The life and death of Yuri the Living. "Poems by Yuri Zhivago" The meaning of the poetic cycle in the general context of the novel B

Natalia PLOTININA,
school number 63,
Ulyanovsk

The idea of ​​life in B.L. Pasternak "Doctor Zhivago"

Introduction by the teacher. The idea of ​​life is the idea of ​​Russian literature. The deepest, sharpest sense of life permeates all the great works of Russian literature. No matter how different artists Gogol and Lermontov, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Chekhov and Bunin may be, it is always felt in their images as a comprehensive cardinal idea. Let's remember Natasha Rostova, Ivan Karamazov's sticky notes. That's right: "To love life more than its meaning." This fascinated Russian literature the whole world. Andre Maurois wrote: "...no one will give you such a magical feeling of life as Russian writers."

Perhaps that was main covenant Russian classics to the future - loving attention and respect for living life, for man, nature, the world as a whole. Now, it seems, we can finally understand that it was not only a testament, but also a prophetic foreboding of the cataclysms of the 20th century, a foreboding of the coming trials to which man and nature will be subjected. World wars, social revolutions, civil strife, military dictatorships and despotic regimes have drastically devalued life, depleted its resources, bled it dry and soulless it, putting it on the last line, beyond which - the abyss! That is why the novels of A. Platonov, E. Zamyatin, V. Grossman and B. Pasternak are united by the most acute experience of living life. The idea of ​​life is especially pronounced in B. Pasternak's novel "Doctor Zhivago", which will be discussed today.

WORKING ON A NOVEL

Is it by chance that this idea became the main one in the novel?

Not by chance. The poetic manifesto of the poet's consanguinity with life was the book of poems "My sister is life", which we have already spoken about. This means that Pasternak strove for this idea consistently and consciously. Everything in the slightest degree claiming to be essential, to play some role in the human world, is verified in the novel by the idea of ​​life. Only what is marked by a kind of naturalness, breadth and unpredictability has the right to be called life and is accepted by the author.

What is the main idea of ​​life in the novel?

Already in the title itself - "Doctor Zhivago", in the profession and the name of the hero.

The surname Zhivago is etymologically connected with the word alive. Zhivago - the form of the genitive and accusative cases of the word alive in the Old Russian language, it evokes associations with the name of "Christ, the son of the living God." According to the writer V. Shalamov, B. Pasternak explained the choice of a surname for his hero in this way: “The surname of my hero? This is not an easy story. Even as a child, I was amazed, excited by the lines from the church prayer Orthodox Church"You are truly the Christ, the son of the living God." I repeated this line and childishly put a comma after the word "God." It turned out the mysterious name of Christ "Zhivago". But I did not think about the living God, but about his new name, “Zhivago”, accessible only to me. It took my whole life to make this childish feeling a reality - to name the hero of my novel after the hero.

Teacher. Yes, in the very name of Zhivago life sounds and the Old Slavonic definition of “the Living God” is literally repeated. Zhivago is a doctor, a keeper of life, a guardian of it. In this regard, we can say that the life of the hero becomes a life, more precisely, a being, overshadowed by a sign of eternity (it is no coincidence that at first in the manuscript in place of the name it was: “there will be no death ...”).

Life is felt by the hero with all senses and with physical pleasure even in childhood. Find evidence for this idea in the text.

- “Life is delicious”, “everything around is a feast for the eyes, delicious”. “Oh, how delicious it was then to live in the world, what a feast for the eyes and deliciousness all around” (part 7, ch. 15, p. 238; part 1, ch. 3, p. 21).

In what way does life manifest itself most vividly, fully?

In love.

How is love shown?

Antiromantic: in everyday, ordinary terms. Love, beauty are depicted by the writer in a purely everyday form, with the help of everyday details, sketches. Here, for example, how we see the appearance of Lara through the eyes of Yuri Andreevich:

1) “How well she does everything. She reads as if this is not the highest human activity, but something simple... It is as if she is carrying water or peeling potatoes” (part 9, ch. 12, p. 302).

2) “And vice versa, she carries water, accurately reads, easily, without difficulty” (part 9, ch. 13, p. 305).

3) “He returned from all these positions by night, exhausted and hungry, and found Larisa Fedorovna in the midst of household chores, at the stove or in front of the trough. In this prosaic form ... she almost frightened her with her regal, breathtaking appeal, more than if he had suddenly found her before leaving for the ball, grown taller and seemed to have grown up in high heels, in an open dress with a neckline and wide, noisy skirts ” (part 13, ch. 16, p. 411).

4) Yura and Tonya at the Christmas tree at the Sventitskys (part 3, ch. 4, p. 97).

What is love for Yuri Zhivago connected with?

With life at home, family, marriage (both with Tonya and Lara).

What is Zhivago's attitude towards home?

- Trembling, careful. As a rebirth to life: “The first true event after a long break was this dizzying train approach to the house, which is intact and still exists in the world and where every pebble is precious. That's what life was, that's what was an experience, that's what adventurers were chasing, that's what art had in mind - coming to relatives, returning to oneself, resuming existence ”(part 5, ch. 16, p. 174).

What does love for a woman mean in the understanding of Pasternak?

Reverence for the other person. From a poem (No. 11) by Y. Zhivago "Wedding":

Life is also just a moment
Only dissolution
ourselves in all others,
As if they were a gift.

Interestingly, Yuri Andreevich equally loves Tonya and Lara. Why? Is it possible?

Tonya personifies a family hearth, a family, a circle of life native to a person. With the advent of Lara, this circle of life moves apart, this includes reflections on the fate of Russia, about the revolution, about nature. Tonya herself writes to Yuri in a letter: “Antonina Alexandrovna urged her husband not to return to Moscow, but to follow this amazing sister straight to the Urals, walking through life accompanied by such signs and coincidences that her, Tonin’s, modest life path cannot be compared with” (part 5, ch. 2, p. 142).

The chapters dedicated to Lara are warmed with special lyrical warmth. What did this woman mean for Yuri Andreevich?

1) From a letter from B.L. Pasternak to the writer R. Schweitzer: “After the Second World War, I met a young woman, Olga Vsevolodovna Ivinskaya, and soon, unable to endure the split and the quiet, full of sadness, reproach of my life, I sacrificed the intimacy that had just begun and broke with pain with Olga Vsevolodovna . Soon she was arrested and spent five years in prison, in a concentration camp. She was taken because of me, and since, in the eyes of the secret agents, she is closest to me, apparently, they hoped, through cruel interrogations and threats, to obtain evidence from her sufficient to ruin me at the trial. I owe her heroism and stamina to the fact that I was not touched in those years. She is the Lara of that novel that I had just begun to write at that time... She is the personification of the joy of life and self-giving.”

After the return of O. Ivinskaya from the camp in 1954, her personal and business relationship with Pasternak. She became his assistant, took over the publishing chores, supported him during the persecution that unfolded after the publication of Doctor Zhivago abroad.

2) The symbolism of the name. Larisa Fyodorovna Guichard: Larisa - “The Seagull” (association with Chekhov's seagull), Fedor - “God's gift”, Guichard - “lattice” (French). The name supports the metaphor “Lara - Russia”: Russia spiritualized, humiliated, dying behind bars.

3) Likhachev D.S. Reflections on the novel by B.L. Pasternak “Doctor Zhivago”: “And what about Lara herself? .. In the traditions of the Russian classical novel, there are several images that, as it were, personify Russia.”

4) V. Shalamov: “... The purest, like crystal, sparkling like the stones of her wedding necklace, - Lara Guichard. You succeeded very well in her portrait, a portrait of purity, which no dirt "will blacken or stain." She is alive in the novel. She knows something higher than all the other characters in the novel, including Zhivago, something more real and important.”

5) “And this distance is Russia, its incomparable, sensational across the seas, famous parent, martyr, stubborn, crazy, naughty, idolized, with eternally majestic and disastrous antics that can never be foreseen! Oh, how sweet it is to exist! How sweet it is to live in the world and love life! Oh, how always it is tempting to say thank you to life itself, to existence itself, to say it to their own faces! This is what Lara is” (part 13, ch. 7, p. 397).

What is Russia for Zhivago?

The world around, nature, history of Russia.

What historical events does the hero witness?

Russo-Japanese War, unrest of 1905, World War I, revolution of 1917, Civil War, red terror, first five-year plans, Great Patriotic War.

Remember that the heroes of L.N. Tolstoy's "War and Peace" passed through historical events as through purification, renewal. Almost all the characters in Pasternak's novel are also involved in their own way. hectic life century and take his life as their own. Everyone decides his fate, correlating with the requirements of the time: wars, revolutions, famines, and so on.

Can we talk about the same influence of the course of history on the formation of the character of Yuri Zhivago?

