It’s rare that a lyricist does not touch on the theme of “The Beautiful Lady.” So Alexander Blok, whose first collection of poetry was published in 1905, called it “Poems about a Beautiful Lady.”
The idea of giving such a name to the cycle was suggested to the author by the Russian poet Valery Yakovlevich Bryusov. Censorship did not have a hand in the poet's collection; this happened thanks to the patronage of E.K. Medtner, the future famous head of the Musaget publishing house, with whom the author subsequently maintained friendly relations.
“Poems about a Beautiful Lady” consists of three interconnected sections: “Stillness”, “Crossroads”, “Damage”.
The first section, “Stillness,” contains poems directly addressed to the Beautiful Lady. “Blok puts a deep philosophical meaning into the very concept of “Stillness,” and in his poetic allegory it has many shades. The most undoubted of them expresses the idea of constancy, fidelity, knightly service to the Beautiful Lady.” This section of the collection “selects the most lyrically strong, responsible, sharp-sounding poems.”
Singing dream, blooming color,
Vanishing day, fading light.
Opening the window, I saw lilacs.
It was in the spring - on a flying day.
Flowers began to breathe - and onto the dark cornice
The shadows of jubilant robes moved.
The melancholy was suffocating, the soul was busy,
I opened the window, trembling and trembling.
The second section of the collection, called “Crossroads”, has a different plan. The palette and rhythm change significantly, St. Petersburg appears in Blok’s vision. Before us is his City. If “Stillness” is all about the village, about the wonderful world of Nature, then “Crossroads” is about a certain turn that the author made. Already the opening poem “Deception”, its title, will tell us a lot. The radiance of the lines is behind, the significance and outright audacity are ahead. Instead of pink dawns there is factory fumes, red light rushes into the eyes.
Morning. Clouds. Smokes. Overturned tubs.
Blue dances merrily in the light streams.
Red slingshots are placed along the streets.
The soldiers spank: one! two! once! two!
Section “Damage”, the third in a row - of the transition plan. There is a new collection of poems ahead - “Unexpected Joy”.
“In one of his late letters (spring 1914), Blok uttered prophetic words for him, relating equally to his past, present and future, to his entire life, along which he walked the “path of truth: “... art is where damage, loss, suffering, cold. This thought always guards...” The title of the final section of the book “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” - “Damage” - contains exactly this meaning, which was mentioned in Blok’s letter.
« The present is around you, a living and beautiful Russian girl“- this is what Blok wrote to his bride, making comments to the collection about the “Beautiful Lady”. The release of this poetic work by Blok did not go unnoticed. One of the first critics of the poet was his friend Andrei Bely (at that time there were no conflict situations between them). " There are people here in Moscow who put you at the head of Russian poetry. You and Bryusov are the most necessary poets for Russia».
Current page: 1 (book has 3 pages in total)
Alexander Alexandrovich Blok
Poems about a beautiful lady
Introduction
(1901-1902)
Rest is in vain. The road is steep.
The evening is wonderful. I'm knocking on the gate.
It is alien and strict to the long knock,
You scatter pearls all around.
The tower is high, and the dawn has frozen.
The red secret lay at the entrance.
Who set fire to the tower at dawn,
What did the Princess herself erect?
Each skate has a patterned carving
Red flames are thrown towards you.
The dome rises to the azure heights.
The blue windows lit up with a blush.
All the bells are ringing.
The sunsetless outfit is flooded with spring.
Were you waiting for me at sunset?
Did you light the tower? Did you open the gate?
* * *
I went out. Slowly we went down
The twilight of winter falls upon the earth.
You were young in days gone by
They came trustingly from the darkness...
They came and stood behind me,
And they sang with the wind about spring...
And I walked with quiet steps,
Seeing eternity in the depths...
Oh, there were better days alive!
To your song from the depths
Dusk fell on the earth
And dreams arose for eternity!..
* * *
The wind brought from afar
Songs of spring hint,
Somewhere light and deep
A piece of sky opened up.
In this bottomless azure,
In the twilight of near spring
The winter storms cried
Starry dreams were flying.
Shy, dark and deep
My strings were crying.
The wind brought from afar
Your sonorous songs.
* * *
Quiet evening shadows
The snow lies in blue.
Hosts of discordant visions
Your ashes have been disturbed.
You sleep beyond the distant plain,
Sleeping in a blanket of snow...
Your swan song
The sounds seemed to me.
A voice calling anxiously
Echo in the cold snow...
Is it possible to be resurrected?
Isn't the past just dust?
No, from the Lord's house
Spirit full of immortality
Relatives and friends came out
Songs to disturb my ears.
Hosts of grave visions,
The sounds of living voices...
Quiet evening shadows
The blue ones touched the snow.
* * *
The soul is silent. In the cold sky
The same stars still shine for her.
All around about gold or bread
Noisy people shout...
She is silent - and listens to the screams,
And sees distant worlds,
But alone, two-faced
Prepares wonderful gifts
Prepares gifts for his gods
And, anointed, in silence,
With an untiring ear he catches
The distant call of another soul...
So - white birds over the ocean
Inseparable Hearts
They sound a call beyond the fog,
They understand it only to the end.
