire.
After reading the poem to the music, Gumilev approaches Akhmatova, sitting next to him on a chair.(Abdullaev A.)
Slide-22 A.: A strong personality, Nikolai Gumilyov, constantly tried to find a place not only in poetry, but also in life, either going on trips to Africa, or going to the front during the First World War, or challenging the authorities ... Tireless, passionate, wise and young in his naivete, pensive, lonely warrior.
Slide-23 Video clip Giraffe
N. (Medvedeva) Akhmatova, sitting in an armchair, leaning forward, reads a poem
« Love"
That snake, curled up in a ball,
At the very heart conjures
That whole days like a dove
Cooing on the white window.
It will shine in a bright hoarfrost,
Feels like a left-handed person in a slumber.
But faithfully and secretly leads
From joy and peace.
Can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a longing violin,
And it's scary to guess
In an unfamiliar smile.
Gumilyov comes to the fore and reads a poem, referring to Akhmatova.
Slide-24 - I and you - Abdullaev A.
Yes, I know I'm not your match
I came from another country
And I don't like the guitar
And the savage melody of the zurna.
Not in the halls and salons
Dark dresses and jackets -
I read poetry to dragons
Waterfalls and clouds.
I love - like an Arab in the desert
Gets down to the water and drinks
Not the knight in the picture
That looks at the stars and waits.
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!”
Poem. Akhmatova "You are an apostate" cheat. Mytnik P. 2AE
Akhmatova-Medvedeva N.
I learned to live simply, wisely,
Look up to the sky and pray to God
And wander long before evening,
To relieve unnecessary anxiety.
When burdocks rustle in the ravine
And a bunch of yellow-red rowan droops,
I compose funny poems
About life perishable and beautiful.
I'm coming back. Licks my hand
Fluffy cat, purring sweeter,
And a bright fire lights up
On the tower of the lake sawmill.
Only occasionally cuts through the silence
The cry of a stork flying onto the roof.
And if you knock on my door,
I don't think I can even hear.
Poem. Akhmatova "Garden" reads Bludenov B. 2ME
Slide-25 Severyanin: Zholnerovich A. (While reading poetry, Mayakovsky V. (Dylyuk Yu.) goes to the middle of the stage, turns to those sitting at the tables)
My friend, Great Mayakovsky,
In former years, a mischievous
Fucking loved to tease the crowd,
Showing her tongue.
Walked in a wide yellow jacket,
He put on a cherry tailcoat,
It seemed to call: "Okatastrofite,
Philistines, your dank darkness!
In bulky lines, -
Now half a sazhen, then a vershok, -
He generously invested reproaches
To the one who called the verses "rhyme"
His rolling, tribunal,
Crowd downcast bass
Thundered throughout the homeland greasy,
Where is the priest, the gendarme and the swineherd.
Mayakovsky: Dylyuk Yu.
your thought,
Dreaming on a softened brain
Like a fat footman on a greasy couch,
I will tease about the bloodied heart flap.
I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.
I have not a single gray hair in my soul,
And there is no senile tenderness in it.
The world is overwhelmed by the power of the voice,
I'm going - beautiful
Twenty-two years old.
Gentle!
You don't lay love on the violin,
Love on the timpani lays rough
You can't twist yourself like me,
To have one solid lips?
If you want - I will be mad from meat
And like the sky changing colors -
If you want, I will be impeccably gentle,
Not a man, but a cloud in his pants!
Slide-26 Scene #3 Dialogues (seated at the tables shout out lines)
Mayakovsky: You are there, in the third row, do not brandish your gold tooth so menacingly. Sit down!
(To the man with the newspaper) And you put down your newspaper right now or leave the room: this is not a reading room. Here they listen to me, not read.
Mayakovsky! Do you think we are all idiots?
Mayakovsky: What are you? Why all? As long as I see only one in front of me ...
- How much money will you get for tonight?
Mayakovsky: What do you care? You won't get a dime anyway. I'm not going to share with anyone ... Well - with, then ...
- What is your real name?
Mayakovsky: Say? Pushkin!