No. He lives in his own space, in his own dimension, where the main things are not worldly values, but the laws of culture.

What is the main thing for him in life?

1) Noble culture. Yuri Andreevich about Uncle Nikolai Nikolaevich: “Like her (mother), he was a free person, devoid of prejudice against anything unusual. Like her, he had nobility equality with all living things” (part 1, ch. 4, p. 23).

2) Ideas of Christianity. His uncle N.N. Vedenyapin said that “a person does not live in nature, but in history” and that “the Gospel is its justification”: “This is, firstly, love for one’s neighbor, this highest form of living energy that overflows a person’s heart ... an idea a free personality and the idea of ​​life as a sacrifice” (part 1, ch. 5, pp. 25–26).

This idea of ​​individual freedom and life as a sacrifice is the space of Yuri Zhivago himself. He and Lara do not learn from life, they were born into it. " Man is born to live, not to prepare for life. And life itself, the manifestation of life, the gift of life are so excitingly serious!” - Yuri Andreevich says to Larisa Fedorovna at their first meeting in Yuriatin (part 9, ch. 14, p. 307). The flow of life, as it were, picks up the hero, who obeys him and perceives much as inevitable. (It is no coincidence that Zhivago's lack of will does not look like a shortcoming, something negative in the author's coverage.) Such is the attitude towards the revolution.

GROUP WORK

What is the initial attitude towards the revolution of Yuri Andreevich? (1st group)

1) He sees something “evangelical” in the revolution (part 5, ch. 8, p. 156).

2) Revolution is freedom. “Just think what time it is now! The roof was torn off from all over Russia, and we, with all the people, found ourselves under the open sky. And there is no one to watch over us. Freedom! Real, not in words and in requirements, but fallen from the sky beyond expectation. Freedom by accident, by misunderstanding. This perception is consonant with the image in the painting by B. Kustodiev "Bolshevik" (reproduction shown).

3) Doctor Zhivago saw in the revolution the current course of history and rejoices at this work of art: “The revolution broke out against the will, like a sigh held for too long. Everyone came to life, was reborn, everyone has transformations, upheavals. We can say: two revolutions have happened to each, one of his own, personal, and the other general” (part 5, ch. 8, p. 156).

4) “What a great surgery!”(part 6, ch. 8, p. 202). He reacts unmistakably only to the true, the eternal. While the revolution seemed to him the manifestation and realization of life, while socialism appears as a “sea of ​​life, a sea of ​​originality,” he admired and accepted her bold and decisive “surgery”.

But over time, Zhivago's attitude to the revolution changes. How? Why? (2nd group)

Because the revolution is entering a new phase, obviously unacceptable for the heroes.

1) “Alteration of life” (part 11, ch. 5, p. 346) - opposition to all living things.

2) “... Each installation of this power goes through several stages. In the beginning, this is the triumph of reason, the critical spirit, the fight against prejudices. Then comes the second period. The dark forces of those who "adhere" and pretend to sympathize gain the upper hand. Suspicion, denunciations, intrigues, hatred are growing ... we are at the beginning of the second phase” (part 13, ch. 5, p. 413).

3) Fratricidal war (the case of Seryozha Rantsev - part 11, ch. 4, p. 343). “The crowd surrounded a bloodied human stump lying on the ground” (part 12, ch. 8, p. 375). (A reproduction of the painting by P. Sokolov-Skal "The Death of the Chief Division" is shown.)

4) History of Palykh. "It was a clear insane, irrevocably finished existence." The revolution cripples people, depriving them of the human (part 12, ch. 8, p. 377). Antipov becomes Rasstrelnikov (part 13, ch. 15, p. 344).

5) “...Man to man wolf. The traveler, at the sight of the traveler, turned aside, the oncoming one killed the oncoming one, so as not to be killed. The human laws of civilization are over. Beasts were in power” (Part 13, Ch. 2, p. 384).

6) “brutalization belligerents by this time reached the limit. The prisoners were not brought alive to their destination, the enemy wounded were pinned on the field” (part 11, ch. 4, p. 204).

7) Violence.“In all places they began to appoint commissars with unlimited powers, people of iron will, armed with measures of intimidation and revolvers” (part 6, ch. 9, p. 204).

8) A revolution in life, when everything collapses. Lara: “What is happening now with life in general... Everything derivative, adjusted, everything related to everyday life, human nest and order, all this went to dust along with the upheaval of the whole society and its reorganization. Everything domestic is overturned and destroyed” (part 13, ch. 13, p. 408).

9) “The dominion of the phrase, the dead letter of the law. The main trouble, the root of the future evil was the loss of faith in the price own opinion... now you have to sing from a common voice and live by strangers, imposed on you by ideas. The dominance of the phrase began to grow, first monarchical - then revolutionary” (part 11, ch. 4, p. 204).

Conclusion. So, the idea of ​​life is opposed to the idea of ​​the inanimate, dead, unnatural, artificial. That is why Zhivago avoids the violence of history. In his opinion, the events of the revolution cannot be avoided, they can be interfered with, but they cannot be reversed. He participates in the revolution rather as a particle of nature.

What is the role of the description of nature in the novel? (3rd group)

The heroes of Pasternak are revealed through communication with nature.

“Nature in the coverage of Pasternak, - as V.N. Alfonsov, - one of the synonyms of life”.

A. Akhmatova: “All his life, nature was his only full-fledged muse, his secret interlocutor, his bride and lover, his wife and widow - she was to him the same as Russia was to Blok. He remained faithful to her to the end, and she royally rewarded him.

In the novel, nature is not only enlivened by the gift of a living spirit, but promises the presence of higher goals in the world.

V. Shalamov in a letter to Pasternak: “In what the novel is truly remarkable and unique ... is in the extraordinary subtlety of the image of nature and not just the image of nature, but that unity of the moral and physical world ... the only ability to connect both into one , and not to connect, but to grow together so that nature lives together and in tune with the spiritual movements of the characters ... Nature itself is part of the plot.

Prove this with examples from the text.

Zhivago's whole life is an intense desire to dissolve in nature, not to resist it.

1) “The doctor lay down on the silky rustling foliage, putting his hand under his head on the moss ... The variegation of sunspots, which lulled him to sleep, covered his body stretched out on the ground with a checkered pattern and made him undetectable ... as if he had put on an invisibility cap” ( part 11, chapter 8, p. 353).

2) “The doctor ... followed her (butterfly) flight. She sat down on what most closely resembled her coloration, the brown-mottled bark of a pine tree, with which she merged completely indistinguishably. The butterfly imperceptibly faded away on it, just as Yuri Andreevich was lost without a trace to an outsider's eye under the grid of sunlight and shadows that played on him” (part 11, ch. 8, p. 354).

3) The doctor is interested in everything around him, he always in tune with nature. “Everything around wandered, grew and sprouted on the magical yeast of existence. Admiration for life, like a quiet wind, went in a wide wave, not making out where, on the ground and around the city, through walls and fences, through wood and body, trembling all along the way” (part 5, ch. 6, p. 151) .

4) Nature lives, feels like a person: “The first portents of spring, a thaw. The air smells of pancakes and vodka, as if on oily... Sleepily, with oily eyes, the sun squints in the forest; Nature yawns, stretches, turns over on the other side and falls asleep again” (Part 9, Ch. 8, p. 295).

5) Nature is feminine in the novel:“Some kind of living affinity started up between the birds and the tree. It was as if the mountain ash saw all this, stubbornly for a long time, and then gave up and, taking pity on the birds, yielded, unfastened and gave them a breast, like a mother to a baby ”(part 12, ch. 1, p. 361).

6) Departing from God, and thereby from nature, at the time of his youth, Zhivago during civil war, when “the laws of human civilization ended” and the pressure of the mind weakened, he returned to nature through love for Lara. For Zhivago, Lara is the embodiment of nature itself: “From childhood, Yuri Andreevich loved the evening forest piercing by the fire of dawn. At such moments, for sure, he passed these pillars of light through himself. It was as if the gift of the living spirit entered his chest in a stream, crossed his entire being and, like a pair of wings, came out from under the shoulder blades...” “Lara! - closing his eyes, he half-whispered or mentally turned to his whole life, to all of God's earth, to everything spread out before him, illuminated by the sun” (part 11, ch. 7, p. 351).

7) In the novel, the “naturalness” of love is constantly emphasized: “They loved because they wanted everything around them: the earth under them, the sky above their heads, clouds and trees” (part 15, ch. 15, p. 501).

8) Yes, and Lara herself appears in the form of a swan, then a mountain ash: “She was half in the snow, half in frozen leaves and berries, and stretched out two snow-covered branches forward towards him. He remembered Lara's big white hands, round, generous, and, grabbing the branches, pulled the tree to him” (part 12, ch. 1, p. 361).