* * *
You are retreating into the scarlet twilight,
In endless circles.
I heard a small echo,
Distant steps.
Are you close or far
Lost in the heights?
Should I wait for a sudden meeting?
In this resounding silence?
Sounds stronger in silence
Distant steps
Are you closing, flaming,
Endless circles?
* * *
O. M. Solovyova
On a dark and wild night -
Son of the bottomless depth -
A pale-faced ghost wanders
On the fields of my country,
And the fields in the great darkness
Alien, cold and dark.
Only sometimes, having heard God,
Daughter of the blessed side
From the native palace
Drives away ghostly dreams,
And a lot flashes in the fields
Pure virgins of spring.
* * *
Towards spring blossom
The islands have turned green.
Only one song is not finished,
Forgotten eternal words...
The soul is late in its striving,
The guys froze in a vague way,
I didn’t know some secret,
I didn’t understand some dreams...
And now - in envious embarrassment
He looks - the snow has melted,
And the rivers have a discordant flow
Finds its shores.
* * *
On a cold day, on an autumn day
I'll go back there again
Remember this sigh of spring,
See the past image.
I'll come and I won't pay,
Remembering, I won’t burn.
I'll meet you with a song at random
The dawn of a new autumn.
Evil laws of time
The mournful spirit was put to sleep.
Past howls, past groans
If you don't hear me, I'm extinguished.
The very fire is blind eyes
It will not burn with a former dream.
The very day is darker than the night
To the soul lulled.
* * *
So, they parted ways at dawn.
A.B.
All earthly dreams are flying away,
Alien countries are getting closer.
Countries are cold, dumb,
And without love and without spring.
There, far away, with our eyes open,
Visions of loved ones and relatives
Enter new dungeons
And they look at them indifferently.
There, the mother does not recognize her son,
Passionate hearts will go out...
It's hopelessly fading there
My wandering is endless...
And suddenly, on the eve of imprisonment,
I can hear distant steps...
You are lonely - in the distance,
Close your last laps...
* * *
Before sunset
Among the centuries-old trees
I love unfaithful beauties
Your eyes and your words.
Farewell, the shadow of the night is coming,
The night is short, like a spring dream,
But I know that tomorrow is a new day,
And a new law for you.
No nonsense, you are not a forest ghost,
But the old man didn't know fairies
With such unfaithful eyes,
With such a changeable soul!
* * *
All being and existence agrees
In great, unceasing silence.
Look there sympathetically, indifferently, -
I don’t care – the universe is within me.
I feel and I believe and I know
You cannot seduce a seer with sympathy.
I contain in myself abundantly
All those lights that you burn with.
But there is no more weakness or strength,
The past and the future are in me.
All being and existence is frozen
In the great, unchanging silence.
I'm here at the end, full of insight,
I've crossed the line.
I'm just waiting for a conventional vision,
To fly off into another void.
* * *
Someone whispers and laughs
Through the azure fog.
Only I will feel sad in silence
Laughter from dear countries again!
Again a whisper - and in whispers
Someone's caress, like in a dream,
In someone's feminine breath,
Apparently, I am forever happy!
Whisper, laugh, darling,
Sweet image, tender dream;
You have a power that is not from here, apparently.
Endowed and inspired.
* * *
On a white night the month is red
Floats out in the blue.
Ghostly-beautiful wanders,
Reflected in the Neva.
I see and dream
Execution of secret thoughts.
Is there goodness hidden in you?
Red moon, quiet noise?
* * *
Heavenly things cannot be measured by the mind,
Azure is hidden from the minds.
Only occasionally do seraphim bring
Sacred dream for the chosen ones of the worlds.
And I imagined the Russian Venus,
Wrapped in a heavy tunic,
Passionless in purity, joyless without measure,
The facial features are a calm dream.
This is not the first time she has come to earth,
But people crowd around her for the first time
The heroes are not the same, and the knights are different...
And the shine of her deep eyes is strange...
* * *
They sound, they rejoice,
Never getting tired
They are celebrating victory
They are blessed forever.
Who will follow the surrounding ringing,
Who will feel even a brief moment
My infinite in the secret womb,
My harmonic language?
Let my freedom be alien to everyone,
Let me be a stranger to everyone in my garden
Nature rings and rages
I am her accomplice in everything!
* * *
Lonely, I come to you,
Bewitched by the lights of love.
You're guessing. - Don't call me -
I’ve been doing magic for a long time myself.
From the heavy burden of years
I was saved by divination alone,
And again I’ll cast a spell on you,
But the answer is unclear and vague.
Fortune-filled days
I cherish the years - don’t call...
Will the lights go out soon?
Enchanted dark love?
* * *
And the heavy sleep of everyday consciousness
You will shake it off, yearning and loving.
Vl. Soloviev
I have a feeling about you. The years pass by -
All in one form I foresee You.
The whole horizon is on fire - and unbearably clear,
And I wait silently, - yearning and loving.
The whole horizon is on fire, and the appearance is near,
But I’m scared: you’ll change your appearance,
And you will arouse impudent suspicion,
Changing the usual features at the end.
