It seems to me that it is very difficult to single out from Akhmatova's work, especially from the early one, what could be called, in contrast to her other poems, "love lyrics." Everything she writes is dedicated either to love or to memories of a departed love. “I pray to the window beam - / It is pale, thin, straight. / This morning I have been silent, / And my heart is in half. / On my washstand / The copper has turned green, / But the beam plays on it like that, / It’s fun to look at. / So innocent and simple? / In the silence of the evening, / But in this temple is empty / It is like a golden holiday / And a consolation to me. It would seem that in this poem about love - not a word. But it is only said: “Today I am silent in the morning, / And my heart is cut in half,” and already there is an impression of a secret love drama hidden from prying eyes.
In general, even the most frank “love” poems by Akhmatova are secret and about a secret: this is not a cry, not even a word addressed to her lover, as is almost always the case with Marina Tsvetaeva, it is rather a thought, a feeling that arose when meeting with a loved one, at a glance on him and expressed in the verse: “The same voice, / The same look, / The same flaxen hair. / All as a year ago. / Through the glass the rays of the day / The lime of the white walls are full of ... / The aroma of fresh lilies. / And your words are simple.”
Spiritual storm, confusion of feelings, when the heart falls and grows cold in the chest, when each small distance stretches for miles, when you wait and wish only for death, are conveyed by Akhmatova in a stingy series of barely noticeable details, hidden from someone else's, prying eyes, in verses something is always given out, what would not be noticed without verses:

So helplessly my chest went cold,
But my steps were light.
I'm on right hand put on
Left hand glove.
It seemed that many steps
And I knew there were only three of them!
Autumn whisper between the maples
He asked: "Die with me!"

And so, when suddenly heard:

And when they cursed each other
In white-hot passion
We both didn't understand.
As the earth is small for two people, -

it gives the impression of an explosion. But this is also an explosion - internal, an explosion of consciousness, not emotions, furious in Akhmatova - not pain, but memory, fiery torture - this is precisely the torture of silence, hiding in itself an appeal and complaint:

And what a violent memory torments,
Torture of the strong - a fiery disease! -
And in the bottomless night the heart teaches
Ask: oh, where is the departed friend?

It is not for nothing that in the poem “Love” this feeling appears in images that are imperceptible and not immediately unraveled, hidden and acts “secretly and truly”, shoots all the more surely because it shoots from an ambush:

That snake, curled up in a ball,
At the very heart conjures
That whole days like a dove
Cooing on the white window,
It will shine in the bright hoarfrost,
Feels like a Levkoy in the slumber...
But faithfully and secretly leads
From joy and peace.
Can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a longing violin,
And it's scary to guess
In an unfamiliar smile.

And in this constant secrecy, fascination of feeling, some kind of secret wound, flaw, inability to open up, and from this - a tendency to torment seems to be. One passionately speaks of his love, while the other is only silent, and looks with mysterious gray eyes, and drinks drunk with his “tart sadness”. No wonder Gumilyov complained: “From the city of Kiev, from the city of Zmiev, I took not a wife, but a sorceress ... / You stroke it - it bristles, and the moon enters - it hides. / And he cries and groans, as if he is burying someone, and wants to drown himself. And she herself - wise and strong - admits in unexpected moments of weakness: “I do not ask for wisdom or strength. / Oh, just let me warm myself by the fire! I'm cold... / Winged or wingless, / Jolly God will not visit me.
Her love is like a secret disease, haunting and hidden, debilitating and not bringing, not finding satisfaction. Sometimes it seems to me that in a much later poem “Not weeks, not months - years ...” she says goodbye not to her beloved - to love, the lawsuit with which lasted so long, and now the possibility of liberation dawned:

Not weeks, not months - years
We parted. And finally
The chill of true freedom
And a gray crown above the temples.
No more betrayals, no more betrayals
And until the light you do not listen,
How the flow of evidence flows
Incomparable my rightness.

Anna Akhmatova "stayed on earth" in a tragic era, tragic above all for Russia. The theme of the Motherland undergoes a complex evolution in Akhmatova's work. . The very concept of the motherland changed in her poetry. At first, Tsarskoye Selo was the birthplace, where they passed ...