Yes, the hero feels that Lara is a continuation of nature, feels that the desire for her is the desire for life.

What is the antithesis of life in nature?

Railway, rails.

In this, Pasternak is traditional. Let us recall the poem "Sorokoust" by S. Yesenin, "The Lost Tram" by N. Gumilyov. Indeed, the symbol of the inanimate, the dead in the novel is the railway.

Message"The railroad as a symbol".

Does the novel end with the death of Doctor Zhivago?

No, it ends with verses.

Why do you think?

Poetry is something that cannot die.

We said that Zhivago is a doctor, but he is also a poet. Many pages of the novel are autobiographical, especially those devoted to poetry. D.S. Likhachev says in his “Reflections on B.L. Pasternak "Doctor Zhivago"": "These poems are written from one person - the poems have one author and one common lyrical hero. Yu.A. Zhivago is the lyrical hero of Pasternak, who remains a lyricist even in prose. And it's hard to disagree with that.

So, the novel "Doctor Zhivago" is also a novel about creativity. How does the writer himself speak through the lyrical hero Yuri Zhivago about the purpose of art? (4th group)

“It relentlessly meditates on death and relentlessly makes it life” (part 3, ch. 17, p. 102). For Zhivago, creativity is life.

What is art, according to Zhivago?

“And to me, art never seemed to be an object or a side of form, but rather a mysterious and hidden part of the content.”

“...And he experienced the approach of what is called inspiration...” (part 14, ch. 8, p. 441).

“But he was even more tormented by the expectation of the evening and the desire to cry out this longing in such an expression that everyone would cry ...” (part 14, ch. 9, pp. 444-445).

The lyrical hero is the clearest expression of the poet. “There are no differences between the poetic figurativeness of speeches and thoughts of the protagonist of the novel. Zhivago is the spokesman for the secret Pasternak.”

What is the life credo of Yu. Zhivago?

In freedom from dogmas, any parties, in complete freedom from reason, life and creativity by inspiration, and not by compulsion (part 13, ch. 17, p. 417–418 - Sima's conversation with Lara about the Christian understanding of life) .

“She wanted to escape at least for a short time with his help into the wild, into the fresh air, from the abyss of suffering that entangled her, to experience, as it used to be, the happiness of liberation.”

So, we came to the conclusion that the novel is a lyrical confession. But why did Pasternak still need a “different” person to express himself?

“We have before us not a novel at all, but a kind of autobiography of Pasternak himself. This is the spiritual autobiography of Pasternak,” says L.S. Likhachev.

There are no pages in the novel where the author openly expresses his thoughts, calls for something. This is the creative method of Pasternak. Continuing the traditions of Chekhov, he does not seek to assure the reader of the impeccability of his convictions. It only shows the world, but does not explain it. The reader himself must explain the world, thereby becoming, as it were, a co-author of the novel. In general, Pasternak accepts life and history as they are.

What, in your opinion, is a symbol of creativity, and therefore life in the novel? Why?

- Candle. During the journey of Yuri and Tonya through Moscow, along Kamergersky, he drew attention to a black thawed hole in the window, a candle fire shines through it, as if the flame was spying on those traveling and waiting for someone. “The candle burned on the table...” (Part 3, Ch. 10, p. 93).

Reading these lines, we seem to be present at the birth of the poet, and the poem " Winter night"- the first poem by Yuri Zhivago, therefore we will turn to his analysis.

Reading the poem "Winter Night" and its analysis

"The Candle Was Burning" was one of the novel's original titles.

As a result of the work, a diagram appears on the board.

The lesson used the analysis of the poem "Winter Night" by A.G. Lileeva, published in the article “Poetry and prose in the novel by B.L. Pasternak “Doctor Zhivago” (Russian literature. 1997. No. 4).

Conclusions. The image of a candle has received various interpretations in the literature about Pasternak:

1) D. Starikov saw in it a symbol of the unreliable protection of the individual from social storms.

2) St. Rassadin objects to him: “Pasternak's poems are about love, about a woman, about dating her. And the candle is a symbol of passion...”

3) V. Borisov and E. Pasternak come to the conclusion that the meaning of the symbolic image of a lit candle “is revealed in the gospel parable about a candle - the light of truth, which must not be hidden, but boldly carried to people” (Matt. 5, 14–16).

A lot is connected in this image. The candle burns, as it were, from the inside - not by force filled from outside, but by itself, by its essence; and her life is burning. She shines, she cannot but shine while she is alive. Life is like a candle that cannot burn "inside", for itself, which, decreasing, becomes more and more full - this is the heart of the book, this is the essence of the poet's life. “We all became people only to the extent that we loved people and had the opportunity to love.” And the “wind of time”, if it is caused by the natural movement of life, does not extinguish such a candle - it only makes it brighter.

Literature

1. The text is given according to the edition: Pasternak B.

2. Pasternak E.B. Boris Pasternak. Materials for the biography. M., 1989.

3. Memories of Boris Pasternak. M., 1993.

4. Agenosov V.V. and etc. Literature of the peoples of Russia. M., 1995. S. 206–220.

5. Borisov V.M., Pasternak E.B. Materials for creative biography B. Pasternak's novel "Doctor Zhivago" // New world. 1998. No. 6. S. 205–249.

6. Likhachev D.S. Reflections on the novel by B.L. Pasternak "Doctor Zhivago" // Pasternak B. Doctor Zhivago // Selected Works: In 2 vols. St. Petersburg, 1998. Vol. 2.

7. Conversation about the most important // Correspondence of B.L. Pasternak and V.T. Shalamova // Youth. 1988. No. 10.

8. Ivanova N. The Death and Resurrection of Doctor Zhivago // Youth. 1988. No. 5.

9. Kolobaeva L.A.“Living life” in the figurative structure of the novel “Doctor Zhivago” by B. Pasternak // Russian literature. 1999. No. 3.

10. Lileeva A.G. Poetry and prose in B. Pasternak's novel "Doctor Zhivago" // Russian literature. 1997. No. 4.

11. Medvedeva R. Two lessons on Doctor Zhivago // Literature. 1996. No. 1.

12. Krupennikova E. A whole with the world // Experience of studying the novel "Doctor Zhivago" in the 11th grade of secondary school // Literature. 1998. No. 35.

parsnip novel doctor Zhivago

From the early childhood Yura was accompanied by grief and failure. The mother is dying, the father did not even want to see his orphaned son. The author begins the novel with the funeral of Marya Nikolaevna (Zhivago's mother), as if predicting his hero for future suffering. Here is how Boris Pasternak described Yura's first pain: “A mound grew on her - the grave. A ten-year-old boy climbed on him.

Only in a state of stupefaction and insensibility, usually coming towards the end of a big funeral, could it seem that the boy wants to say a word on his mother's grave.

He lifted his head and cast an absent gaze over the autumn deserts and the domes of the monastery from the dais. His snub-nosed face contorted. His neck stretched out. If the wolf cub raised its head with such a movement, it would be clear that it would now howl. Covering his face with his hands, the boy sobbed. The cloud flying towards the meeting began to whip him on the hands and face with wet lashes of a cold downpour ... "

From here begins the path of Yuri Zhivago. It will be thorny, sometimes even dangerous. Characteristic is the behavior of the protagonist when meeting with the first bad weather: "He raised his head and looked over the autumn deserts and the heads of the monastery from the hill." The boy will certainly cry, only before that he will climb the hillock of grief that has befallen him and look at the world from the height of his own experience. With such a symbol, the writer defined the character trait of the future doctor: they will not bow before misfortune, not withdraw into themselves, but meet it in full - cry over it, and at the same time learn from it, move on to the next step in their development and, thereby, rise above the problem. This feature can be overlooked even after reading Yuri's poems. The poem that begins the cycle of his poems can be cited as an example:

The hum is quiet. I went out to the stage.

Leaning against the door frame

What happened in my lifetime.

The twilight of the night is directed at me

A thousand binoculars on an axis.

If possible, Abba Father,

Pass this cup.

I love your stubborn intention

And I agree to play this role.

But now there's another drama going on

And this time, fire me.

But the schedule of actions is thought out,

And the end of the road is inevitable.

I am alone, everything is drowning in hypocrisy.

To live life is not a field to cross.

It would seem that Zhivago is asking God to take away the "chalice" of torment from him, one might think that the poet is trying to get away from life's hardships. This is not so, even Jesus Christ, in a prayer before the crucifixion, asked his father to save him from the forthcoming tortures, only the third time he agreed with the will of God. Despite the name of the poem, which speaks of the involvement of the theme presented to him with the famous Shakespearean work, "Hamlet" is more focused on Christian, divine motives. The ending of the poem points to the wisdom and fortitude of Dr. Zhivago: "To live life is not to cross a field."