Oh, how I will fall - both sadly and low,
Without overcoming deadly dreams!
How clear is the horizon! And radiance is close.
But I’m scared: You will change your appearance.
* * *
...and it’s too late to wish,
Everything has passed: both happiness and sorrow.
Vl. Soloviev
Don't be angry and forgive. You bloom alone
Yes, and I can’t return it
These golden dreams, this deep faith...
My path is hopeless.
Blooming with sleepy thoughts, you experience a lot of bliss,
You are strong with azure.
I have a different life and a different road,
And the soul has no time to sleep.
Believe - more unhappy than my young worship
Not in a vast country,
Where your mysterious genius breathed and loved,
Indifferent to me.
* * *
Behind the fog, behind the forests
If it lights up, it will disappear,
I'm driving through wet fields -
It will flash from a distance again.
So wandering lights
Late at night, across the river,
Over sad meadows
We are meeting with You.
But even at night there is no answer,
You will go into the river reeds,
Carrying away the source of light,
You're beckoning from afar again.
* * *
In youthful inaction, in dawn laziness
The soul soared upward, and there it found the Star.
The evening was foggy, the shadows were falling softly.
The Evening Star waited silently.
Unperturbed, on the dark steps
You entered, and, Quiet, you surfaced.
And a shaky dream in pre-dawn laziness
I transported myself to the star paths.
And the night passed in a fog of dreams.
And timid youth with countless dreams.
And dawn is approaching. And the shadows run away.
And, Clear One, you flowed with the sun.
* * *
Today you walked alone,
I have not seen Your miracles.
There, above Your high mountain,
The forest stretched jagged.
And this forest, closed tightly,
And these mountain paths
They prevented me from merging with the unknown,
Your azure to flourish.
* * *
She grew up behind the distant mountains.
The deserted valley was her homeland
None of you have glowing eyes
She was not matured - she grew up alone.
And only the face of the immortal luminary -
What a day - I looked at the virgin blossom,
And, like a wet grain, she came up to him,
She kept a secret trail within herself.
And she went into death, wanting and yearning.
None of you have seen the ashes here...
Suddenly blossomed, triumphant in the azure,
In another distance and in unearthly mountains.
And now everything is covered with snow.
Who visited the white temple, madmen?
She bloomed behind the distant mountains,
It flows among other luminaries.
* * *
Heeding the call of troubled life,
Secretly splashing inside me,
False and momentary thoughts
I won't give in even in my dreams.
I'm waiting for a wave - a favorable wave
Toward the radiant depth.
I follow a little, bending my knees,
Meek in appearance, quiet in heart,
Floating Shadows
The fussy affairs of the world
Among visions, dreams,
Voices of other worlds.
* * *
Transparent, unknown shadows
They swim to You, and You swim with them,
Into the arms of azure dreams,
Incomprehensible to us - You give yourself.
Before You they turn blue without borders
Seas, fields, and mountains, and forests,
Birds call to each other in the free heights,
Fog rises, the skies turn red.
And here, below, in the dust, in humiliation,
Seeing immortal features for a moment,
An unknown slave, full of inspiration,
Sings you. You don't know him
You can't tell him apart in a crowd of people,
You won’t reward him with a smile,
When he looks after you, unfree,
Tasting for a moment Your immortality.
* * *
I'm waiting for a call, looking for an answer,
The sky is numb, the earth is silent,
Behind the yellow field - somewhere far away -
For a moment my appeal awoke.
From the echoes of distant speech,
From the night sky, from drowsy fields,
Everyone remembers the secrets of the upcoming meeting,
Dates are clear, but fleeting.
I wait - and a new thrill embraces me.
The sky is getting brighter, the silence is getting deeper...
The night's secret will be destroyed by a word...
God have mercy, night souls!
For a moment I woke up behind a cornfield, somewhere,
My appeal is a distant echo.
I'm still waiting for the call, looking for an answer,
But strangely the silence of the earth lasts.
* * *
Wasn't it you who passed by in my dreams, melodious one?
Above the banks of the Neva and beyond the capital?
Wasn't it you who took away the secret fear of my heart?
With the courage of husbands and the tenderness of maidens?
You melted endlessly in the snow with a song
And she repeated the early spring in harmony.
You walked like a star to me, but you walked in the rays of the day
And she blessed the stones of the squares and streets.
I sing to you, oh yes! But your light shone
And suddenly he disappeared - into the distant mists.
I direct my gaze to mysterious lands, -
I don’t see you, and for a long time there is no God.
But I believe you will rise, and the scarlet dusk will flare up,
Closing a secret circle, belated in motion.
* * *
Outside the city, in the fields, the air breathes in spring.
I walk and tremble at the harbinger of fire.
There, I know, ahead - the swell of the sea sways
The breath of darkness is what torments me.
I remember: the capital is noisy and noisy far away.
There, in the twilight of spring, the heat is relentless.
O meager hearts! How hopeless the faces are!
Those who have not known spring yearn for themselves.
And here, as a memory of the innocent and great years,
From the twilight of dawn - unknown faces
They broadcast the order of life and the lights of eternity...