The themes of the poet and poetry, the citizenship of the poetic word are extremely important for the entire lyrics of Anna Akhmatova. At the beginning creative way Akhmatova was already aware of herself as a poet. In an early poem, Muse, she pinpoints her choice. Poet's dream...

At the turn of the past and present centuries, on the eve of the revolution, in an era shaken by two world wars, in Russia, perhaps the most significant “female” poetry in all the world literature of the new time, the poetry of Anna Akhmatova, arose and developed....

Love Now like a snake, curled up in a ball, It conjures at the very heart, Then it coos all day long On a white window, Then it flashes in bright hoarfrost, It seems like a left-handed man in the slumber ... But faithfully and secretly leads From joy and peace. He knows how to sob so sweetly In ...

Abstract: love lyrics Akhmatova

ABSTRACT

on the topic of:

"LOVE LYRICS by A. AKHMATOVA"

Gold rusts and steel rots,

The marble crumbles. Everything is ready for death.

The strongest thing on earth is sadness

And more durable - the royal word.

A.Akhmatova

The first poems of Anna Akhmatova appeared in Russia in 1911 in the Apollo magazine. Almost immediately, Akhmatova was placed among the greatest Russian poets by critics.

A. A. Akhmatova lived and worked in a very difficult time, a time of catastrophes and social upheavals, revolutions and wars. Poets in Russia in that turbulent era, when people forgot what freedom is, often had to choose between free creativity and life.
But despite all these circumstances, the poets still continued to work miracles: wonderful lines and stanzas were created.
The source of inspiration for Akhmatova was the Motherland, Russia, desecrated, but from this it became even closer and dearer to her. Anna Akhmatova could not go into exile, she knew that only in Russia she could create, that it was in Russia that her poetry was needed.

I am not with those who left the earth
At the mercy of enemies.
I will not heed their rude flattery,
I won't give them my songs.

In the famous work “Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold ...” (1921), the first line of which was quoted many times to prove the idea of hostile attitude poetess to Soviet society and revolution, even in him one could hear her benevolent curiosity and undoubted interest in a new life:

All-plundered, betrayed, sold,

The wing of the black death flickered,

Everything is devoured by hungry longing,

Why did we get light?

Cherry breaths in the afternoon

Unprecedented forest under the city,

At night it shines with new constellations

The depth of the transparent July skies, -

And so close comes the miraculous

To the ruined dirty houses...

No one, no one knows

But from time immemorial we have desired.

This is 1921, devastation, famine, the very end civil war, from which the country came out with an incredible strain of forces. old world was destroyed, the new one was just beginning to live. For Akhmatova and those whom she unites in this poem along with itself, the ruined past was a well-lived and familiar home. And yet, the inner strength of life made her, in the midst of the ruins of the old world, utter words blessing the eternal in its charm and wise newness of life. The poem is inherently optimistic, it radiates light and joy, a foretaste of life, which seems to start all over again.

The lyrics of Anna Akhmatova of her first books "Evening", "Rosary" and "White Flock" are almost exclusively lyrics of love.

The romance between Anna Akhmatova and Lev Gumilyov lasted seven years. Entangled, broken, on the verge of tear-break relationship with Gumilyov forever determined for Anna Akhmatova the model of her relationship with men. She will always fall in love only when she sees a riddle over the essence, earthly, real. She worried her, she sought to unravel it, she sang about it. She spoke of love as a higher, almost religious concept. And she herself - with the rarest exception - abruptly cut off the romance if it threatened to go into an everyday, familiar existence ...

Even if I don't have a flight

From a flock of swan

Alas, the lyric poet

Gotta be a man!

Otherwise everything will go upside down

Until the hour of parting:

And the garden is not in the garden, and the house is not in the house,

A date is not a date!