- Your poems are too topical. They will die tomorrow. You yourself will be forgotten. Immortality is not your lot.
Mayakovsky: And you come back in 100 years, we'll talk there!
- Your poems are incomprehensible to me.
Mayakovsky: Nothing, your children will understand them!
- No, and my children will not understand!
Mayakovsky: And why are you so convinced that your children will follow you? Maybe their mom is smarter, and they will look like her.
- Why do you praise yourself so much?
Mayakovsky: My classmate at the gymnasium Shakespeare always advised: Speak only good things about yourself, your friends will say bad things about you.
- My friend and I read your poems and did not understand anything!
Mayakovsky: You must have smart comrades.
- Your poems do not excite, do not warm, do not charge.
Mayakovsky: My poems are not the sea, not the stove and not the plague.
Why are you wearing a ring on your finger? It doesn't suit you.
Mayakovsky: That's because it doesn't suit my face, and I wear it on my finger, not in my nose!
A. Host: Everyone knew Mayakovsky - a rebel, a rude man, but this is an illusion. First of all, it was an infinitely lonely, suffering person. The only thing he needs in life is the love of a woman - reckless, deep, all-consuming and most importantly - mutual.
V. Mayakovskyreads a poem"Listen!"
Listen!
After all, if the stars are lit -
So - someone wants them to be?
So - someone calls these spittles
pearl?
And, tearing up
in blizzards of midday dust,
rushes to god
afraid of being late
crying
kisses his sinewy hand,
asks -
to have a star! -
swears -
will not endure this starless torment!
And then
walks anxious,
but calm on the outside.
Says to someone:
“After all, now you have nothing?
Not scary?
Yes?!"
Listen!
After all, if the stars
ignite -
Does that mean anyone needs it?
So, it is necessary
so that every evening
over the rooftops
lit up at least one star ?!
M.: 2 poles of love - worship and cruelty, naivety and swagger. Mask. 2 poles - poetry and love, which merged into one broken line - life. Art was called tragedy, tragedy was called The Great Mayakovsky. Contemporaries treated Mayakovsky difficult. Someone was annoyed by his futuristic delights, and someone envied his fame. But many appreciated it insanely - gentle and original poetic language.
Slide 27 - Inga. (Poem. I. Severyanina):
He ran into life as a Ryazan simpleton
Blue-eyed, curly, fair-haired,
With a perky nose and a cheerful taste,
To the delights of life the sun attracts
But soon the riot threw its dirty ball
In the glow of the eyes. Poisoned by the bite
Serpent of rebellion, slandered Jesus.
I tried to make friends with the tavern
In the circle of robbers and prostitutes,
Languishing from blasphemous jokes,
He realized that the tavern was bad for him ...
And again opened to God, repenting, canopy
Furious soul
Pious Russian hooligan.
Slide-28 Sarogin M. - Yesenin - reads the poem "Weaved out on the lake ..."
Dylyuk Y.-Mayakovsky: Why do you hang around salons, Yesenin?
M.: You look, I'll like it and they will bring it out to people.
A.: Yesenin! Your poems are clean, fresh, vociferous, have not experienced such pleasure for a long time
Slide-29 video for S. Yesenin's song "I have one fun left .." (quietly, amplify towards the end of the host's words) A: The tragedy of Yesenin is that he, who felt his poetic talent, could not help but see how the ordinary crushed the living soul of his divine gift. Open to himself, he opened himself to other people, but often this openness turned into cruel blows and non-healing wounds of the soul for the poet himself.
M. - Poetry is strong with individuality. There was symbolism, but Blok, Bryusov, Bely remained from it. Futurism is gone, but Mayakovsky remains. There was Imagism, but Yesenin remained. There was acmeism, but Akhmatova and Gumilyov remained. More and more clearly the simple truth is that without individuality the flow of poetry is clearly not complete.
Vasinsky V. (N. Gumilyov "The Sixth Sense").
Lovely wine in us
And good bread
that sits in the oven for us,
And a woman to whom it is given.
exhausted at first,
us to enjoy.