Let's forget the noise. Come to me without anger,
Sunset, Mysterious Maiden,
Connect both tomorrow and yesterday with fire.
* * *
Evening day, burning out,
Retreats into the night.
Visits me, growing,
My persistent Mystery.
Is it really a passionate thought,
Endless earth wave,
Lost among the noise here,
Will it run out of life to the bottom?
Is it really in the cold spheres?
From the unsolved mystery of the earth
Sorrows have gone away without measure,
And the love dreams have faded away?
My oppressions are dying,
The sorrows of the day are quenched,
Only You are a lonely shadow
Visit me at sunset.
* * *
Don't wait for the last answer
You won't find him in this life.
But the poet's ear clearly senses
A distant rumble on its way.
He bowed his ear with attention,
He listens greedily, waits sensitively,
And it was already heard:
Blooms, blissfully, grows...
Getting closer - the aspiration is stronger,
But, ah! - I can’t stand the excitement...
And the prophetic falls, dumb,
I heard a close rumble on the way.
All around is a family in the clouds of prayers,
And over the cemetery there is a rhythmic ringing.
They cannot comprehend dreams,
Which he didn’t wait for!..
* * *
Don't you sing to me both sweetly and tenderly:
I lost touch with the vale a long time ago.
The seas of the soul are spacious and boundless,
The song will perish, moving away into the vastness.
Only words without songs are clear to the heart.
Only with their truth will you prosper over your heart.
And the sound of the song is annoying and passionate -
Contains invisible lies.
My youthful ardor was ridiculed by you,
Abandoned by me - the fogs are behind.
The dreams with which I am enveloped are voluminous,
Understand for yourself what will happen ahead.
* * *
I don’t feel sorry for the days, neither joyful nor sultry,
Neither mature summer nor young spring.
They passed - light and restless,
And they will come again - they were given by the earth.
I'm sorry that the great day will soon pass,
A barely born child will die.
Oh, I’m sorry, friend, the coming ardor will cool down,
Leaving into the past darkness and cold!
No, even at the end of a troubled wandering
I will find a way and not sigh for the day!
Do not spoil the cherished date
To the one who sighs for me here.
* * *
A sign of a true miracle
In the hour of midnight darkness -
Misty darkness and a pile of stones,
You burn like a diamond in them.
And she herself - behind the river darkness
Guiding the mountain run
You are golden azure
Shone forever
* * *
Will you wait in the evening
Again both desires and boats,
Oars and fire across the river?
Twilight, spring twilight,
Cold waves at my feet
In the heart there are otherworldly hopes,
Waves run onto the sand.
Echoes, a distant song,
But I can’t tell the difference.
A lonely soul cries
There, on the other side.
Is my secret being accomplished?
Are you calling from afar?
The boat dives, rocks,
Something is running along the river.
In the heart there are otherworldly hopes,
I’m running towards someone...
Reflections, spring twilight,
Cliques on the other side.
* * *
You are burning above a high mountain,
Not available in Your tower.
I'll rush in the evening,
In ecstasy I will embrace the dream.
You, hearing me from afar,
You will light your fire in the evening,
I will become faithful to the commands of Rock,
Learn the fire game.
And when, among the darkness, sheaves
Sparks will begin to swirl in the smoke,
I'll rush away with circles of fire
And I will overtake You in the mansion.
* * *
Apparently, the golden days have come.
All the trees stand as if in a radiance.
At night, cold blows from the ground;
In the morning, a white church in the distance
And close and clear in outline.
Everyone sings and sings in the distance,
I don’t understand who sings; but it seemed
As if in the evening there, on the river -
Whether in the reeds, in the dry sedge, -
And a familiar song was heard.
I just don't want to find out.
And I don’t believe the songs I know.
All the same, I don’t understand the singer.
Should I hide it from myself?
Fatal loss?
* * *
All around is a distant plain,
Yes, crowds of burnt stumps
Below is the native valley,
And clouds are creeping over her.
Nothing beckons
It’s as if the distance itself is close.
Here between heaven and earth
A gloomy melancholy lives on.
She digs day and night
There are sandy mounds in the fields.
Sometimes he howls pitifully
And he will fall silent again - for the time being.
And everything that will be, everything that was,
Cold and soulless dust,
Like these stones over the grave
Of love lost in the fields
* * *
I keep wondering about you
But, exhausted by divination,
Sometimes I look into your eyes
And I see the fatal flame.
Or something great has happened
And you keep the covenant of times
And, illuminated, she took refuge
From the breath of the tribes?
But I, submitting in advance,
Know that I will keep the holy covenant.
Don't leave me in the fog
Your early years.
There's a spell between us
But, in constancy, motionless,
I hide my kindred flame
Under your poor appearance.
* * *
There is no end to the forest paths.
Just meet up to the star
Slightly noticeable marks...
Listens to the forest blades of grass
The rumor is clear everywhere
About lost and loved ones...
On the tops of low trees
Passing words...
Won't I notice by the blades of grass?
Hidden trace...
Here it is - a star has lit up!
There is no end to the forest paths.
* * *
A dead force is rushing me,
Rushing along the steel track.
The sky was darkened with gloom,
In your heart is your voice: “I’m sorry.”