Zhivago will remain like this until the end of his life. This trait will help a young medical student to abandon the legacy of his deceased father. This trait, perhaps, will form the talent, which he himself defined as a combination of "energy and originality", he considered them "representatives of reality in the arts, otherwise pointless, idle and unnecessary."

However, the features of Doctor Zhivago do not end there. Next, I would like to list all the pluses and minuses of the poet and the doctor that fell into my field of vision. I will reveal the meaning of this technique at the end of the chapter.

His attitude to the profession is non-standard: “In Yurina's soul, everything was shifted and confused, and everything is sharply original - views, skills and predispositions. He was unparalleledly impressionable, the novelty of his perceptions defied description.

But no matter how great his craving for art and history was, Yura did not hesitate to choose a career. He believed that art was not suitable for a vocation in the same sense that innate gaiety or a tendency to melancholy could not be a profession. He was interested in physics, natural science, and found that in practical life one must do something that is generally useful. So he went to medicine.”

One fact also caught my eye - Yuri Zhivago amazingly feels and understands this world. He identifies the living and the non-living, sees the participation of nature in every change that a person and society undergoes. An example of such a worldview can be found in the description of pre-revolutionary events given by the author through the eyes of Yuri: “And it’s not that only people spoke. Stars and trees meet and converse, night flowers philosophize and stone buildings protest. All this speaks, firstly, of the talent of the protagonist (he is trying to penetrate the secrets of the existence of the world through understanding the relationship between nature and social phenomena), and secondly, it helps to overlook the similarities between Yuri Andreevich and Boris Pasternak himself (they are both poets and, it seemed to me, they feel about the same thing).

Interesting, in my opinion, are Zhivago's reflections on death. Here are the arguments the future doctor gave to his theory, reassuring the woman who accepted him into her family and loved Yura like a son - Anna Ivanovna: “Resurrection. In that crudest form, as it is asserted to console the weak, this is alien to me. And I always understood the words of Christ about the living and the dead in a different way. Where will you place these hordes, recruited over all the millennia? The universe is not enough for them, and God, goodness and meaning will have to get out of the world. They will be crushed in this greedy living crowd.

But all the time the same immensely identical life fills the universe and is renewed hourly in innumerable combinations and transformations. So you are afraid that you will be resurrected, but you were already resurrected when you were born, and did not notice this.

Will it hurt you, will the tissue feel its decay? That is, in other words, what will happen to your consciousness? But what is consciousness? Consider. Consciously wanting to sleep is a sure insomnia, a conscious attempt to feel into the work of one's own digestion is a sure disorder of its innervation. Consciousness is a poison, a means of self-poisoning for the subject who uses it on himself. Consciousness is a light that shines outward, consciousness illuminates the road in front of us so as not to stumble. Consciousness is the lit headlights ahead of the steam locomotive. Turn their light inward and disaster will happen.

So what will happen to your consciousness? yours. What are you? This is the whole point. Let's figure it out. How do you remember yourself, what part of your composition were you aware of? Your kidneys, liver, blood vessels? No, no matter how much you remember, you always found yourself in an outward, active manifestation, in the works of your hands, in the family, in others. And now take a closer look. Man in other people is the soul of man. That's what you are, that's what your consciousness breathed, ate, reveled in all your life. Your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what? You were in others, and you will remain in others. And what difference does it make to you that later it will be called memory. It will be you who is part of the future.

Finally, the last. Nothing to worry about. There is no death. Death is not our part. But you said talent, this is another matter, this is ours, this is open to us. And talent - in the highest broadest concept is the gift of life. There will be no death, says John the Theologian, and listen to the simplicity of his argument. There will be no death, because the former has passed. It is almost like: there will be no death, because it has already been seen, it is old and tired, and now a new one is required, and the new is eternal life.

Yuri Zhivago is not perfect, and this is the beauty of the main character. For example, the doctor absolutely did not feel joy from the birth of Sasha: “Saved, saved,” Yuri Andreevich rejoiced, not understanding what the nurse was saying, and the fact that she, in her own words, enrolled him as a participant in what happened, meanwhile, what does he have to do with it? Father, son - he did not see pride in this gift of fatherhood, he did not feel anything in this sonship that had fallen from heaven. All this lay outside his consciousness. The main thing was Tonya, Tonya, who had undergone mortal danger and happily escaped her. This is an abnormal reaction for a man who has become a father, but it takes place, which speaks of the versatility and ambiguity of the image of Yuri Andreevich.

I cannot characterize the relationship between Yuri Andreevich and Lara Antipova as ordinary and self-evident. Can be cited various interpretations their love, all the same, the essence will remain the same. Zhivago and Larisa Fyodorovna were married people and their child (Tanka Bezcheredeva, who appeared at the end of the novel) is illegitimate. Boris Leonidovich himself was married twice, and this behavior of the main characters, most likely, tried to justify himself. I don’t dare to do that, but I’m not going to denounce the great poet and writer either. I have too little life experience so I'll leave this question open.

I quoted and described the main character so much just to get to his main feature. For me, that is honesty. Yuri Zhivago is amazingly sincere, both to those around him and to himself. The proof of this is the loyalty to one's own positions and principles, which were preserved even after the destruction of everything familiar to Doctor Zhivago: order, order, laws. Great contrast is obtained by comparing the same inner peace a doctor with the face of the masses, so easily reborn with a change in historical reality: “While the order of things allowed the well-to-do to beat and wonder at the expense of the unsecured, how easy it was to mistake this whim and the right to idleness, which was enjoyed by the minority, while the majority endured! But as soon as the lower classes rose, and the privileges of the upper classes were canceled, how quickly everyone shed, how without regret they parted with an independent thought, which no one, apparently, had ever had! Now Yuri Andreevich was close to only people without phrases and pathos, his wife and father-in-law, and even two or three co-workers doctors, modest workers, ordinary workers.

Undoubtedly, this feature partly follows from the first character trait of Yura, which I cited at the beginning of the chapter, and the most important thing is formed from all the features given below.

It would be fair and appropriate to ask about the reason for so much attention to honesty, because Zhivago is also talented, kind, smart, insightful ... In my opinion, honesty is the most necessary trait for any time and for every situation in life. Honesty to yourself in front of the people around you is a condition for existence in our world, without honest people human society would wallow in lies and eventually deceive and devour itself. I often see deceitful and low people they are always very popular. They do not leave the TV screens, they constantly speak through the radio, they set themselves as an example and force them to follow their ideology. Their argument is paradoxically simple: “Everyone steals, lies and kills, so I can, why am I worse?...”. Therefore, it is imperative that at least sometimes there is such a person who could oppose himself to these untalented and stupid creatures. It is necessary that he set an example for the young and lead them away from the path that is futile for the human soul, dictated by the media and the Internet. Yuri Andreevich Zhivago carries this role in himself. Honesty is not the only positive quality of a person, but I believe that it predetermines all other possible virtues of any person living on earth. So let at least a literary, in a sense, romantic hero serve as an ideal and tear this world out of spiritual desolation. This is how, in my opinion, Boris Leonidovich Pasternak himself formulated the main idea of ​​the image of the poet and doctor.

There is something cruel and the only right thing in a person's desire to fight. And happiness, when this struggle is not for a piece of bread, not for the right to live and survive, but for your soul, for your right to be a person. This is the only thing worth living, fighting and dying for, until the last minute remaining true to yourself, your principles and your human dignity. And then a hundred great classics will say: “Here he is - our hero! Here it is – the uniqueness of the human soul!”
They will say and take up the pen, and another new hero will appear in literature,