But what shall we do with the pink dawn
Above the cold skies
Where is silence and unearthly peace,
What should we do
with immortal lyrics. .
Not to eat, not to drink, not to kiss -
The moment flies unstoppable
And we break our hands, but again
Doomed to go all by, by.
Like a boy, forgetting his games.
Watches sometimes for girl's bathing
And knowing nothing about love,
Still tormented by a mysterious desire ..
Our spirit screams, the flesh languishes,
Giving birth to an organ for the sixth sense.
A. They so dreamed of making their readers the heroes of a “strong, cheerful and evil planet”
I l I love the chosen one of freedom,
Navigator and shooter,
Ah, the waters sang so loudly to him
And the clouds were jealous.
M. Shots in a duel killed Pushkin and Lermontov, pierced by a bullet, Mayakovsky's heart stopped beating, insane cruelty ended the life of Nikolai Gumilyov ... How many poets Russia lost prematurely!
AND. How to resurrect them! How to revive? Living water can truly be our touch to his poems, our memory of them. Only then will the "gardens of the soul" of the dead poets blossom and surprise us with their beauty and nobility.
Vasinsky V.("Gardens of the Soul" N. Gumilyov).
The gardens of my soul are always patterned,
In them the winds are so fresh and quiet,
They have golden sand and black marble,
Deep, transparent pools,
The plants in them, like dreams, are extraordinary.
Like the waters in the morning, the birds turn pink,
And - who will understand the hint of an ancient mystery? -
They contain a girl in a wreath of a high priestess...
I don't look at the world of running lines
My dreams are only submissive to the eternal.
Let the sirocco rage in the desert
The gardens of my soul are always patterned.
Slide-30
M.: Great was the new age of Russia
Age of victories and accomplishments.
A.: The new age of Russia was terrible
20th century
A century of wars and repressions.
AND.: The new age of Russia was beautiful
20th century
Age of poetry and love!
All in unison: What will our new century be like? 21st century? (General bow)
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 the last year...
M. Lozinsky
Petersburg in 1913. Lyrical digression: the last memory of 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 again out of the darkness
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. A house built at the beginning of the 19th 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 flame of a 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
Searched for 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?
The word, the definition, the silver epithet hung in the air, appeared in different places.
And the silver moon is bright
Frozen over the Silver Age.
So A.A. Akhmatova in "A Poem Without a Hero" retrospectively determined the time of her youth. Previously, the philosopher and critic R.I. Ivanov-Razumnik (1925), poet and memoirist V.A. Piast (1929), poet and critic N.O. Otsup (1933). “On the Parnassus of the Silver Age” - the artist S.K. Makovsky (1964). Today, the definition can be found on the covers of many collections of poems, articles, memoirs: "Russian poetry of the Silver Age", "Silver Age Sonnet", "Memories of the Silver Age" ...
The name of the century was invented by the ancient Greeks, who divided the existence of mankind into four periods: gold, silver, copper and iron. The silver age of Hesiod and Ovid was opposed to the happy and carefree golden age as an era of degradation, decline, although even more cruel centuries followed. The poetic mythology of the Greeks became history among the Romans: they called silver the 1st century BC. AD, when the satirist Juvenal, the author of the novel "Satyricon" Petronius, the historian Tacitus, worked.
The Silver Age in the modern sense is approximately three decades at the turn of the century, the time from the early 1890s to the early 1920s. (Sometimes these boundaries are narrowed or expanded on both sides for another decade.) Thus, between the “golden age”, which remained in the same place, and the new Silver, a gap arose, an era without a name from Gogol to Chekhov, the time of great Russian prose.
The discoverers of the new era did not initially let everyone into it. The Silver Age was understood mainly as the era of Russian modernism, the time of symbolism and acmeism, of Blok, Bryusov, Akhmatova, Mandelstam. But gradually this circle expanded, it included almost all the writers who worked in this era. From an ideological, aesthetic characteristic, the Silver Age turned into a designation of a chronological segment, a controversial cultural era, which also includes I. Bunin, M. Gorky, L. Andreev - writers of different directions, often arguing with each other, united, nevertheless, by the spirit of the times, gravity to the “damned questions” posed by the new era.