Yes, and in separation you are pure
And immaculately holy.
There's a fiery sunset
The clear line goes out.
There is no hopeless grief!
The heart is under the yoke of labor,
And in the expanse of heaven -
You are a golden star.
Dedication
The prophet's hopes rose -
The azure days are near.
May the radiance of the east
Hidden in an obscure shadow.
But it's sweet behind the fogs
I can feel the approaching dawn.
I have a world clue
This boundless poet.
Here - with blue dreams
The bright temple rose.
Everything blue is yours
And radiant - to you.
* * *
Winter will pass - you will see
My plains and swamps
And you say: “How much beauty!
What a dead sleep!”
But remember, young one, in silence
I kept my thoughts in my plains
And I waited in vain for your soul,
Sick, rebellious and sullen.
In this twilight I wondered,
I looked cold death in the face
And I waited endlessly
Peering hungrily into the mists.
But you passed by, -
Among the swamps I kept my thoughts,
And this dead beauty
A gloomy trace remained in my soul.
* * *
I'll get up on a foggy morning,
The sun will hit your face.
Are you, dear friend,
Are you coming up to my porch?
The heavy gates are wide open!
The wind blew through the window!
The songs are so funny
Haven't been distributed for a long time!
With them even on foggy mornings
Sun and wind in your face!
A welcome friend is with them
Comes up to my porch!
* * *
The evening shadows are approaching again,
A clear day is fading in the distance.
Again hosts of otherworldly visions
They stirred - they floated - they approached.
What are you going to the great meeting
Are you not revealing your depths?
Or do you sense another forerunner
Undoubted and close spring?
A little in the darkness I see the lamp
I get up and fly without looking.
You're in the dark, honey, closer
To the motionless key of life.
* * *
I kept it among young harmonies
A thoughtful and gentle image of the day.
A whirlwind blew, flying dust rose,
And there is no sun, and darkness is all around me.
But in the cell it’s May, and I live, invisible,
One, in flowers, and waiting for another spring.
Go away - I smell the seraphim,
Your earthly dreams are alien to me here.
Go away, wanderers, children, gods!
I will bloom on the last day,
My dreams are sacred palaces,
My love is a numb shadow.
* * *
I went out into the sleepy streets.
There are clouds in the sky
Illuminated through the fog.
It’s familiar with them, I hear, following...
Will the heart awaken today?
Is the answer new or past life?
Will both of them be together?
If evil were carried by the clouds,
My heart wouldn't tremble...
The door creaked. My hand trembled.
Tears. And songs. And complaints.
* * *
The glow is white, yellow, red,
Screams and ringing in the distance.
You will not deceive, the worry is in vain,
I see lights on the river.
With a bright glow and late screams
You won't destroy dreams.
The ghost looks with great eyes
Because of the bustle of people.
With your death I will only please my eyes,
Burn your ships!
Here they are - quiet, bright, fast -
They rush towards me from afar.
* * *
Am I writing or are you from the grave?
She sent away her youth, -
With the old roses the ghost is dear to me
I’ll put on my shoes as I did then.
If I die - birds of passage
The ghost will be dispelled by joking.
You too will say, looking through the pages:
"He was God's child."
* * *
I'm waiting for a cold day
I'm waiting for the gray twilight.
The heart froze, ringing:
You said: “I’ll come,”
Wait at the crossroads - far away
Crowded and bright roads,
So that with the greatness of the earth
You couldn't be separated.
I'll come quietly and freeze,
Like your heart, ringing,
I'll unlock the doors for you
In the twilight of a winter day."
* * *
There will be a day - and great things will happen,
I sense a feat of soul in the future.
You are different, dumb, faceless,
Hiding, casting a spell in silence.
But I don’t know what you’ll turn into,
And you don’t know if I’ll be yours
And there they rejoice in victory
Over a single and terrible soul.
* * *
I waited a long time - you came out late,
But in anticipation the spirit came to life,
Dusk fell, but without tears
I strained both my eyes and my ears.
When did the fire first break out?
And the word flew to the sky, -
The ice has broken, the last stone
He fell, and his heart sank.
You are in a white blizzard, in a snowy moan
Again the sorceress surfaced,
And in eternal light, in eternal ringing
The churches have mixed domes.
* * *
Snowy blizzard at night
Covered the trail.
Pink, soft
The morning is awakened by light.
The red dawns have risen,
Illuminating the snow.
Bright and passionate
The shore was shaken.
Following the blue ice floe
I'll surface at noon.
Maiden in snowy frost
I'll meet you in reality.
Divination
I am mighty and great at sorcery,
But I can’t follow you.
Will I fly on the air after you -
You bloom on the earth's shore.
I descend into the flowering steppes -
You are leaving into the evening sunset,
And the chains that bound me
They are strumming lonely on the ground.
But my divination is not in vain:
Let “yesterday” be sad and scary.
But today - both secretly and passionately
Half the sky turned red in the morning.
I'll keep an eye on the far edge
The flaring cloud - you.
You look, smiling and knowing
You will come trembling and loving.
