Favorite - horror! When a poet loves
  God restless falls in love.
  And chaos creeps out into the light again
  Like in the days of fossils.

His eyes are tearing tons of fog.
  He is caught. He seems like a mammoth.
  He went out of fashion. He knows - you can’t:
  Gone are the days and - illiterate.

He sees weddings celebrate around.
  How to solder, wake up.
  Like a common frog this caviar
  Her name is ceremonial, - pajusny.

Like life, like Watteau’s pearl joke,
  They know how to hug a snuffbox.
  And take revenge on him, perhaps, only for
  What is where they distort and distort

Where lies and censers, grinning, comfort
  And they rub and crawl with drones
  He is your sister, like a bacchante with an amphora,
  Lift from the ground and use.

And the melting of the Andes will pour in a kiss
  And morning in the desert, under the rule
  Dusting stars when night in the village
  Whitening bleating pokes.

And all that breathed the ravines of the century,
  All the darkness of the botanical sacristy
  It smells like typhoid longing for a mattress
  And the chaos of the thicket will burst.

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You are now reading the Beloved Verse - Horror! When the poet, the poet Boris Pasternak loves

Boris Leonidovich Pasternak

Favorite - horror! When a poet loves
   God restless falls in love.
   And chaos creeps out into the light again
   Like in the days of fossils.

His eyes are tearing tons of fog.
   He is caught. He seems like a mammoth.
   He went out of fashion. He knows - you can’t:
   Gone are the days and - illiterate.

He sees weddings celebrate around.
   How to solder, wake up.
   Like a common frog this caviar
   Her name is ceremonial, - pajusny.

Like life, like Watteau’s pearl joke,
   They know how to hug a snuffbox.
   And take revenge on him, perhaps, only for
   What is where they distort and distort

Where lies and censers, grinning, comfort
   And they rub and crawl with drones
   He is your sister, like a bacchante with an amphora,
   Lift from the ground and use.

And the melting of the Andes will pour in a kiss
   And morning in the desert, under the rule
   Dusting stars when night in the village
   Whitening bleating pokes.

And all that breathed the ravines of the century,
   All the darkness of the botanical sacristy
   It smells like typhoid longing for a mattress
   And the chaos of the thicket will burst.

In his youth, Boris Pasternak experienced a personal drama when he received a refusal from Ida Vysotskaya to marry him. Nevertheless, the image of this Moscow beauty haunted the poet for many years, who sometimes thought that he was losing his mind with love. When others drowned their feelings of guilt or began to drag around married women, Pasternak suffered in silence, trying not to give out his feelings. The storm boiling in the poet’s soul was in tune with the events that were taking place in Russia at that moment. Therefore, it is not surprising that in 1917 the poem “Beloved, Horror!” Was born. When a poet loves ... ”, dedicated not so much to Idea Vysotskaya, but to the confusion and chaos that pursued Boris Pasternak.

Love, according to the poet, pulls to the surface of the human soul not only the brightest and purest feelings, but also all the dirt that has accumulated inside. This author experienced from his own experience, because he had to be jealous, angry, humiliated and even hated, both to himself and to others. Being in a similar state, Pasternak compares himself with a mammoth, which is old-fashioned to obscene and at the same time ridiculous in its archaism. The poet speaks about himself in the third person, noting: “He has gone out of fashion. He knows - it’s impossible: times have passed and - illiterate. "

Indeed, while others enjoy life to the fullest, not taking their love victories and defeats to heart, Pasternak spends time suffering and is tormented by remorse. By the time this poem was created, the pain and resentment had slightly dulled, so the poet can allow himself a slight irony over his own feelings. However, the poet is not able to fully accept the cruelty of the world around him. He sees that an abyss is opening ahead and thousands of people voluntarily rush into it, indulging in entertainment at the moment when it is necessary to change something in their lives. Remaining an outside observer, Pasternak, nevertheless, feels that reality offends all the brightest and purest that is in his heart. His hero, with whom the poet identifies himself, others take revenge on him only because he knows how to truly love. This ability, according to the author, has been lost by many of the people who, for days on end, “rub and crawl with drones,” “twist and distort” everything that has true value.