“Social, civic themes, which were the focus of attention of previous generations, are decisively pushed aside by existential themes - Life, Death, God; to seriously discuss issues of social injustice “in a world where death exists,” the acmeists wrote, “is to break into an open door” (Gasparov M.L. Poetics of the “Silver Age”, 1993).
In such an expanded understanding, the Silver Age includes both Russian religious philosophy (N.A. Berdyaev, S.N. Bulgakov, Lev Shestov), and modernist trends in painting (the “Jack of Diamonds” and “Donkey’s Tail” associations), and music (A .N. Skryabin, S.V. Rakhmaninov), and theatrical searches (productions by V.E. Meyerhold, design activities by L.S. Bakst and A.N. Benois).
The Silver Age turns out to be not a direction, but a historical strip, a steppe through which everyone was forced to pass: those who agreed and disagreed with the weather established in it, who later found themselves in different places and therefore assess the path traveled differently. According to the philosopher F.A. Stepun "in the decade from the year 1905 to the year 1915, Russia experienced a very significant cultural upsurge." “For several years of this friendly work, the image of Russian culture has undergone significant changes. Under the influence of religious and philosophical thought and the new art of the Symbolists, the consciousness of an ordinary Russian intellectual, brought up on homegrown classics of social and journalistic thought, quickly expanded both in depth and in breadth. The musical talents of Scriabin, Medtner, Rachmaninov were growing stronger. From achievement to achievement, laying new paths, the Russian theater rose to unattainable heights.
There are 3 groups on stage:
- symbolists in black suits
- acmeists - strict clothes
- futurists - loose shirts, disheveled.
Stage back:
- Poster “Silver Age of Russian Poetry”
- Enlarged covers of books by M. Tsvetaeva, A. Akhmatova, O. Mandelstam, V. Bryusov and others.
Rachmaninov's music sounds
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.
Lead 2. Silver Age! What is it? What are its limits? It is more or less easy to talk about the beginning of the Silver Age. In scientific works, the mid-1890s (Merezhkovsky and the early Bryusov) are usually taken as the beginning. And the second frontier should be pushed back towards the end of the twentieth century. It can be connected with the shot that ended the life of N. Gumilyov in 1921. The Silver Age is, of course, not a century in the direct sense of the word, but a period of several decades, when a group of poets appeared who managed to declare themselves with new, unusual creativity.
Presenter 1. 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 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 this knowledge can only be through a symbol. Have you read Merezhkovsky's latest work, On the Causes of 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 should talk about acmeism. Well, why do you need these symbols, mysticism, the other world, when there are so many wonderful, earthly things around us. 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. The 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 in the Association "Workshop of Poets" have abandoned the idea of knowing the unknowable. I agree with N. Gumilyov, S. Gorodetsky that a simple, material, objective world is significant in itself. And it’s completely in vain that A. Blok accuses us of the fact that our work is “without a deity, without inspiration.” Yes, you just listen (the poem by N. Gumilyov “Giraffe” sounds).
Futurist. I listened to you, gentlemen poets, I listened and I will say frankly: I'm tired! Merezhkovsky, Gumilyov, Pushkin - there, Lermontov all should be forgotten, thrown out of my head. Our poetry is the beginning of all new paths. We dream of an unheard of unseen model of art. This will renew the decrepit world. We blow up the language, bring disharmony into the verses! Listen to one of the last poems by Velimir Khlebnikov.
V. Khlebnikov's poem “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 in complete sadness: oh, yes, oh! 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.
Lead 1. What are you all arguing about? And I know what unites you all. These are love poems. And among the 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.
The poem “Naval love” sounds from the hall
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, his 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
Presenter 1. Excuse me, gentlemen, poets, something I can’t remember, whose verses were now sounded? But this is clearly 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 simply cannot involve her in any of our groups, but this does not make her poetry worse. Listen.