And after him, another and another ... Each will be a little new, a little traditional, for example, a hero of the beginning of the 20th century. The beginning of the century... What is the beginning of the century? A time when “need and inactivity became more acute, as a result of which the activity of the masses of the people sharply increased”? No it's not there yet main reason emergence of a new hero of the 20th century. Yes, there was a break, a weak intellectual and a strong worker appeared. Yuri Zhivago and a rooming house at the very bottom of life. But didn't people, separated by class barriers, try to find themselves in this chaotic time? They did try! The actor was looking for a hospital, Ashes - happiness, Luke - faith, Satin - the truth ... Everyone set a goal.
One day, any person sets a goal for himself, and it depends on him whether this goal will become the meaning of his life or is it just a momentary desire. The goal always exists, often it becomes the only and final one, without it there is no life, and the struggle for it is the struggle for life. There is something offensive and unfair in the revolution, probably because it forced us to fight with special force and cruelty. She threw out from her fanatical ranks a naive doctor named Zhivago. “As a little boy, he found the time when the name that he bore was called many self-distinct things. There was the Zhivago manufactory, the Zhivago baths, the Zhivago houses, the method of tying and pinning a tie with a Zhivago pin, even some round-shaped sweet cake, like a baba, called Zhivago. All of a sudden it all fell apart. They got poorer." Only one treasure remained - the priceless soul of Zhivago. For this, the revolution confronted him with a choice: become cruel or perish. But how could the fragile, kind Zhivago become cruel? And suddenly, one day, become completely, completely different, forget about the ability to dream, write poetry ... No, he made another final choice that sounded like a sentence: he decided to stay in his time, while the new life carried everyone somewhere. then further, to new dimensions, not amenable to the laws of space. He decided to die, but to save himself as a person. This is the meaning of his struggle: the desire to save himself. Life through death. It is very difficult to know that you will die and continue to live. And Zhivago knew that he would die.
Melo, melo all over the earth
To all limits
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flying into the flame
Flakes swept from the yard
to the window frame.
Those who still doubted the correctness of their choice flocked to Yuri Zhivago. They flocked for support, for a particle of the firmness that he possessed in his convictions. And they left him, quiet and silent. Tonya, Lara, Gordon… Probably not convinced, but amazed by his arguments. They knew he would die. Then they already knew. And he made it easier: he stopped thinking that he was different, that he was destined to fight, and then go somewhere, “ignoring the shouts”, break through the crowd, step from the step of a standing tram onto the pavement, take a step, the other, the third, collapse on the stones and do not get up again. He stopped thinking about the future and tried to live the time allotted to him as he would like to live forever. And the flame of the candle lit up brighter, the soul grew stronger in its faith, and a new star shone in the sky (it could not but rise). She became a guide for souls wandering in the dark. People called it Christmas because
Once, unknown before,
Shy bowls
At the gatehouse window
A star twinkled on the way to Bethlehem.
She blazed like a haystack to the side
From heaven and God
Like a blaze of arson
Like a farm on fire and a fire in the threshing floor.
She towered like a burning stack
Straw and sowing
In the middle of the whole universe
Alarmed by this new star.
She illuminated the birth of the baby Jesus. But that was before, and now she shone to another person - Yuri Zhivago. She led him forward, confident and free, and then someone called the path traveled under this star a struggle for life.

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Other writings:

1. Yuri Zhivago's testimony about his time and about himself are the poems that were found in his papers after his death. In the novel, they are singled out in a separate part. Before us is not just a small collection of poems, but a whole book that has its own Read More ......
2. I read the poems of Yuri Zhivago in Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago and never cease to admire them. It is surprising that, living in an era of strong social change, which were sometimes too cruel and unfair, the hero of the novel retains his soul. In my opinion, as a person, Read More ......
3. Boris Pasternak's novel "Doctor Zhivago" is called an autobiography in which miraculously there are no external facts that match with real life author. The central image of the novel is Dr. Yuri Andreevich Zhivago. Sometimes, in light of the requirements for novels, he seems pale, inexpressive, and his Read More ......
4. B. L. Pasternak’s novel “Doctor Zhivago” has become an international event. In terms of prevalence and worldwide echo, he was ahead of many bestsellers. The work includes poems written by Pasternak while working on it. Not all of them were created specifically for the novel, but all had Read More ......
5. Larisa was very sorry that Yuri was not buried in a church way: “He was so worth it all, so he would justify and pay for this“ grave sob creating a hallelujah song ”! She almost idolizes Zhivago, after his death she was left completely alone, helpless, defenseless, abandoned. Only Yuri Read More ......
6. The remarkable Russian poet Boris Leonidovich Pasternak long years had the idea of ​​writing a novel. He happened to live in a difficult time for the country, in the era of three revolutions. He was familiar with Mayakovsky, began his creative activity, when the symbolists and futurists were actively working, Read More ......
7. The collection is the 17th and final chapter of the novel "Doctor Zhivago" and, according to the author's intention, belongs to the protagonist of this work. Not all poems are directly related to the plot of the novel, but all of them reveal a deep, ideological and thematic connection with the events taking place in it. They were created by Pasternak Read More ......
8. These Pasternak lines look like an epigraph to the novel Doctor Zhivago, on which Boris Leonidovich worked for about a quarter of a century. The novel, as it were, absorbed his most intimate thoughts and feelings. And now, in his declining years, the novel is completed, the final version is prepared for publication, but Read More ......

The life and death of Yuri Zhivago

"Doctor Zhivago"; a successful physician who served during the war; husband of Antonina Gromeko and half-brother of Major General Efgraf Zhivago. Yuri was orphaned early, losing first his mother, who died as a result of a long illness, and then his father, who, being intoxicated, jumped off a moving train at full speed. His life was not easy. As the author himself said, he came up with the hero's surname from an expression taken from a prayer: "God Zhivago." The phrase meant an association with Jesus Christ, "healing all living things." This is how Pasternak wanted to see his character.

It is believed that the prototype of the hero was the author himself, or rather his spiritual biography. He himself said that Doctor Zhivago should be associated not only with him, but rather with Blok, with Mayakovsky, perhaps even with Yesenin, that is, with those authors who died early, leaving behind a valuable volume of poetry. The novel covers the entire first half of the twentieth century, and the doctor passes away in the critical year of 1929. It turns out that, in a sense, autobiographical novel, but some do not. Yuri Andreevich caught October revolution and the First World War. At the front, he was a practicing doctor, and at home he was a caring husband and father.

However, events developed in such a way that all life went contrary to the established order in society. At first he was left without parents, then he was brought up in a family of distant relatives. He subsequently married the daughter of his benefactors, Tanya Gromeko, although he was more attracted to the mysterious Lara Guichard, whose tragedy he could not then know. Over time, life brought these two together, but they did not stay together for long. The same ill-fated lawyer Komarovsky became the razluchnik, after a conversation with whom Yuri's father jumped out of the train at one time.

In addition to healing, Zhivago was fond of literature and writing poetry. After his death, friends and family discovered notebooks in which he wrote down his poems. One of them began with the words: “The candle was burning on the table, the candle was burning ...” It was born in his head that evening when he and Tonya were heading to the Christmas tree to friends and witnessed how Lara shot her mother’s lover. This incident will forever remain in his memory. That same evening, she explained herself to Pasha Antipov, who became her lawful husband. The events developed in such a way that Lara and Pasha broke up, and Yura, after being wounded, ended up in the hospital where she worked as a nurse. There, an explanation took place, during which Yura admitted that he loved her.

The doctor's wife and two children were expelled from the country and emigrated to France. Tonya knew about his relationship with Lara, but continued to love him. The turning point for him was the parting with Larisa, who was fraudulently taken away by Komarovsky. After that, Zhivago completely neglected himself, did not want to practice medicine and was not interested in anything. The only thing that fascinated him was poetry. At first, he treated the revolution well, but after being in captivity, where he had to shoot living people, he changed his enthusiasm to compassion for innocent people. He deliberately refused to participate in the story.

In fact, this character lived the life he wanted to live. Outwardly, he looked weak-willed, but in fact he had a strong mind and good intuition. Zhivago died of a heart attack that happened to him on a crowded tram. Larisa Antipova (Guichard) was also at his funeral. As it turned out, she had a daughter from Yuri, whom she was forced to give up for the upbringing of a strange woman. After his death, his half-brother Evgraf Zhivago took care of his niece and his brother's work.

The hum is quiet. I went out to the stage.
Leaning against the doorframe,
I catch in a distant echo
What will happen in my lifetime.

The twilight of the night is directed at me
A thousand binoculars on an axis.
If possible, Abba Father,
Pass this cup.

I love your stubborn intention
And I agree to play this role.
But now there's another drama going on
And this time, fire me.

But the schedule of actions is thought out,
And the end of the road is inevitable.
I am alone, everything is drowning in hypocrisy.
To live life is not a field to cross.

The sun warms up to the seventh sweat,
And raging, stupefied, a ravine.
Like a hefty cowgirl has a job,
Spring is in full swing.

Snow is withering and sick with anemia
In the twigs of powerlessly blue veins.
But life smokes in a cowshed,
And the teeth of the pitchfork radiate with health.

These nights, these days and nights!
A fraction of drops by the middle of the day,
Roofing icicles thin,
Brooks of sleepless chatter!

All wide open, stable and cowshed.
Pigeons peck oats in the snow
And the animator and culprit of all, -
smells fresh air manure.

3. ON PASSIONATE

Still around the darkness of the night.
It's still so early in the world
That there are no stars in the sky
And each, like day, is bright,
And if the earth could
She would sleep through Easter
Under the reading of the Psalter.

Still around the darkness of the night.
Such early in the world
That the area lay down for eternity
From the crossroads to the corner
And before dawn and warmth
Another millennium.

Still the earth is naked-goal,
And she has nothing at night
rock the bells
And echo from the will of the singers.