During his ascent to the literary Olympus, European culture was going through far from the best of times. A deep crisis arose due to disappointment with the previous ideals, which had already become a kind of public property. The death of the previous social system seemed inevitable, so the question associated with the revision of previous, established moral values also seemed inevitable. As a result, symbolism appeared.
It represents one of the most vibrant literary movements in literature at the turn of the century. This direction can be called a kind of attempt by a human writer to escape from the contradictions in reality and plunge headlong into the pool of eternal ideas and truths.
Blok is exactly such a person. This is especially noticeable in “Poems about a Beautiful Lady.” The collection was published in 1904. The collection in “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” consists of 129 small poems, each of which is rich in its own history. For the most part, dreams of an ideal are heard here, an idea-dream that struck Blok about some grandiose events. Actually, we can say that all the symbolism of the writer was concentrated in this collection. Subsequent works of the creator subsequently partially change. Most often, they are permeated by a feeling of the need to establish a new relationship with reality, without any lofty ideals and dreams, as in “Poems about a Beautiful Lady.” Blok himself spoke about this in his letter to S.M. Solovyov like this: “Something breaks off in me, and something new comes in a positive sense, and for me this is desirable, as when it happens less often.”
Poems about a Beautiful Lady
“Poems about a Beautiful Lady,” published in 1904, is the first collection of poetry by Alexander Blok. Subsequently, it will become a truly original, one-of-a-kind work of genius, by an equally brilliant person. Experts call this collection a lyrical diary. This is quite logical and understandable, since the writer himself largely set out in poetry some facts from his own biography. In the collection he tells readers about his own experiences, feelings and thoughts. The cycle of “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” itself represents the central part of the collection. However, its features are difficult to understand without referring to the poems that make up the section “Ante Lucem” that opens the book. Translated from Latin, it means “in the dark.” Thus, the author seems to hint to the reader that his hero at this time is a purely lyrical one, who is alone and, naturally, suffers from this. His hero is literally in pitch darkness. This is especially noticeable in the work “Let the month shine - the night is dark...”. Here we talk about the protagonist’s renunciation from the outside world, his mental torment:
“Let the month shine - the night is dark.
There is spring in my love soul
Will not replace stormy bad weather.
The night has spread over me
And responds with a dead look
In the dull gaze of the sick soul,
Doused with sharp, sweet poison.
And in vain, passions are hidden,
In the cold darkness before dawn
I wander among the crowd
With only one cherished thought:
Let the month shine - the night is dark.
Let life bring happiness to people -
There is spring in my love soul
Will not be replaced by stormy bad weather.”
Here Blok connects the state of mind of the protagonist with a dark night. The night spreads over him, and the same darkness reigns and dominates in his soul. Loneliness is aggravated by a person’s isolation from real life, since the main character has a characteristic romantic attitude. Even though the author does not indicate any direct opposition between “I” and “we,” he still indicates that the main character is somewhere among people. However, they live completely differently, unlike our main character, who cannot break with his loneliness. His position is very strange: “Let life bring happiness to people,” but he does not say this about himself. Man himself is a creative person, he tries to comprehend the secrets of the unearthly, the universe, and the best time for such reflections is night.
The poem begins and ends with the same quatrain. The main character is convinced that the night will remain dark for him, although the month is shining.
“The wind brought it from afar...”
As you might guess, the key works in the cycle of poems are “Poems about a Beautiful Lady,” which are entitled as such. They reflect the complexity of the love relationship between the writer himself and his future wife, Lyuba Mendeleeva. As in the first case, everything in the poem is far from ambiguous, unclear and uncertain. The only difference is that the poet hints to us that something good is approaching, something that can fill a person’s life with meaning. This is clearly visible in the work “The Wind Brought From Afar...”, although the image of a person remains unknown to the reader, we do not see the one who can fill life with meaning, but we understand that her early appearance is inevitable."The wind brought from afar
Songs of spring hint,
Somewhere light and deep
A piece of sky opened up.
In this bottomless azure,
In the twilight of near spring
The winter storms cried
Starry dreams were flying.
Shy, dark and deep
My strings were crying.
The wind brought from afar
Your sonorous songs."
Here new patterns begin to appear in Blok. In particular, the pitch black night, which, it would seem, should have been endless, changes. Now the main character has a small “patch of sky”. This piece gradually increases, turning towards the end of the work into “bottomless azure”. In addition to the appearance, the sound around also changes. If before there was only a quiet, soundless night, now the wind brings a “hint” to the main character of the song.
Before the appearance of the Beautiful Lady, the life of the protagonist is compared to winter. There is a hint that in the near future, winter should give way to spring, but it, as such, does not exist yet. The hero feels only its harbingers, but understands perfectly well that this spring is already close. This is also noticeable in the poem “Quiet Evening Shadows...”:
"Quiet evening shadows
The snow lies in blue.
Hosts of discordant visions
Your ashes have been disturbed.
You sleep beyond the distant plain,
You sleep in a shroud of snow...
Your swan song
The sounds seemed to me.
A voice calling anxiously
Echo in the cold snow...
Is it possible to be resurrected?
Isn't the past just dust?
No, from the Lord's house
Spirit full of immortality
Relatives and friends came out
Songs to disturb my ears.