Poems by M. Tsvetaeva sound from the hall:
“I like that you are not sick of me…”
“Yesterday I looked into your eyes”
Lead 2. I'm all giving up. And you know M. Tsvetaeva, and you know her poems! I am very happy! And love the poetry of the Silver Age.
Lead 1. In general, if we talk about poetry, we can remember that there is an unusual phenomenon in it. Here, for example, is 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 is (a poster with Derzhavin's lines is shown)
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 a table-album fun. But in the XX century a new understanding of the acrostic.
Symbolist time is a time of premonitions, active rethinking of all forms, understanding of poetry as a kind of cipher. It seems important to run someone's name on the edge of the line? But the fact of the matter is that 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 entered the name
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.
Lead 2. I would like to talk separately about the sonnet. Let me remind you that a sonnet is a poem of 14 lines, which has a canonical rhyme system and strict stylistic laws. Among the various types of sonnet, two main ones stand out - Italian and English.
Italian consists of two quatrains (quatrains) and two tercetes (tercetes).
English the sonnet consists of three quatrains and a final couplet. Among other options, French can be noted, which differs from Italian in a special rhyme in tercetes. That's just it is important for the history of the Russian sonnet.
Traditional stylistic 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 limitations are 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 of the fourteenth poem repeating 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 took shape in its modern form by the end of the 17th century. At the beginning of the 20th century, the “golden age” of the Russian sonnet falls. 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. Acrostic sonnets appear, “headless” sonnets (with one quatrain), “tailed” (with an extra tercet), “lame” (written in lines 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, the perfection of syntax, the impeccable clarity of thought and the transparency of intonation.
I. Bunin's sonnet "In his verses - 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 audience.
Acmeist. Well, suppose, with the light hand of V. Bryusov, a lover of sonnets, he, a sonnet, becomes the property of 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 or three corresponded to accepted standards. Here is a sonnet
N. Gumilyov, a lover of travel to distant unusual countries. Hence the exotic moods in his poems, 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. It was often difficult to recognize the classic sonnet among the Futurists. But at
I. Severyanin is interested in the fact that he dedicated his sonnets to figures of culture and art. He had more than 100 such sonnets. Some characteristics of the figures are remarkably insightful and objective.
A sonnet by I. Severyanin sounds from the audience (at the choice of the reader).
Lead 1. Let's not argue anymore. Remember how many songs sound, written on the verses of poets of the Silver Age. We'll just sit and listen, and then we'll say goodbye.
A song to the verses of M. Tsvetaeva “I like that you are not sick with me” is performed to the guitar.
"And the silver month froze brightly over the silver age"
The Silver Age as a Phenomenon in Russian Literature
The Russian poetic Silver Age traditionally fits into the beginning of the 20th century, in fact, its source is the 19th century, and it has all its roots in the Golden Age, in the work of A.S. Fet's lyrics, into Nekrasov's proseisms, into the lines of K. Sluchevsky, full of tragic psychologism and vague forebodings. In other words, the 1990s began leafing through draft copies of books that soon formed the library of the 20th century. Since the 90s, literary sowing began, which brought shoots.
The term "Silver Age" itself is very conditional and covers a phenomenon with controversial outlines and uneven relief. For the first time this name was proposed by the philosopher N. Berdyaev, but it finally entered the literary circulation in the 60s of the twentieth century.
All the poetry of the Silver Age, greedily absorbing the heritage of the Bible, ancient mythology, the experience of European and world literature, is closely connected with Russian folklore, with its songs, lamentations, legends and ditties.
In order to understand more clearly the reason for the phenomenal cultural upsurge at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries, which is rightly called the “Russian Renaissance”, it is necessary first of all to turn to the atmosphere of the spiritual life of Russia at the turn of the century, which became a condition for the development of poetic creativity.