Pasternak himself is no longer sure that he can preserve the purity of thoughts and views in general chaos. However, he knows for sure that the poet’s love is much more than an ordinary feeling. It is comprehensive and all-consuming, not tolerating conventions and not depending on them. She is not embarrassed by the "typhoid longing of the mattress" and the "darkness of the botanical sacristy", which are only temporary decorations for eternity.

“Beloved, is creepy!” When a poet loves ... ”Boris Pasternak

Favorite - horror! When a poet loves
  God restless falls in love.
  And chaos creeps out into the light again
  Like in the days of fossils.

His eyes are tearing tons of fog.
  He is caught. He seems like a mammoth.
  He went out of fashion. He knows - you can’t:
  Gone are the days and - illiterate.

He sees weddings celebrate around.
  How to solder, wake up.
  Like a common frog this caviar
  Her name is ceremonial, - pajusny.

Like life, like Watteau’s pearl joke,
  They know how to hug a snuffbox.
  And take revenge on him, perhaps, only for
  What is where they distort and distort

Where lies and censers, grinning, comfort
  And they rub and crawl with drones
  He is your sister, like a bacchante with an amphora,
  Lift from the ground and use.

And the melting of the Andes will pour in a kiss
  And morning in the desert, under the rule
  Dusting stars when night in the village
  Whitening bleating pokes.

And all that breathed the ravines of the century,
  All the darkness of the botanical sacristy
  It smells like typhoid longing for a mattress
  And the chaos of the thicket will burst.

Analysis of Pasternak’s poem “Beloved, is creepy!” When a poet loves ... "

In his youth, Boris Pasternak experienced a personal drama when he received a refusal from Ida Vysotskaya to marry him. Nevertheless, the image of this Moscow beauty haunted the poet for many years, who sometimes thought that he was losing his mind with love. When others drowned their feelings of guilt or began to drag around married women, Pasternak suffered in silence, trying not to give out his feelings. The storm boiling in the poet’s soul was in tune with the events that were taking place in Russia at that moment. Therefore, it is not surprising that in 1917 the poem “Beloved, Horror!” Was born. When a poet loves ... ”, dedicated not so much to Idea Vysotskaya, but to the confusion and chaos that pursued Boris Pasternak.

Love, according to the poet, pulls to the surface of the human soul not only the brightest and purest feelings, but also all the dirt that has accumulated inside. This author experienced on his own experience, because he had to be jealous, angry, humiliated and even hated both himself and others. Being in a similar state, Pasternak compares himself with a mammoth, which is old-fashioned to obscene and at the same time ridiculous in its archaism. The poet speaks about himself in the third person, noting: “He has gone out of fashion. He knows - it’s impossible: times have passed and - illiterate. "

Indeed, while others enjoy life to the fullest, not taking their love victories and defeats to heart, Pasternak spends time suffering and is tormented by remorse. By the time this poem was created, the pain and resentment had slightly dulled, so the poet can allow himself a slight irony over his own feelings. However, the poet is not able to fully accept the cruelty of the world around him. He sees that an abyss is opening ahead and thousands of people voluntarily rush into it, indulging in entertainment at the moment when it is necessary to change something in their lives. Remaining an outside observer, Pasternak, nevertheless, feels that reality offends all the brightest and purest that is in his heart. His hero, with whom the poet identifies himself, others take revenge on him only because he knows how to truly love. This ability, according to the author, has been lost by many of the people who, for days on end, “rub and crawl with drones,” “twist and distort” everything that has true value.