And from Good Thursday
Until Holy Saturday
Water bores the shores
And viet whirlpools.

And the forest is stripped and uncovered,
And on the Passion of Christ,
Like a line of worshipers, it stands
A crowd of pine trunks.

And in the city, on a small
Space, as at a gathering,
The trees stare naked
In church lattices.

And their eyes are filled with terror.
Their concern is understandable.
Gardens come out of the fences
The way of the earth is shaking:
They bury God.

And they see the light at the royal doors,
And black boards, and a row of candles,
tear-stained faces
And suddenly towards the procession
Coming out with a shroud
And two birches at the gate
Must step aside.

And the procession goes around the yard
Along the edge of the sidewalk
And brings from the street into the porch
Spring, spring talk
And the air with a taste of prosphora
And spring frenzy.

And March scatters snow
On the porch a crowd of cripples,
Like a man came out
And he took out and opened the ark,
And gave everything to the thread.

And the singing lasts until dawn,
And, having sobbed enough,
Reach quieter from within
To wastelands under the lanterns
Psalter or Apostle.

But at midnight the creature and flesh will be silent,
Hearing the rumor of spring,
What is just the weather,
Death can be overcome
Strength of Sunday.

4. WHITE NIGHT

I see a distant time
House on the side of Petersburg.
The daughter of a poor steppe landowner,
You are on courses, you are from Kursk.

You are sweet, you have fans.
This white night we both
perched on your windowsill,
Looking down from your skyscraper.

Lanterns, like gas butterflies,
Morning touched the first shiver.
What I quietly tell you
So it looks like sleeping people.

We are covered by the same
Frightened by fidelity to the secret,
Like a panorama
Petersburg beyond the boundless Neva.

There, far away, along the dense tracts,
This spring white night,
Nightingales roaring doxology
Announce forest limits.

In those places barefoot wanderer
The night creeps along the fence,
And behind her from the windowsill stretches
A trace of an overheard conversation.

And the trees are white like ghosts
Pour out the crowd on the road,
Precisely making farewell signs
White night, which has seen so much.

5. SPRING THAW

The lights of the sunset burned out.
A thaw in the deaf forest
To a distant farm in the Urals
A man was on horseback.

Chattered the horse with the spleen,
And the sound of spanking horseshoes
Dear echoed after
Water in funnels of springs.

When he lowered the reins
And a horse rode with a step,
The flood rolled
Near all the rumble and roar of your own.

Someone laughed, someone cried
Stones crumbled on flint,
And fell into whirlpools
Rooted stumps.

And in the conflagration of the sunset,
In the distant blackening of the branches,
Like a booming alarm bell
The nightingale raged.

Where willow is your widow's warrior
Klonila, hanging into the ravine,
Like an ancient nightingale the robber
He whistled on seven oaks.

What trouble, what sweetheart
Was this dust intended?
In whom a shotgun shot
Did he launch through the thicket?

It seemed that he would come out with a goblin
From the halt of the fugitive convicts
Towards horseback or on foot
Outposts of the local partisans.

Earth and sky, forest and field
Catching this rare sound
Measured these shares
Madness, pain, happiness, torment.

6. EXPLANATION

Life returned just as without a reason,
How once strangely interrupted
I'm on the same old street
As then, on that summer day and hour.

Same people, same concerns
And the fire of the sunset has not cooled down,
How is it then to the wall of the Manege
The evening of death hastily nailed.

Women in cheap clothes
Shoes are also trampled at night.
Them then on the roofing iron
Attics are also being crucified.

Here is one tired gait
Slowly coming to the threshold
And, rising from the basement,
Crossing the yard obliquely.

I'm making excuses again
And again, I don't care.
And a neighbor, rounding the backyard,
Leaves us alone.

To cry, do not wrinkle swollen lips,
Don't fold them.
Rip up a dried-up scab
Spring fever.

Take your hand off my chest
We are live wires.
To each other again, look at that
We will be abandoned inadvertently.

Years will pass, you will marry,
Forget your troubles.
Being a woman is a big step
Crazy is heroism.

And I'm before the miracle of women's hands,
Back and shoulders and neck
And so with the affection of the servants
I'm in awe all the time.

But no matter how the night fetters
me with a sad ring,
Stronger in the world pull away
And beckons passion for breaks.

7. SUMMER IN THE CITY

From under the heavy crest
Watching a woman in a helmet
Throwing back your head
Together with braids all.

And it's hot outside
The night brings bad weather
And disperse, shuffling,
Pedestrians in houses.

A staccato thunder is heard,
giving off sharply,
And sways from the wind
There is a curtain on the window.

Silence comes
But it still floats
And still lightning
They fumble and fumble in the sky.

And when luminous
Hot morning again
Dries boulevard puddles
After the rain of the night

Look frowning for the occasion
Of my lack of sleep
Age-old, odorous,
Unflowered lindens.

I'm done, and you're alive.
And the wind, complaining and crying,
Rocks the forest and the cottage.
Not every pine separately,
And all the trees
With all the boundless distance,
Like sailboats body
On the surface of the ship's bay.
And it's not out of the blue
Or out of aimless rage,
And in anguish to find words
You for a lullaby song.

Under the willow, entwined with ivy.
From bad weather we are looking for protection.
Our shoulders are covered with a cloak.
My arms are wrapped around you.

I made a mistake. The bushes of these bowls
Not intertwined with ivy, but with hops
Well, better give this cloak
Spread wide under us.

10. INDIAN SUMMER

The currant leaf is rough and cloth.
There is laughter in the house and glasses are ringing,
They chop in it, and ferment, and pepper,
And put the cloves in the marinade.

The forest throws like a mocker
This noise on the steep slope,
Where is the hazel burnt in the sun
As if scorched by the heat of a fire.

Here the road descends into a beam,
Here and dried up old snags,
And it's a pity for the patchwork of autumn,
All sweeping into this ravine.

And the one that the universe is simpler,
Than another thinks the cunning one,
That a grove is lowered into the water,
That everything comes to an end.

That it's pointless to clap your eyes,
When everything before you is burned
And autumn white soot
Cobweb pulls out the window.

The passage from the garden in the fence is broken
And lost in the birch forest.
In the house there is laughter and economic hubbub,
The same hubbub and laughter in the distance.

11. WEDDING

Crossing the edge of the yard
Guests for a party
To the bride's house until the morning
We went with talyanka.

Behind the master's door
In felt upholstery
Quiet from one to seven
Chatter snippets.

And the dawn, in the very dream,
Just sleep and sleep,
The accordion sang again
Leaving the wedding.

And the accordionist scattered
Again on the accordion
The splash of the palms, the shine of the monist,
Noise and din of festivities.

And again, again, again
Ditties
Straight to the sleepers on the bed
Broke in from the party.

And one is as white as snow,
In noise, whistle, din
I swam again with a paw,
Moving the sides.

shaking your head
And with the right hand
In the dance on the pavement,
Pow, pow, pow.

Suddenly the enthusiasm and noise of the game,
The clatter of a round dance,
Falling into tartarara,
They sank like water.

A noisy yard woke up.
business echo
Intervened in conversation
And peals of laughter.

Into the immensity of the sky, up
A whirlwind of gray spots
A flock of doves flew
Taking off from the pigeons.

Exactly after their wedding
Waking up,
Wishing you many years
Sent out in pursuit.

Life is also just a moment
Only dissolution
of ourselves in all others
As if they were a gift.

Only a wedding, deep into the windows
tearing from below,
Only a song, only a dream
Only a gray dove.

I let my family go,
All relatives have long been in disarray,
And constant loneliness
Everything is full in the heart and nature.

And here I am here with you in the gatehouse,
The forest is empty and deserted.
Like in a song, stitches and tracks
Overgrown by half.

Now we are alone with sadness
Looking log walls.
We did not promise to take barriers,
We will die frankly.

We'll sit down at one and get up at three,
I am with a book, you are with embroidery,
And at dawn we won't notice
How to stop kissing.

Even more magnificent and reckless
Make noise, crumble, leaves,
And a cup of yesterday's bitterness
Exceed today's longing.

Attachment, attraction, charm!
Let's dissipate in the September noise!
Bury yourself in the autumn rustle!
Freeze or go crazy!

You also take off your dress
Like a grove sheds its leaves
When you fall into an embrace
In a dressing gown with a silk tassel.

You are the blessing of a disastrous step,
When life is sicker than sickness,
And the root of beauty is courage,
And it draws us to each other.

13. TALE

Get old, at the time it is,
In fairyland
Equestrian made his way
Steppe on turnip.

He hurried to the cut,
And in the steppe dust
Dark forest towards
Growing up away.

zealous,
On the heart scraping:
Be afraid of water
Pull up the seat.