Her heart, as it were, was looking for death, looking for torment. April 25, 1910 Anna Gorenko and Nikolai Gumilyov were married in Nicholas Church near Kiev, and in May they leave for Honeymoon in Paris. And the very next year, the first poems of Anna Akhmatova appear in print. In 1911, the poetry collection "Evening" was published - the first-born of the poetess. A compilation riddled with the pain of a loving and deceived woman

I'm not asking for your love

She is now in a safe place.

Believe that I am your bride

I don't write hate mail...

Akhmatova wrote about unhappy love. She was created for happiness, but did not find it. Probably because she herself understood: "Being a poet for a woman is absurd."

A woman is a poet with her love thirst ... After all, to quench this thirst, it is not enough for a man to love: woman poet suffers from the paucity of simple love. To quench such an “immortal passion,” Akhmatova sought equivalence, equivalence in love.

From your mysterious love

As I cry out in pain,

Became yellow and fit,

I can barely drag my feet...

In August 1914, Gumilyov volunteered for the front. Anna Akhmatova was disappointed in the love of Nikolai Gumilyov. Yes, and Gumilyov endured a lot for the happiness of being Akhmatova's husband.

And the heart will no longer respond

Everything is over…

And my song rushes

In an empty night where you are no more

Akhmatova in her poems is in endless variety women's destinies: mistresses and wives, widows and mothers who cheated and left.
There is a center that, as it were, brings the rest of the world of poetry to itself, turns out to be the main nerve, idea and principle. This is Love. In one of her poems, Akhmatova called love "the fifth season." The feeling, in itself sharp and extraordinary, acquires additional sharpness, manifesting itself in the ultimate crisis expression - a rise or fall, a first meeting or a completed break, mortal danger or death anguish. That is why Akhmatova gravitates so much towards a lyrical short story with an unexpected end to a psychological plot, creepy and mysterious ("The City Has Disappeared", "New Year's Ballad").
Usually her poems are the beginning of a drama, or only its culmination, and more often the finale and ending. She relied on the rich experience of Russian not only poetry, but also prose:

Glory to you, hopeless pain,
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.
And poplars rustle outside the window:
There is no king on earth...

Akhmatova's poems carry a special element of love-pity:

Oh no, I didn't love you
Burning with sweet fire
So explain what power
In your sad name.

In the complex music of Akhmatova's lyrics, in its barely glimmering depth, in the subconscious, a special, frightening disharmony constantly lived and made itself felt, embarrassing Akhmatova herself. She later wrote in "A Poem Without a Hero" that she constantly heard an incomprehensible rumble, as if some kind of underground gurgling, shifts and friction of those original solid rocks on which life was eternally and reliably based, but which began to lose stability and balance. The very first foreshadowing of such an unsettling sensation was the poem "First Return" with its images of a death dream, a shroud and a death knell and with general feeling a sudden and irreversible change in the very air of time.
Over time, Akhmatova's lyrics won more and more reader circles and generations and, without ceasing to be the object of admiring attention of connoisseurs, clearly left the narrow circle of readers intended for her.
Soviet poetry of the first years of October and civil
war, occupied with the grandiose tasks of overthrowing the old world, preferring to speak not so much about man as about humanity, or in any case about the masses, was initially insufficiently attentive to the microcosm of intimate feelings, classifying them in a burst of revolutionary puritanism as socially unsafe bourgeois prejudices. The lyrics of Akhmatova, according to all the laws of logic, should have been lost and disappeared without a trace. But that did not happen.

Young readers of the new, proletarian, Soviet Russia embarking on the socialist path, workers and rabfakovtsy, Red Army women and Red Army men - all these people, so distant and hostile to the world itself, mourned in Akhmatov's poems, nevertheless noticed and read elegantly published volumes of her poems.

Anna Akhmatova's lyrics change in the 1920s and 1930s compared to her early books. These years were marked by an exceptional intensity of creativity. Akhmatova, as before, remained unknown to the reader and therefore, as it were, disappeared from the reading and literary world.

The lyrics of Akhmatova throughout the post-revolutionary
twenty years has been constantly expanding, absorbing more and more new,
previously uncharacteristic areas, love story, without ceasing to be dominant, nevertheless now occupied only one of the poetic territories in it. However, the inertia of the reader's perception was so great that even in these years, marked by her turning to civil, philosophical and journalistic lyrics, Akhmatova still seemed to the eyes of the majority as only and exclusively an artist of love feelings.

