A message on the topic of opera houses around the world. The largest opera houses in the world
Black evening.
White snow.
Wind, wind!
The man is not standing on his feet.
Wind, wind -
All over God's world!
The wind curls
White snow.
There is ice under the snow.
Slippery, hard
Every walker
Slips - oh, poor thing!
From building to building
They will stretch the rope.
On the rope - poster:
The old woman is killing herself - crying,
He won't understand what it means
What is this poster for?
Such a huge flap?
How many foot wraps would there be for the guys,
And everyone is undressed, barefoot...
Old lady like a chicken
Somehow I rewound over a snowdrift.
- Oh, Mother Intercessor!
- Oh, the Bolsheviks will drive you into a coffin!
The wind is biting!
The frost isn't far behind!
And the bourgeois at the crossroads
He hid his nose in his collar.
And who is this?- Long hair
And he says in a low voice:
- Traitors!
- Russia is dead!
Must be a writer -
Vitia...
And there’s the long-haired one -
To the side and behind the snowdrift...
That today is not cheerful,
Comrade pop?
Do you remember how it used to be
He walked forward with his belly,
And the cross shone
Belly on the people?
There's a lady in karakul
Turned up to another:
- We cried and cried...
Slipped
And - bam - she stretched out!
Ay, ay!
Pull, lift!
The wind is cheerful.
Both angry and happy.
Twists the hems,
Passers-by are mowed down.
Tears, crumples and wears
Large poster:
“All power to the Constituent Assembly!”
And he delivers the words:
...And we had a meeting...
...In this building...
...Discussed -
Resolved:
For a while - ten, at night - twenty-five...
...And don’t take less from anyone...
…Let's go to sleep…
Late evening.
The street is empty.
One tramp
Slouching,
Let the wind whistle...
Hey, poor guy!
Come -
Let's kiss...
Of bread!
What's ahead?
Come on in!
Black, black sky.
Anger, sad anger
It boils in my chest...
Black anger, holy anger...
Comrade! Look
Both!
The wind is blowing, the snow is fluttering.
Twelve people are walking.
Rifles black belts
All around - lights, lights, lights...
There is a cigarette in his teeth, he has taken a cap,
You need the Ace of Diamonds on your back!
Freedom, freedom,
Eh, eh, without a cross!
Tra-ta-ta!
It's cold, comrades, it's cold!
And Vanka and Katka are in the tavern...
- She has kerenki in her stocking!
Vanyushka himself is rich now...
- Vanka was ours, but he became a soldier!
Well, Vanka, son of a bitch, bourgeois,
My, try, kiss!
Freedom, freedom,
Eh, eh, without a cross!
Katka and Vanka are busy -
What, what are you doing?
Tra-ta-ta!
All around - lights, lights, lights...
Shoulders - gun belts...
Revolutionary step up!
The restless enemy never sleeps!
Comrade, hold the rifle, don’t be afraid!
Let's fire a bullet into Holy Rus' -
To the condo,
In the hut,
In the fat ass!
Eh, eh, without a cross!
How did our guys go?
To serve in the Red Army -
To serve in the Red Army -
I'm going to lay down my head!
Oh, you, bitter grief,
Sweet life!
Torn coat
Austrian gun!
We are at the mercy of all bourgeoisie
Let's fan the world fire,
World fire in blood -
God bless!
The snow is spinning, the reckless driver is screaming,
Vanka and Katka are flying -
Electric flashlight
On the shafts...
Ah, ah, fall!
n in a soldier's overcoat
With a stupid face
Twists, twirls the black mustache,
Yes, it twists
He's joking...
That's how Vanka is - he's broad-shouldered!
That's how Vanka is - he is talkative!
hugs Katya the Fool,
Speaks...
She threw her face back
Teeth sparkle like pearls...
Oh you, Katya, my Katya,
Thick-faced...
On your neck, Katya,
The scar did not heal from the knife.
Under your breasts, Katya,
That scratch is fresh!
Eh, eh, dance!
It hurts the legs are good!
She walked around in lace underwear -
Walk around, walk around!
Fornicated with the officers -
Get lost, get lost!
Eh, eh, get lost!
My heart skipped a beat!
Do you remember, Katya, the officer -
He did not escape the knife...
Al didn't remember, cholera?
Is your memory not fresh?
Eh, eh, refresh
Let me sleep with you!
She wore gray leggings,
Minion ate chocolate.
I went for a walk with the cadets -
Did you go with the soldier now?
Eh, eh, sin!
It will be easier for the soul!
...Again galloping towards us,
The reckless driver is flying, screaming, yelling...