Pasternak himself is no longer sure that he can preserve the purity of thoughts and views in general chaos. However, he knows for sure that the poet’s love is much more than an ordinary feeling. It is comprehensive and all-consuming, not tolerating conventions and not depending on them. She is not embarrassed by the "typhoid longing of the mattress" and the "darkness of the botanical sacristy", which are only temporary decorations for eternity.

And time and place [Historical and Philological Collection on the sixtieth anniversary of Alexander Lvovich Ospovat] Authors

“My favorite is horror! When a poet loves ... "

It seems convincing that Vroon’s assumption that in the bullish edition of Tyutchev’s poems Pasternak’s attention should have been drawn to the text of a biographical essay sent by V.Ya. Bryusov. According to Vroon, Pasternak could also be interested in “biographical” parallels: “upbringing in a privileged cosmopolitan circle, studying at Moscow University, staying in Germany”, but more significantly brings Tyutchev’s poetic world to Pasternak, noted by Bryusov’s merging of man and nature, and not only in harmony, but also in chaos 9.

Indeed, Bryusov’s passage about the significance of chaos for Tyutchev can be read as a kind of “program” for the further development of Pasternak’s poetic world:

No less dear were Tyutchev those natural phenomena in which the “chaotic” appeared outside — and above all a thunderstorm. Thunderstorm is dedicated to several of the best poems by Tyutchev. In the runaway lightning lit up above the ground, he saw the look of some "formidable pupils." Another time, it seemed to him that these "lightning-mongers" were talking among themselves to some "deaf-mute demons," solving a certain "mysterious affair." Or finally he guessed an invisible giant heel, under which bends, in the moments of summer storms, forest giants. And, listening to the lamentations of the night wind, to his songs “about the ancient chaos of the birth”, Tyutchev admitted that his night soul eagerly

Hears the story darling ...

But chaos can be seen not only in the external nature, but also in the human soul. Just like night, like a thunderstorm, like a storm, like a night wind, Tyutchev attracted everything chaotic that lurks and sometimes reveals in our souls, in our life, in love, in death, in sleep and in madness, Tyutchev saw sacred to him the beginning of chaos 10.

Pasternak also appears in Chaos in nature, against the backdrop of which a love story unfolds:

Walkway to the garden, in a windbreak and chaos

A pier glass runs to the swing.

(The Mirror)

and in the relations of heroes:

My favorite is horror! When a poet loves

God restless falls in love

And chaos creeps out into the light again

Like in the days of fossils ...

The reviving chaos here represents an important motive given to Russian poetry by Tyutchev, in the verses of which disharmony is brought to the world by love in general (“fatal duel” [“Predestination”, 173]) and the poet’s love in particular (“Do not believe, do not believe the poet, virgin, / You do not call him your own - / And even more than fiery anger / Fear poetic love ").

Pasternak's poem ends again with a picture of chaos, the eternal life of nature, in which the elements and soreness are combined. Pasternak contrasted all this with the pictures of well-being (“comfort”) and adapted to the primitive tastes of art:

Like life, like Watteau’s pearl joke,

They know how to hug a snuffbox ...

Where lies and censers smiling comfort ...

The “comfortable” existence is opposed by the poet’s feeling and the chaos that unites him and the surrounding natural world:

And all that breathed the ravines of the century,

All the darkness of the botanical sacristy

It smells like typhoid longing for a mattress

And the chaos of the thicket will burst.

Pasternak describes the tension of the chaotic state of the world, describing the contact of creativity and nature in the poem “Diseases of the Earth” (“Whose verses are so sensational, / What is their thunder astounded with pain?”) And the following “Definition of creativity” (“Having swept the lapels” shirts, / Volosato, like Beethoven’s torso ... ”).

The fact that for Pasternak the unity of chaos, nature and poetry is connected with Tyutchev was noticed by his friend and literary minded Sergei Bobrov, who dedicated to Pasternak the poem “Day throwing”, which describes the poet’s room:

There are bells and jasmines on the table

Tyutchev and Chimera with Notre-Dame 11.

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