The expansion of the range of poetry, which was the result of changes in
worldview and worldview of the poetess, could not, in turn, not affect the tone and nature of the actual love lyrics. True, some of its characteristic features remained the same.

The love episode, as before, appears before us in a peculiar Akhmatov guise: it is never consistently unfolded, it usually has neither end nor beginning; the love confession, despair or entreaty that make up the poem seem like a snippet of an accidentally overheard conversation that did not begin with us and the end of which we also will not hear:
"Oh, you thought I was like that too,

That you can forget me.

And that I will throw myself, praying and sobbing,

Under the hooves of a bay horse.
Or I'll ask the healers

In spoken water spine
And I'll send you a scary gift

My treasured fragrant handkerchief.
Be damned.

Not a groan, not a look

I will not touch the damned soul,

But I swear to you by the garden of angels

I swear by the miraculous icon

And our fiery child of nights

I will never return to you."

This feature of Akhmatov's love lyrics, full of reticence, allusions, going into the far depths of subtext, gives it a true originality. The heroine of Akhmatov's poems, who most often speaks as if to herself in a state of impulse, semi-delusion or ecstasy, naturally does not consider it necessary to explain and interpret everything that is happening to us. Only the main signals of feelings are transmitted, without decoding, without comments, hastily - according to the hurried ABC of love. The implication is that a degree of intimacy will miraculously help us understand both the missing links and the general meaning of the drama that has just taken place. Hence the impression of extreme intimacy, extreme frankness and heartfelt openness of these lyrics..

"Somehow managed to separate

And put out the hateful fire.

My eternal enemy, it's time to learn

You really love someone.

I'm free.

Everything is fun for me

At night, the Muse will fly to comfort,

And in the morning glory will drag
Rattle over the ear to crackle.

Don't even pray for me

And when you leave, look back...

The black wind will calm me.

Amuses the golden leaf fall.

As a gift, I will accept separation

And oblivion is like grace.

But, tell me, on the cross

Would you dare to send another?

The poem is captivating. The passionate intensity of feeling, its hurricane, draws before our eyes an outstanding and strong personality.
About the same thing and almost the same way, another poem related to
the same year as the one just quoted:

Like the first spring thunderstorm;

From behind your bride's shoulder they will look

My half closed eyes

Goodbye, goodbye, be happy, beautiful friend,

I will return your joyful vow to you,

But beware your passionate friend

Tell my unique nonsense -

Then that he will pierce with burning poison

Your blessed, your joyful union ..

And I'm going to own a wonderful garden,

Where is the rustle of grasses and exclamations of muses.

Akhmatova is not afraid to be frank in her intimate confessions and pleas, as she is sure that only those who have the same code of love will understand her. Therefore, she does not consider it necessary to explain anything and further describe. A form of randomly and instantly escaping speech that everyone passing by or standing nearby can overhear, but not everyone can understand. Akhmatova never had languid, amorphous or descriptive love poems. They are always dramatic and extremely tense, confused. She has rare poems that describe the joy of established, stormless and cloudless love; The muse comes to her only at the most culminating moments experienced by the feeling, when it is either betrayed or dries up: ...

I wasn't nice to you

You shamed me.

And the torture continued

And how the criminal languished

Love full of evil

It's like a brother.

Shut up, angry.
But if we meet eyes

I swear to you by heaven

Granite will melt in the fire.

In a word, we are always present, as it were, at a bright, lightning flash, at spontaneous combustion and charring of a pathetically huge, sizzling passion that pierces the entire being of a person. Akhmatova herself more than once associated the excitement of her love with the great and imperishable "Song of Songs" from the Bible.

And in the Bible there is a red wedge leaf

Laid down on the Song of Songs...

