Read the requiem poem in full. Anna Akhmatova, "Requiem": analysis of the work

No! and not under alien firmament
And not under the protection of alien wings, -
I was then with my people,
Where my people, unfortunately, were.

INSTEAD OF A FOREWORD

During the terrible years of the Yezhovshchina, I spent seventeen months in prison lines in Leningrad. One day someone “identified” me. Then a woman with blue lips standing behind me, who, of course, had never heard my name in her life, woke up from the stupor that is characteristic of us all and asked me in my ear (everyone there spoke in a whisper):

– Can you describe this?

And I said:

Then something like a smile crossed what had once been her face.

DEDICATION

Mountains bend before this grief,
The great river does not flow
But the prison gates are strong,
And behind them are “convict holes”
And mortal melancholy.
For someone the wind is blowing fresh,
For some, basking in the sunset -
We don't know, we're the same everywhere
We only hear the hateful grinding of keys
Yes, the soldiers' steps are heavy.
They rose as if to early mass,
They walked through the wild capital,
There we met, more lifeless dead,
The sun is lower and the Neva is foggy,
And hope still sings in the distance.
The verdict... And immediately tears will flow,
Already separated from everyone,
As if with pain the life was taken out of the heart,
As if rudely knocked over,
But she walks... She staggers... Alone.
Where are the involuntary friends now?
My two crazy years?
What do they imagine in the Siberian blizzard?
What do they see in the lunar circle?
To them I send my farewell greetings.

INTRODUCTION

It was when I smiled
Only dead, glad for the peace.
And swayed with an unnecessary pendant
Leningrad is near its prisons.
And when, maddened by torment,
The already condemned regiments were marching,
And a short song of parting
The locomotive whistles sang,
Death stars stood above us
And innocent Rus' writhed
Under bloody boots
And under the black tires there is marusa.

1

They took you away at dawn
I followed you, as if on a takeaway,
Children were crying in the dark room,
The goddess's candle floated.
There are cold icons on your lips,
Death sweat on the brow... Don't forget!
I will be like the Streltsy wives,
Howl under the Kremlin towers.
Autumn 1935, Moscow

2

The quiet Don flows quietly,
The yellow moon enters the house.
He walks in with his hat tilted.
Sees the yellow moon shadow.
This woman is sick
This woman is alone.
Husband in the grave, son in prison,
Pray for me.

3

No, it's not me, it's someone else who's suffering,
I couldn't do that, but what happened
Let the black cloth cover
And let the lanterns be taken away...
Night.

4

I should show you, mocker
And the favorite of all friends,
To the cheerful sinner of Tsarskoye Selo,
What will happen to your life -
Like a three hundredth, with transmission,
You will stand under the Crosses
And with your hot tears
Burn through New Year's ice.
There the prison poplar sways,
And not a sound - but how much is there
Innocent lives are ending...
end of introductory fragment

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Mountains bend before this grief,
The great river does not flow
But the prison gates are strong,
And behind them are “convict holes”
And mortal melancholy.
For someone the wind is blowing fresh,
For someone the sunset is basking -
We don't know, we're the same everywhere
We only hear the hateful grinding of keys
Yes, the soldiers' steps are heavy.
They rose as if to early mass,
They walked through the wild capital,
There we met, more lifeless dead,
The sun is lower and the Neva is foggy,
And hope still sings in the distance.
The verdict... And immediately tears will flow,
Already separated from everyone,
As if with pain the life was taken out of the heart,
As if rudely knocked over,
But she walks... She staggers... Alone...
Where are the involuntary friends now?
My two crazy years?
What do they imagine in the Siberian blizzard?
What do they see in the lunar circle?
To them I send my farewell greetings.

Introduction

It was when I smiled
Only dead, glad for the peace.
And swayed with an unnecessary pendant
Leningrad is near its prisons.
And when, maddened by torment,
The already condemned regiments were marching,
And a short song of parting
The locomotive whistles sang,
Death stars stood above us
And innocent Rus' writhed
Under bloody boots
And under the black tires there is marusa.