Horse did not listen
And at full speed
Flew with acceleration
On a forest mound.

Turned from the barrow
I drove into dry land
passed the clearing,
He crossed the mountain.

And wandered into a hollow
And the forest path
Went out on the animal
Footprint and waterhole.

And deaf to the call
And with no intuition,
Led a horse off a cliff
Drink by the stream.

Cave by the stream
Before the cave is a ford.
Like a flame of sulfur
Illuminated the entrance.

And in the purple smoke
That veiled the eye,
By a distant call
Bor announced.

And then a ravine
Startled straight ahead
Touched by horse step
To a calling cry.

And I saw a horse
And leaned to the spear,
dragon head,
Tail and scales.

Flame from the mouth
He scattered the light
In three rings around the virgin
I wrapped the spine.

snake body,
Like the end of a scourge
Led neck
At her shoulder.

That country's custom
A captive beauty
Gave it to prey
The monster in the forest.

Territory population
own huts
Redeemed penalties
This one is from a snake.

The serpent wrapped her arm
And braided the larynx,
Getting on flour
To sacrifice this tribute.

Looked pleadingly
Rider in the sky
And a spear to fight
I took it ahead.

Closed eyelids.
Height. Clouds.
Water. Brody. Rivers.
Years and centuries.

Equestrian in a downed helmet,
Knocked down in battle.
Faithful horse, hoof
Stomping on a snake.

Horse and dragon corpse
Next to the sand.
In a swoon equestrian,
Virgo in tetanus.

The noon arch was bright,
The blue is soft.
Who is she? Princess?
Daughter of the earth? Princess?

That in excess of happiness
Tears in three streams
That soul is in power
Sleep and oblivion.

That is the return of health,
That real estate lived
From loss of blood
And loss of strength.

But their hearts are beating.
Now she, then he
Struggling to wake up
And they fall asleep.

Closed eyelids.
Height. Clouds.
Water. Brody. Rivers.
Years and centuries.

As promised, without deceiving,
The sun came up early in the morning
An oblique stripe of saffron
From curtains to sofas.

It covered with hot ocher
Neighboring forest, village houses,
My bed, my pillow is wet
And the edge of the wall behind the bookshelf.

I remembered for what reason
The pillow is slightly damp.
I dreamed that to see me off
You walked through the forest with each other.

You walked in a crowd, apart and in pairs,
Suddenly someone remembered that today
sixth of august old
Transfiguration.

Ordinarily light without flame
Comes on this day from Tabor,
And autumn, clear as a sign,
It draws the eyes to itself.

And you went through the petty, beggarly,
Naked, quivering alder
In the ginger-red cemetery forest,
Burning like a printed gingerbread.

With its hushed peaks
Neighboring the sky is important
And the voices of cocks
Called to each other for a long time.

In the forest as a government surveyor
There was death among the churchyard,
Looking into the face of my dead,
To dig a hole in my height.

Was physically felt by everyone
A calm voice nearby.
That former voice is my visionary
Sounded, untouched by decay:

"Farewell, azure Preobrazhenskaya
And the gold of the second Savior,
Soften with the last caress of a woman
I am the bitterness of the fateful hour.

Goodbye years of timelessness.
Farewell, abyss of humiliation
A challenging woman!
I am your battlefield.

Farewell, spread wingspan,
Flight of free perseverance,
And the image of the world, revealed in the word,
And creativity, and wonderworking."

15. WINTER NIGHT

Melo, melo all over the earth
To all limits.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.

Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flying into the flame
Flakes flew from the yard
to the window frame.

Snowstorm sculpted on glass
Circles and arrows.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.

On the illuminated ceiling
The shadows lay
Crossed arms, crossed legs,
Crossing fates.

And two shoes fell
With a knock on the floor.
And wax with tears from the night light
Drip on the dress.

And everything was lost in the snow haze
Gray and white.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.

The candle blew from the corner,
And the heat of temptation
Raised like an angel two wings
Crosswise.

Melo all month in February,
And every now and then
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.

16. PARTING

From the threshold a man looks
Not recognizing at home.
Her departure was like an escape
There are signs of destruction everywhere.

Chaos is everywhere in the rooms.
He measures ruin
Doesn't notice because of tears
And a migraine attack.

There is some noise in my ears in the morning.
Is he in memory or dreaming?
And why does he mind
All the thought of the sea climbs?

When through the frost on the window
Can't see the light of God
The hopelessness of longing is doubly
Similar to the desert of the sea.

She was so dear
To him, any trait,
How close to the sea are the shores
The entire surf line.

How it floods the reeds
Excitement after the storm
Gone to the bottom of his soul
Her features and forms.

In the years of ordeals, in times
Unthinkable life
She is a wave of fate from the bottom
She was attached to him.

Among obstacles without number,
Bypassing the dangers
The wave carried her, carried
And drove close.

And now her departure
Violent, perhaps.
Separation will eat them both
Longing with bones will swallow.

And the man looks around:
She is leaving
Turned everything upside down
From dresser drawers.

He wanders, and until dark
Puts in a box
Scattered patches
And sample patterns.

And pinning about sewing
With an unretracted needle,
Suddenly sees all of her
And weep silently.

17. DATE

Will fall asleep snow road,
Will fill up the slopes of the roofs.
I'm going to stretch my legs:
You are standing behind the door.

One in an autumn coat
No hat, no galoshes
You fight anxiety
And chew wet snow.

Trees and fences
They go into the distance, into the darkness.
Alone in the snow
You are standing on the corner.

Water flows from the scarf
For sleeves in a cuff,
And drops of dew
Shine in your hair.

And a strand of blond
Enlightened: face,
Kerchief and figure
And this is a coat.

The snow on the eyelashes is wet,
Sadness in your eyes
And your whole appearance is harmonious
From one piece.

As if with iron
Soaked in antimony
You were cut
According to my heart.

And it's stuck in it forever
The humility of these traits
And that's why it doesn't matter
That the world is hardhearted.

And that's why it doubles
All this night in the snow
And draw boundaries
Between us I can't.

But who are we and where are we from?
When from all those years
Remaining gossip,
Are we not in the world?

18. CHRISTMAS STAR

It was winter.
The wind blew from the steppe.
And it was cold for the baby in the den
On the hillside.

The breath of an ox warmed him.
Pets
Were standing in a cave
A warm haze floated over the manger.

Doha shaking off the bed dust
And millet grains
Watched from the cliff
Wake up in the midnight distance shepherds.

In the distance there was a field in the snow and a churchyard,
fences, headstones,
Shafts in a snowdrift,
And the sky above the cemetery, full of stars.

And nearby, unknown before,
Shy bowls
At the gatehouse window
A star twinkled on the way to Bethlehem.

She blazed like a haystack to the side
From heaven and God
Like a blaze of arson
Like a farm on fire and a fire in the threshing floor.

She towered like a burning stack
Straw and hay
In the middle of the whole universe
Alarmed by this new star.

A growing glow glowed over her
And it meant something
And three stargazers
They hurried to the call of unprecedented fires.

Behind them were brought gifts on camels.
And donkeys in a harness, one undersized
Another, step by step descended from the mountain.
And a strange vision of the coming time
Everything that came after got up in the distance.
All thoughts of ages, all dreams, all worlds,
The whole future of galleries and museums,
All the pranks of the fairies, all the affairs of sorcerers,
All the Christmas trees in the world, all the dreams of the kids.

All the thrill of warmed candles, all the chains,
All the splendor of colored tinsel...
... The wind blew more and more fiercely from the steppe ...
...All apples, all golden balls.

Part of the pond was hidden by the tops of alders,
But part of it could be seen perfectly from here
Through the nests of rooks and trees, the tops.
As donkeys and camels walked along the dam,
Shepherds could see well.
- Let's go with everyone, bow to a miracle, -
They said, closing their covers.

The shuffling in the snow made him hot.
Through a bright clearing with sheets of mica
Bare footprints led behind the hut.
On these traces, as on the flame of a cinder,
Sheepdogs grumbled in the light of a star.

Frosty night was like a fairy tale
And someone from the snowy ridge
All the time he invisibly entered their ranks.
The dogs wandered, looking around with fear,
And huddled up to the shepherd, and waited for trouble.

Along the same road, through the same area
There were several angels in the thick of the crowd.
Their incorporeality made them invisible,
But the step left a footprint.

A crowd of people crowded around the stone.
It was getting light. The trunks of cedars appeared.
- And who are you? Maria asked.
- We are a shepherd's tribe and heaven's ambassadors,
We've come to praise you both.
- You can't do it all together. Wait at the entrance.

In the midst of gray as ashes, predawn haze
Drivers and sheep breeders trampled,
Pedestrians quarreled with riders,
At the hollowed out drinking deck
Camels roared, donkeys kicked.