Hosts of grave visions,
The sounds of living voices...
Quiet evening shadows
The blue ones were touched by the snow."
Conclusion
The collection of “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” fully embodied the idea of a “double world”, characteristic of most symbolists. In such works there is a contrast between “earth” and “sky”, as well as the material and spiritual state of man. In the image of the Beautiful Lady, Blok embodies the Soul of the world, which in itself represents a feminine nature. In general, such a collection of poetry can be characterized by certain sublime feelings, a regular break between a person and the current reality, as well as the holiness of unearthly ideals and a kind of cult of beauty.
If we identify all the poems in this collection, then we can say that everywhere the main character is an ordinary earthly creature who languishes in anticipation of that very Beautiful Lady, and she, in turn, is something divine, an unearthly ideal.
“Poems about a Beautiful Lady” is written in a sophisticated and rather refined language. Each work in the collection is imbued with the search, the expectation of the ideal, harmony, and beauty. Naturally, the main character in these works has a sharp rejection of everyday reality. He tries to strive for perfection, waits for positive changes and it seems that he is about to see them. The Beautiful Lady herself in the cycle is an unearthly creature who only vaguely resembles a woman’s appearance. In fact, this is a person’s idea, his dream, hope that warms the soul of the main character, but at the same time causes a longing for the incomprehensible.
Alexander Blok is a great symbolist. He thinks of the world in metaphors, connects the mystical and the everyday, the heavenly and the earthly. And in his life, of course, there was a woman who turned the poet’s mental structure upside down. This woman was Lyubov Mendeleeva, the daughter of the great chemist Dmitry Mendeleev.
Blok first saw her when she was only 16. She was a high school student. A new, hitherto unknown feeling settled in Alexander’s heart. The innocent girl almost drove the poet crazy. She herself was indifferent to him and considered him easy prey.
Yes, Blok fell too easily into this girl’s network. He understood this himself. When Blok tried to explain his feelings for the first time, Lyubov ridiculed him. Alexander was humiliated. His love was not reciprocated, but it was there, it existed in the poet’s heart.
And Blok decided to embody this feeling in poetry. This is how the cycle “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” appeared. It is dedicated to Lyubov Mendeleeva and no one else. Only she has the right to bear the title of Beautiful Lady. Blok writes sublimely, passionately, and the reader can see how much the poet loves the Beautiful Lady.
Blok understands that he is unworthy of her. She is tall and he is short. She is divine, and he is an earthworm. How to tame one and make it yours? Blok doesn't know. He humiliates himself in comparison with her, because he really considers himself unworthy of her attention, affection, and greatness.
But Blok doesn’t just need an ideal. He also needs a woman. He needs the Beautiful Lady as a simple person, which she also is. Researchers note three faces of the Beautiful Lady: cosmic, religious and everyday. Blok needs the whole trinity, but he considers himself unworthy of it.
As usual with Blok, the real world and the symbolic world represent a single whole. The sounds are muffled and barely audible. And of all the colors, only white dominates - the color of holiness. In the image of a Beautiful Lady, this is the main color.
The lyrical hero experiences different moods. He hopes and doubts, and loves the Beautiful Lady, and realizes that she will perish, just as everything in this world perishes. Then a discord with reality appears: Blok is afraid that the Beautiful Lady will grow old and change her appearance...
But reality this time turned out to be merciful. Mendeleev's love eventually reciprocated Alexander's love, and they got married. The Beautiful Lady became the wonderful wife of Alexander Blok.
Analysis of the poem About Blok's Beautiful Lady
It was not for nothing that Alexander Blok was called a symbolist poet, because he happened to live at a time when established values were being vigorously revised in society and the main principles of life were changing. And what was the surprise of society when the poet released his collection, calling it “Poems about a Beautiful Lady.” In fact, the answer was very simple. In those moments when every individual, be it a peasant or a nobleman, was struggling with constant protests and changes, something was needed that would allow a little push away from the terrible reality. That is why most writers began to use symbolism in their creations, among which was A.A. Block.
History of the collection
The author decided to find his salvation from the gray everyday life in such a beautiful and pure feeling as love. It’s not for nothing that they believe that it is she who can lift you to the skies, give you strength in difficult times and make you simply live, despite any adversity. That's how this collection came about. If you read poems about the Beautiful Lady, you will notice that Blok is looking for salvation in each of his works, thus trying to shelter his soul from the pressure of those gray everyday life, and it is worth noting that he succeeded. During his labors, the poet imagined that he was in an incredibly beautiful place, like a real paradise. Poems open up to us a wonderful world of love.
Who was the collection dedicated to?
But, despite all this, in fact, Alexander Alexandrovich was very afraid that in real life he would not be able to meet the same beautiful woman as in his poems. That the image he created will never be realized and will be lost: “...you will change the appearance.”
The author still finds his true happiness, thanks to a true lady - Lydia Mendeleeva. He began to pour out all his emotions on paper with even greater zeal. However, for a long time he could not take the first step, fearing to frighten Lydia, although on a subconscious level he perfectly understood that she was the “Great Eternal Wife.” And soon Blok proposes to his beloved, and then continues to describe his undying feelings in his own collection.