They took you away at dawn
I followed you, as if on a takeaway,
Children were crying in the dark room,
The goddess's candle floated.
There are cold icons on your lips,
Death sweat on the brow... Don't forget!
I will be like the Streltsy wives,
Howl under the Kremlin towers.

The quiet Don flows quietly,
The yellow moon enters the house.

He walks in with his hat on one side,
Sees the yellow moon shadow.

This woman is sick
This woman is alone.

Husband in the grave, son in prison,
Pray for me.

No, it's not me, it's someone else who is suffering.
I couldn't do that, but what happened
Let the black cloth cover
And let the lanterns be taken away...
Night.
4

I should show you, mocker
And the favorite of all friends,
To the cheerful sinner of Tsarskoye Selo,
What will happen to your life -
Like a three hundredth, with transmission,
You will stand under the Crosses
And with my hot tears
Burn through New Year's ice.
There the prison poplar sways,
And not a sound - but how much is there
Innocent lives are ending...

I've been screaming for seventeen months,
I'm calling you home
I threw myself at the feet of the executioner,
You are my son and my horror.
Everything's messed up forever
And I can't make it out
Now, who is the beast, who is the man,
And how long will it be to wait for execution?
And only dusty flowers
And the censer ringing, and the traces
Somewhere to nowhere.
And he looks straight into my eyes
And it threatens with imminent death
A huge star.

Lungs fly for weeks,
I don’t understand what happened.
How do you like going to jail, son?
The white nights looked
How they look again
With the hot eye of a hawk,
About your high cross
And they talk about death.

Sentence

And the stone word fell
On my still living chest.
It's okay, because I was ready
I'll deal with this somehow.

I have a lot to do today:
We must completely kill our memory,
It is necessary for the soul to turn to stone,
We must learn to live again.

Otherwise... The hot rustle of summer,
It's like a holiday outside my window.
I've been anticipating this for a long time
Bright day and empty house.

To death

You will come anyway - why not now?
I'm waiting for you - it's very difficult for me.
I turned off the light and opened the door
To you, so simple and wonderful.
Take any form for this,
Burst with a poisoned shell
Or sneak up with a weight like an experienced bandit,
Or poison with typhus child.
Or a fairy tale invented by you
And sickeningly familiar to everyone, -
So that I can see the top of the blue hat
And the building manager, pale with fear.
I don't care now. The Yenisei swirls,
The North Star is shining.
And the blue sparkle of beloved eyes
The final horror is overshadowing.

Madness is already on the wing
Half of my soul was covered,
And drinks fiery wine
And beckons to the black valley.

And I realized that he
I must concede victory
Listening to your
Already like someone else's delirium.

And won't allow anything
I should take it with me
(No matter how you beg him
And no matter how you bother me with prayer):

Nor the son's terrible eyes -
Petrified suffering
Not the day when the thunderstorm came,
Not an hour of prison visiting,

Not the sweet coolness of your hands,
Not a single linden shadow,
Not a distant light sound -
Words of last consolation.

Crucifixion

Don't cry to me, Mati,
in the tomb of those who see.

The choir of angels praised the great hour,
And the skies melted in fire.
He said to his father: “Why did you leave me!”

Magdalene fought and cried,
The beloved student turned to stone,
And where Mother stood silently,
So no one dared to look.

Epilogue

I learned how faces fall,
How fear peeks out from under your eyelids,
Like cuneiform hard pages
Suffering appears on the cheeks,
Like curls of ashen and black
They suddenly become silver,
The smile fades on the lips of the submissive,
And fear trembles in the dry laugh.
And I’m not praying for myself alone,
And about everyone who stood there with me,
And in the bitter cold and in the July heat
Under the blinding red wall.

Once again the funeral hour approached.
I see, I hear, I feel you:

And the one that was barely brought to the window,
And the one that does not trample the earth for the dear one,

And the one who shook her beautiful head,
She said: “Coming here is like coming home.”

I would like to call everyone by name,
Yes, the list was taken away, and there is no place to find out.

For them I wove a wide cover
From the poor, they have overheard words.