It was getting light. Dawn, like ash dust,
last stars swept from the sky.
And only the Magi from the myriad rabble
Mary let her into the hole in the rock.

He slept, all radiant, in an oak manger,
Like a ray of moon in the hollow of a hollow.
He was replaced with a sheepskin coat
Donkey lips and ox nostrils.

They stood in the shade, as if in the twilight of a barn,
They whispered, barely choosing the words.
Suddenly someone in the dark, a little to the left
He pushed the sorcerer away from the manger with his hand,
And he looked back: from the threshold at the maiden
As a guest, the star of Christmas watched.

19. DAWN

You meant everything in my destiny.
Then came the war, devastation,
And a long, long time about you
There was no sound, no spirit.

I want to people, to the crowd,
In their morning revival.
I'm ready to smash everything to pieces
And put everyone on their knees.

And I'm running up the stairs
It's like I'm going out for the first time
To these streets in the snow
And dead pavements.

Everywhere they get up, lights, comfort,
They drink tea, hurry to the trams.
Within minutes
The view of the city is unrecognizable.

A blizzard knits a net at the gate
From densely falling flakes,
And in order to catch up in time,
Everyone rushes under-eaten, under-drinking.

I feel for them all
It's like being in their shoes
I melt myself, as snow melts,
I myself, like morning, frown my eyebrows.

With me are people without names,
Trees, children, stay-at-homes.
I've been defeated by them all
And that alone is my victory.

He went from Bethany to Jerusalem,
We languish in advance with sadness of forebodings.

The thorny bush on the steep was burned out,
Smoke did not move over the neighbor's hut,
The air was hot and the reeds were motionless,
AND Dead Sea peace is immovable.

And in bitterness, arguing with the bitterness of the sea,
He walked with a small crowd of clouds
On a dusty road to someone's yard,
Went to town at a gathering of disciples.

And so he went deep into his thoughts,
That the field in despondency smelled of wormwood.
Everything is quiet. Alone he stood in the middle,
And the area lay in a layer in oblivion.
Everything is mixed up: warm and desert,
And lizards, and keys, and streams.

The fig tree rose in the distance,
No fruits at all, only branches and leaves.
And he said to her: "For what profit are you?
What joy do I have in your tetanus?

I thirst and hunger, and you are an empty flower,
And meeting with you is more dreary than granite.
Oh, how insulting and untalented you are!
Stay like this until the end of your life."

A shiver of condemnation passed through the tree,
Like a lightning spark through a lightning rod.
The fig tree was burned to ashes.

Find at this time a moment of freedom
At the leaves, the branches, and the roots, and the trunk,
If only the laws of nature could intervene.
But a miracle is a miracle, and a miracle is God.
When we are in confusion, then in the midst of confusion
It overtakes instantly, unawares.

To Moscow mansions
Spring is kicking in.
The moth flies out behind the cupboard
And crawls on summer hats
And they hide fur coats in chests.

On wooden mezzanines
Standing flower pots
With levkoy and wallflower,
And the rooms breathe freely,
And the attics smell of dust.

And the familiar street
With a blind window,
And white night and sunset
Don't miss the river.

And you can hear in the hallway
What is happening in the space
What is in casual conversation
April speaks with a drop.
He knows thousands of stories
About human grief
And the dawns freeze over the fences,
And pull this rigmarole.
And the same mixture of fire and horror
At will and in residential comfort,
And everywhere the air itself is not its own.
And the same willows through the bars,
And the same white kidney swelling
And at the window, and at the crossroads,
Outdoors and in the workshop.

Why is the distance crying in the fog,
And humus smells bitter?
That's what my vocation is for,
So that distances do not get bored,
To beyond the city limits
The earth does not grieve alone.

For this early spring
Friends come with me
And our evenings are goodbyes
Our feasts are testaments,
So that the secret stream of suffering
Warmed the cold of being.

22. BAD DAYS

When on last week
He entered Jerusalem
Hosannas thundered towards
They ran with branches after him.

And the days are getting uglier and harsher,
Love does not touch hearts
Eyebrows contemptuously raised
And here is the afterword, the end.

Lead weight all
The heavens lay down in the courtyards.
The Pharisees were looking for evidence,
Julia is in front of him like a fox.

And the dark forces of the temple
He is given to the scum for judgment,
And with the same fervor,
As they praised before, they curse.

Crowd in the neighborhood
Peeking out the gate
Huddled in anticipation of the denouement
And poked back and forth.

And a whisper crawled in the neighborhood,
And rumors from many sides.
And flight to Egypt and childhood
Already remembered as a dream.

I remembered the majestic stingray
In the desert, and that steepness
With which world power
Satan tempted him.

And the wedding feast at Cana,
And a miraculous table,
And the sea, which in the fog
He walked towards the boat as if on dry land.

And a bunch of poor people in a shack
And descend with a candle to the basement,
Where suddenly she went out in fright,
When the resurrected one got up...

23. MAGDALENE I

A little night, my demon is right there,
For the past is my retribution.
They will come and suck my heart
Memories of debauchery
When, a slave of male whims,
I was a crazy fool
And the street was my shelter.

Just a few minutes left
And silence will come.
But before they go
I am my life, having reached the end,
Like an alabaster vessel
I break before you.

Oh where would I be now
My teacher and my Savior
When at night at the table
I wouldn't wait forever
Like new, online craft
I'm an enticed visitor.

But explain what sin means
And death and hell, and sulfuric fire,
When I'm in front of everyone
With you, like with a tree, escape,
Grown in its immeasurable longing.

When your feet, Jesus,
Get on your knees
I can learn to hug
Cross square bar
And, losing my senses, I'm torn to the body,
I'm preparing you for burial.

24. MAGDALENE II

People are cleaning before the holiday.
Away from this crowd
I wash the world from a bucket
I am your pure feet.

I rummage around and can't find sandals.
I can't see anything because of the tears.
A veil fell on my eyes
Loose strands of hair.

I put your feet in the hem,
She poured tears over them, Jesus,
I wrapped them with a string of beads from the throat,
I buried it in my hair, like in a burnus.

I see the future in such detail
Like you stopped him.
I can now predict
The prophetic clairvoyance of the sibyls.

Tomorrow the veil in the temple will fall,
We will gather in a circle to the side,
And the ground will shake under your feet
Maybe out of pity for me.

The ranks of the convoy will be rearranged,
And the riders will start riding.
Like a tornado in a storm, overhead
This cross will be torn to the sky.

I will throw myself on the ground at the feet of the crucifix,
I will die and bite my mouth.
Too many arms to hug
You will spread at the ends of the cross.

For whom there is so much breadth in the world,
So much flour and such power?
Are there so many souls and lives in the world?
So many settlements, rivers and groves?

But these three days will pass
And pushed into such a void
What is this terrible interval
I'll be up by Sunday.

25. GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE

Twinkling distant stars indifferently
The turn of the road was illuminated.
The road went around the Mount of Olives,
Beneath it flowed Kedron.

The lawn was cut off in half.
Behind her was the Milky Way.
Gray silver olives
Tried to step into the distance through the air.

At the end was someone's garden, put on the land.
Leaving students behind the wall,
He told them: "The soul mourns mortally,
Stay here and watch with me."

He refused without a fight
As from things borrowed
From omnipotence and wonderworking,
And he was now as mortal as we are.

The night distance now seemed the edge
Destruction and non-existence.
The expanse of the universe was uninhabited,
And only the garden was a place to live.

And, looking into these black holes,
Empty, without beginning or end
So that this cup of death is over,
In a bloody sweat, he prayed to his father.

Prayer softened the languor of death,
He went over the fence. On the ground
Students, overpowered by slumber,
They rolled in a roadside feather grass.

He woke them up: "The Lord has vouchsafed you
To live in my days, you sprawled like a layer.
The hour of the Son of Man has struck.
He will betray himself into the hands of sinners."

And just said, no one knows where
A crowd of slaves and a crowd of vagabonds,
Lights, swords and ahead - Judas
With a treacherous kiss on his lips.

Peter rebuffed the thugs with a sword
And cut off the ear of one of them.
But he hears: "The dispute cannot be resolved with iron,
Put your sword back in place, man.

Is it really the darkness of the winged legions
Wouldn't my father have sent me here?
And, without touching a hair on me,
Enemies would scatter without a trace.

But the book of life came to the page
Which is more precious than all holy things.
Now what is written must come true,
Let it come true. Amen.

You see, the course of centuries is like a parable
And it can catch fire on the go.
In the name of her terrible greatness
I will go into the coffin in voluntary torment.

I will go down to the grave and on the third day I will rise,
And how they are fused river rafts,
To me for judgment, like caravan barges,
Centuries will float out of the darkness."