Akhmatova's poems about love - everything! - pathetic .. A. Blok said about some of Akhmatov's poems that she writes before a man, but she should write before God ...
Her poems dedicated to love go to the very heights of the human spirit. Filled with a huge obsession, love has become not only incomparably richer and more multicolored, but also truly tragic. The biblical, solemn elation of Akhmatov's love poems of this period is explained by the true height, solemnity and pathos of the feeling contained in them. Here is one of those poems:

Unprecedented autumn built a high dome,
There was an order to the clouds not to darken this dome.
And people marveled: the September deadlines are passing,
And where did the cold, wet days go?
The water of the muddy channels became emerald,
And the nettles smelled like roses, but only stronger.
It was stuffy from the dawns, intolerable, demonic and scarlet,
We all remember them until the end of our days.
The sun was like a rebel who entered the capital,

And spring autumn caressed him so greedily,

What seemed like a transparent snowdrop will now turn white ...

That's when you came up, calm to my porch.

It is difficult to name in world poetry a more triumphant and pathetic depiction of how the beloved is approaching. This is truly a manifestation of Love to the eyes of the rapturous World!
Akhmatova's love lyrics inevitably lead to memories of Tyutchev. A stormy clash of passions, Tyutchev's "fatal duel" - all this was resurrected precisely by Akhmatova. She, like Tyutchev, is an improviser - both in her feeling and in her verse. Many times Akhmatova spoke about the paramount importance for her of pure inspiration, that she had no idea how to write according to a premeditated plan, that it seemed to her that at times she had a Muse behind her ...

And just dictated lines
Lie down in a snow-white notebook.

She repeated this thought over and over. So, even in the poem "Muse" (1924), which was included in the cycle "Secrets of the Craft", Akhmatova wrote:

When I wait for her arrival at night,
Life seems to hang by a thread.
What honors, what youth, what freedom

In front of a nice guest with a pipe in her hand.

And so she entered.

Throwing back the cover
She looked at me carefully.

I tell her: "

Did you dictate to Dante

Pages of Hell?

Answers: "I am".

About the same in the 1956 poem "Dream":

What will I repay for a royal gift?

Where to go and with whom to celebrate?

And now I write as before, without blots,

My poems in a burnt notebook.

This does not mean that she did not alter the poems. Many times, for example
the "Poem without a Hero" was supplemented and revised, "Mechola" was improved for decades; sometimes changed, although rarely, stanzas and lines in old poems. Being a master who knows the "secrets of the craft", Akhmatova is precise and scrupulous in the choice of words and in their arrangement. But it has a very strong impulsive, improvisational beginning. All her love poems, in their primary impetus, in their arbitrary flow, which arises as suddenly as it suddenly disappears, in their fragmentary and lack of plot, are also the purest improvisation. The "fatal" Tyutchev duel that constitutes their content is an instant flash of passions, a deadly single combat of two equally strong opponents, of which one must either surrender or die, and the other must win

Not secrets and not sadness,
Not the wise will of fate

These meetings always left

The impression of a struggle.

I, guessing the minute in the morning,

When you come to me

Felt in the hands of bent

Weak stabbing shivers...

Marina Tsvetaeva, in one of her poems dedicated to Anna Akhmatova, wrote that her "anger is deadly and mercy is deadly." And indeed, any middle ground, smoothing of the conflict, a temporary agreement between the two warring parties with a gradual transition to smooth relations is most often not even assumed here. "And love, full of evil, languished like a criminal."

In her love poems, unexpected prayers are mixed with curses, everything is sharply contrasted and hopeless.
power over the heart is replaced by a feeling of emptiness, and tenderness is adjacent to rage. A quiet whisper of recognition is interrupted by the rough language of ultimatums and orders. In these flaming cries and prophecies, one feels the latent, unspoken and also Tyutchev's thought about the games of gloomy passions, arbitrarily uplifting human fate on their steep dark waves, about the primordial Chaos stirring under us. "Oh, how deadly we love" - ​​Akhmatova, of course, did not pass by this side of Tyutchev's worldview. It is characteristic that often love, its victorious imperious force, appears in her poems, to the horror and confusion of the heroine, who is turned against love itself!

I called death dear,

And they died one by one.

Oh, woe to me! These graves

Foretold by my word.