I remember them always and everywhere,
I won’t forget about them even in a new trouble,

And if they shut my exhausted mouth,
To which a hundred million people shout,

May they remember me in the same way
On the eve of my memorial day.

And if ever in this country
They are planning to erect a monument to me,

I give my consent to this triumph,
But only with the condition - do not put it

Not near the sea where I was born:
The last connection with the sea is severed,

Not in the royal garden near the treasured stump,
Where the inconsolable shadow is looking for me,

And here, where I stood for three hundred hours
And where they didn’t open the bolt for me.

Then, even in the blessed death I am afraid
Forget the rumble of the black marus,

Forget how hateful the door slammed
And the old woman howled like a wounded animal.

And let from the motionless and Bronze Ages
Melted snow flows like tears,

And let the prison dove drone in the distance,
And the ships sail quietly along the Neva.

Analysis of the poem "Requiem" by Akhmatova

About a terrible period Stalin's repressions A lot of scientific research has been written. Many are dedicated to him works of art. Among them, the most vivid are personal memories and impressions of direct witnesses of these events. A. Akhmatova felt all the pain and fear produced by this “bloody meat grinder.” Poem "Requiem" via personal experience the poetess conveys all the horror of those years.

The poem was created over a long period of time. The introduction and the first part were written in 1935, immediately after the first arrest of Akhmatova’s only son, Lev. The poetess, with the help of Bulgakov, wrote a letter personally to Stalin and achieved the release of her son, but the punitive authorities did not leave them alone. In 1938 there was a second arrest. This time, Akhmatova’s humiliated plea did not bring results. Lev was sentenced to exile in Siberian camps. For two years, the poetess continued to create a poem, which became her intimate diary, reflecting all her feelings and experiences. Under conditions of total control, Akhmatova did not dare to write down the poem. She memorized the lines and read them only to those closest to her.

The plot of the poem “Requiem” is based on Akhmatova’s time in the prison line. She spent almost a year and a half in such queues. In this humiliated expectation there were many mothers and wives thrown out of society for the trumped-up crimes of their men. In the preface to the poem, Akhmatova recalls that one woman recognized her in the queue and asked her to describe what was happening.

In the “Dedication” that precedes the poem, the poetess describes her heavy, stone-like grief that gripped her soul immediately after the verdict was pronounced. She greets her “unwitting friends” in the prison line, who now find themselves forever bound by a common misfortune.

"Requiem" does not have a clear chronology. Parts are marked with dates, but they are inconsistent. It doesn't matter much. Two terrible years are perceived as a holistic picture of a personal tragedy against the backdrop of nationwide grief. Some main motives of the work can be identified.

Akhmatova emphasizes the enormous scale of repression through the number (“convicted regiments”) and historical parallels (“Rus writhed,” “streltsy wives”). The poetess uses religious symbolism. In a country of triumphant atheism, faith acts as another victim of the regime. Part of the poem “The Crucifixion” is completely devoted to this, in which the suffering of all mothers is touchingly compared with the grief of the Virgin Mary.

Towards the end, the motive of doom and the impossibility of any resistance grows in the poem. Akhmatova sees salvation only in death, but suspects that it will not provide final deliverance from all-consuming fear. The poetess believes that the best recognition of her services to Russian poetry will be a monument near the prison walls, which will be an eternal reminder to those living of that terrible and merciless time.

Dedication

Mountains bend before this grief,
The great river does not flow
But the prison gates are strong,
And behind them are “convict holes”
And mortal melancholy.
For someone the wind is blowing fresh,
For someone basking in the sunset -
We don't know, we're the same everywhere
We only hear the hateful grinding of keys
Yes, the soldiers' steps are heavy.
They rose as if to early mass,
They walked through the wild capital,
There we met, more lifeless dead,
The sun is lower and the Neva is foggy,
And hope still sings in the distance.
The verdict... And immediately tears will flow,
Already separated from everyone,
As if with pain the life was taken out of the heart,
As if rudely knocked over,
But she walks... She staggers... Alone...
Where are the involuntary friends now?
My two crazy years?
What do they imagine in the Siberian blizzard?
What do they see in the lunar circle?
To them I send my farewell greetings.