Conclusion
A.A. Blok created a unique collection of poems in which he was able to reflect both material and spiritual feelings. Thanks to the poet, readers were able to enjoy the peace and quiet, fill their souls with bright and pure emotions, take a little break from harsh reality and find the strength to move on.
Picture for the poem About a Beautiful Lady
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Every person, to one degree or another, has a sense of beauty, a desire for beauty. At all times, the personification of this was a woman, as we can judge from ancient myths and legends. A special cult of women, ladies, developed in the Middle Ages, during the era of chivalry. Let us remember Don Quixote, who, in the name of his Dulcinea, committed a variety of, sometimes fantastic and absurd, acts. The great Dante and Petrarch immortalized the images of their beloved Beatrice and Laura in sublime, enthusiastic verses.
In Russian poetry of the Silver Age, the cult of women was embodied primarily in the poetry and philosophy of Vladimir Solovyov. In his mind, a woman personified the image of the World Soul, the Eternal Wife, Sophia the Wise, and was a symbol of harmony, reason, love and beauty. The Cult of Eternal Femininity was further developed in the work of Alexander Blok, for whom Vladimir Solovyov became a spiritual teacher. It was Blok who wrote the unusually lyrical and tender poems about the Beautiful Lady.
Alexander Blok made his debut in poetry as a traditional romantic, and his early poems contained corresponding motifs: alienation from the crowd, disappointment in life, disbelief in happiness. And suddenly, in the darkness of unbelief and blindness, She appears - “clear”, “radiant”, “illuminated”, “golden”. Blok describes her in the same way as icon painters usually depict the Mother of God surrounded by radiance. At the same time, the prototype of the Beautiful Lady was a real, completely earthly woman - Lyubov Dmitrievna Mendeleeva.
At first glance, there is nothing in common between the “heavenly” Mother of God and the poet’s “earthly” beloved. But in his mind, there is a connection between them, and this connection is mystical. Just like the romantic poets, Blok recreates the image of a real woman in accordance with his ideal, turning her into a Beautiful Lady, into a Madonna. The poet himself (the lyrical hero) appears before us, according to Yu. Aikhenvald’s definition, “a knight and a pilgrim.”
He has a presentiment of the Mother of God, follows “in the footsteps of her blue paths,” breaking ties with reality and being transported to a completely different world - the world of “dreams and fogs,” the world of dreams. Blok called the cycle of poems about the Beautiful Lady a “closed book of existence,” which reflected a journey through the “countries of the soul” at the “early morning dawn.” “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” convey a special—prayerful—state of the hero’s (author’s) soul, a state of inner contemplation. Blok’s lyrical hero contains the entire Universe, his soul is equal in size to the universe:
I don't care - the Universe is in me...
Blok contrasts this ideal world with the real one. It is in the realm of the ideal that he seeks salvation from the vulgarity and rudeness of earthly existence:
I'm looking for salvation.
My lights burn on the heights of the mountains -
The entire area of the night was illuminated.
But brightest of all is the spiritual gaze in me
And you are far away.
The Beautiful Lady is the undivided mistress of the poet’s soul, the motive of insight is associated with her (“I am here at the end, filled with insight”); she opens the way for him to comprehend Eternity, being her messenger:
I'm just waiting for a conventional vision,
To fly off into another void...
In many poems of the cycle, the image of the Beautiful Lady is incorporeal, unsteady, barely perceptible, perceived not so much by sight (internal) as by hearing (also internal):
The wind brought from afar
Your sonorous songs...
Thus, the Beautiful Lady becomes a link between the earthly (alien) and heavenly (native) worlds. We see that the lyrical hero values earthly attributes little - with all his being he strives upward. Let us turn to the poem “I Enter Dark Temples.” The entire poem is imbued with a solemn mood, the hero is waiting to meet her “in the flickering of red lamps.” As you know, red is the color of fire and passion. The soul of the one awaiting the appearance of the Beautiful Lady is filled with this passion: “I tremble from the creaking of the doors.” He unbearably wants to see Her, but he knows that this is impossible:
And the illuminated one looks into my face
Only an image, only a dream about Her.
This invisible presence is more valuable to the hero than the real one. Moreover, he is afraid of a real meeting, as evidenced, for example, by a line from the poem “I Anticipate You”:
But I’m scared: You will change your appearance.
The poet understands that the earthly embodiment of a dream is impossible without the destruction of the ideal.
As we see, the image of the Beautiful Lady has more heavenly than earthly features: it seems sublime, absolutely inaccessible and incomprehensible. And yet the earthly is present in him. This is indicated by addressing Her as “you,” earthly epithets (“sweetheart”), and some features that make Her appearance visible: “virgin robe,” “white dress,” “pale beauty.” In some poems, the poet fits the image of the heroine into the real earthly landscape:
We met you at sunset
You cut through the bay with an oar.
With all his upward aspiration, Blok’s lyrical hero cannot completely break with the earth. Moreover, he begins to be burdened by this gap and strives to “overcome dreams and fogs” in the name of gaining reality. That is why Blok called “Poems about a Beautiful Lady” the beginning of the “trilogy of humanization.”