Like crows circling, sensing

Hot, fresh blood

So wild songs, rejoicing,

Mine sent love.

With you, I feel sweet and sultry.

You are close, like a heart in the chest.

Give me your hand, listen calmly.

I conjure you: go away.

And let me not know where you are

O Muse, do not call him,

May it be alive, unsung

My unrecognized love.

Akhmatova's lyrics are born at the very junction of contradictions from the contact of Day with Night and Wakefulness with Sleep:
When sleepless darkness bubbles around,

That sunny, that lily-of-the-valley wedge

Breaks into the darkness of the December night.

The epithets "day" and "night", outwardly quite ordinary, seem in her poem, if one does not know their special meaning, strange, even inappropriate:

Confidently knock on the door

And, the former, cheerful, daytime,

He will enter and say: "Enough,

You see, I also caught a cold...

She, following Tyutchev, could repeat his famous words:
As the ocean embraces the globe,

Earthly life is surrounded by dreams...

Dreams occupy a large place in Akhmatova's poetry.
After all, dreams, which are one of her favorite artistic means comprehension of the secret, hidden, intimate life souls testify to this aspiration of the artist inward, into himself, into the secret of the secret of the eternally mysterious human feeling. The poems of this period are generally more psychological. If in "Evening" and "Rosary" the love feeling was depicted, as a rule, with the help of details (the image of a red tulip), then in the verses of 30-40 years Anna Akhmatova, for all her expressiveness, is still more plastic in the direct depiction of psychological content.
The plasticity of Akhmatov's love poem does not in the least imply descriptiveness, slow fluidity, or narrative. Before us is still - an explosion, a catastrophe, a moment of incredible tension of two opposing forces that came together in a fatal duel, but now this storm cloud that has eclipsed all horizons, throwing thunder and lightning, appears before our eyes in all its awesome beauty and power, in frantic swirling of dark forms and dazzling play of heavenly light:

But if we meet eyes

I swear to you by heaven

Granite will melt in the fire.
Not without reason, in one of the poems dedicated to her by N. Gumilyov, Akhmatova is depicted with lightning bolts in her hand:

She is bright in the hours of languor
And holds lightning bolts in his hand,
And her dreams are clear, like shadows
On heavenly fiery sand.

Inspiration does not leave Anna Akhmatova even when she is already over seventy, she thinks about the strangeness of love, about the wealth of heart secrets. here is a courageous overcoming of separation, "non-meeting" of these two, here is a high example of high lyrics.

Do not invent a bottomless separation,

It would be better if immediately then - on the spot ...

And, probably, we are more separated

No one has been in this world.

At seventy, Anna Akhmatova speaks about love with such energy, with such unspent spiritual strength that it seems as if she is victoriously emerging from her time into eternity. Akhmatova revealed the philosophical essence of late love, when something that is greater than the person himself comes into play - the Spirit, the Soul. She revealed the unique coincidence of two personalities who cannot connect. And this is reflected in her poetry like in a mirror.

CONCLUSION

If you arrange Akhmatova's love poems in a certain order, you can build a whole story with many mise-en-scenes, ups and downs, actors, random and non-random incidents. Meetings and partings, tenderness, guilt, disappointment, jealousy, bitterness, languor, joy singing in the heart, unfulfilled expectations, selflessness, pride, sadness - in what facets and kinks we do not see love on the pages of Akhmatov's books.
In the lyrical heroine of Akhmatova's poems, in the soul of the poetess herself, a burning, demanding dream of a truly lofty love, not distorted by anything, constantly lived. Akhmatova's love is a formidable, imperious, morally pure, all-consuming feeling, which makes one recall the biblical line: "Love is strong as death - and its arrows are arrows of fire."

LITERATURE

1O. O. Simchenko, The theme of memory in the work of Anna Akhmatova. - "Proceedings of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR. Literature and Language Series", 1985, No. 6. 11. Viktor Esipov, "Like the Times of Vespasian..." (On the problem of the hero in the work of Anna Akhmatova in the 1940s and 1960s). - "Questions of Literature", 1995, no. VI, p. 64-65.