The philosopher N. Berdyaev tried to characterize this cultural phenomenon from the position of dialectics. Here is what he wrote about this in his book Self-Knowledge:
“It was the era of the awakening of independent philosophical thought in Russia, the flowering of poetry and the sharpening of aesthetic sensibility, religious anxiety and quest, interest in mysticism and the occult ... But all this happened in a rather vicious circle, cut off from a broad social movement. Initially, elements of decadence entered this Russian renaissance... The cultural renaissance appeared in our country in the pre-revolutionary era and was accompanied by a keen sense of the impending doom of old Russia. There was excitement and tension, but there was no real joy ... The cultural and spiritual movement of that time was a kind of Russian romanticism, it was least of all classical in its spirit.
Poetry, as the most subtle and sensitive element of culture, captured these disturbing contradictions of the crisis era: a surge of spirituality, on the one hand, and a premonition of an imminent catastrophe, on the other, which could not but affect its further development. In poetry, as, indeed, in other areas of culture at the beginning of the 20th century, decadence became widespread, the main motives of which were embodied in various areas of modernism. And this happened not only in poetry, but also in other forms of art.
The question of the chronological boundaries of the Silver Age is rather controversial. Its beginning is considered to be the 1890s, when the first sprouts of symbolism began to break into the world. One way or another, but by the time of the onset of the new century, a new cultural (and within the framework of the issue we are considering - poetic) era, has already declared itself at the top of its voice. The poetry of the Symbolists reached its apogee during the years of the first Russian revolution (1905-1907), when the names of A. Blok, A. Bely were added to the founders of the direction K. Balmont, D. Merezhkovsky, Z. Gippius, F. Sologub, who entered the time of the highest poetic maturity , Vyach. Ivanova.
By the end of the first decade of the 20th century, symbolism as a school was losing its leading role. New literary trends are emerging: the positions of the Symbolists are actively contested by their actual heirs: the Acmeists and direct opponents - the Futurists.
During these years, new stars light up in the poetic horizon - A. Akhmatova, N. Gumilyov, O. Mandelstam, S. Gorodetsky, M. Kuzmin, I. Severyanin, M. Tsvetaeva, V. Khlebnikov, V. Mayakovsky, S. Yesenin, B. Pasternak, V. Shershenevich and many others.
In a word, the initial boundary and the heyday of the Silver Age is subject to a fairly accurate definition. But the question of its completion is still the subject of discussion. The poet N. Korzhavin believed that the "Silver Age" began in the 10s of the XX century and ended ... with the First World War. Critic E. G. Etkind writes: “1915 is the highest rise of the “Silver Age” and, at the same time, its end.” Other researchers have a different justified point of view on the chronological boundaries: 1917, 20s and even 30s of the XX century.
O. Ronen shifts the upper bar of the Silver Age even further in time, although he approaches the outline of its boundaries with the definition of this era as a whole as a cultural phenomenon: or in 1921-22 with the death of Gumilyov and the death of Blok and Khlebnikov, or in 1930 with the suicide of Mayakovsky, or in 1934 with the death of Andrei Bely, or in 1937-39 with the death of Klyuev and Mandelstam and the death of Khodasevich, or in the 40th, after the fall of Paris, when Akhmatova began "A Poem without a Hero", and Nabokov, having escaped from France, conceived the "Paris Poem", dedicated, like Akhmatova's, to summing up - the name " Silver Age" was just an alienated nickname given by critics, at best as an apology, and at worst as a reproach. The poets themselves, still living representatives of this century, Piast, Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva used it occasionally with vague and ironic humility, not condescending to an open dispute with critics.
And yet, it would be more reasonable to consider the October upheavals of 1917, which tragically affected not only poetry, but also the entire Russian culture as a whole, as the main boundary, the upper boundary of the Silver Age.
The Silver Age was short. Short and dazzling. The biographies of almost all the creators of this poetic miracle have developed tragically. The time allotted to them by fate turned out to be fatal. But, as you know, "times are not chosen - they live and die in them."
Thus, the main feature of the poetic stage of the Silver Age was that it was created by the brightest individuals, sharply different in terms of worldview and talent. They were united not only by the chronological framework of the turn of the century, but also by the consciousness of their era as completely exceptional, and by attempts to develop a fundamentally new concept of personality.