Stop, stop! Andryukha, help!
Petrukha, run behind!..
Fuck-bang-tah-tah-tah-tah!
Snowy dust swirled towards the sky!..
The reckless driver - and with Vanka - ran away...
One more time! Cock the trigger!..
Fuck-gobble! You will know
………….. .
It's like walking with a stranger's girl!..
Run away, scoundrel! Alright, wait,
I'll deal with you tomorrow!
Where is Katka? - Dead, dead!
Shot in the head!
What, Katka, are you happy? - No goo-goo...
Lie, you carrion, in the snow!
Revolutionary step up!
The restless enemy never sleeps!
And again there are twelve,
Behind his shoulders is a gun.
Only the poor killer
You can't see your face at all...
Faster and faster
He quickens his pace.
I wrapped a scarf around my neck -
It won't recover...
What, comrade, are you not happy?
- What, my friend, are you dumbfounded?
- What, Petrukha, he hung his nose,
Or did you feel sorry for Katka?
Oh, comrades, relatives,
I loved this girl...
The nights are black and intoxicating
Spent with this girl...
Because of the poor prowess
In her fiery eyes,
Because of a crimson mole
Near the right shoulder,
I lost it, stupid
I ruined it in the heat of the moment... ah!
Look, you bastard, he started a barrel organ,
What are you, Petka, a woman, or what?
- Truly the soul inside out
Did you think of turning it out? Please!
- Maintain your posture!
- Keep control over yourself!
Now is not the time
To babysit you!
The burden will be heavier
To us, dear comrade!
And Petrukha slows down
Hasty steps...
He throws his head up
He became cheerful again...
Eh, eh!
It's not a sin to have fun!
Lock the floors
There will be robberies today!
Unlock the cellars -
The bastard is on the loose these days!
Oh, woe is bitter!
Boredom is boring
Mortal!
It's time for me
I’ll carry it out, I’ll carry it out...
I'm already crowned
I'll scratch it, I'll scratch it...
I'm already seeds
I'll get it, I'll get it...
I'm already using a knife
I'll strip, strip!..
You fly, bourgeois, little crow!
I'll drink some blood
For the sweetheart,
Black-browed...
Rest, Lord, the soul of your servant...
You can’t hear the city noise,
There is silence above the Neva Tower,
And there is no more policeman -
Go for a walk, guys, without wine!
A bourgeois stands at a crossroads
And he hid his nose in his collar.
And next to him he cuddles with coarse fur
A mangy dog with its tail between its legs.
The bourgeois stands there like a hungry dog,
It stands silent, like a question.
And the old world is like a rootless dog,
Stands behind him with his tail between his legs.
There was some kind of blizzard,
Oh, blizzard, oh, blizzard!
Can't see each other at all
In four steps!
The snow curled like a funnel,
The snow rose in columns...
Oh, what a blizzard, save me!
- Petka! Hey, don't lie!
What did I save you from?
Golden iconostasis?
You're unconscious, really.
Think, think sensibly -
Ali's hands are not covered in blood
Because of Katka's love?
- Take a revolutionary step!
The restless enemy is close!
Forward, forward, forward,
Working people!
...And they go without the name of the saint
All twelve - into the distance.
Ready for anything
No regrets...
Their rifles are steel
To an invisible enemy...
In the back streets,
Where one snowstorm gathers dust...
Yes, downy snowdrifts -
You can't drag your boot...
It hits my eyes
Red flag.
Is heard
Measured step.
Here he will wake up
Fierce enemy...
And the blizzard throws dust in their eyes
Days and nights
All the way!…
Go-go,
Working people!
...They walk into the distance with a mighty step...
-Who else is there? Come out!
This is the wind with a red flag
Played out ahead...
Ahead is a cold snowdrift.
- Whoever is in the snowdrift, come out!
Only a poor dog is hungry
Waddles behind...
Get off, you scoundrel.
I'll tickle you with a bayonet!
Old world like a mangy dog
If you fail, I'll beat you up!
... Bares his teeth - the wolf is hungry -
Tail tucked - not far behind -
A cold dog is a rootless dog...
- Hey, answer me, who's coming?
Who's waving the red flag there?
- Take a closer look, it’s so dark!
-Who is walking there at a quick pace?
Burying for everything at home?
Anyway, I'll get you
Better surrender to me alive!
- Hey, comrade, it will be bad,
Come out, let's start shooting!
Fuck-tah-tah! - And only echo
Responsible in homes...
Only a blizzard of long laughter
Covered in snow...
Fuck-fuck-fuck!
Fuck-fuck-fuck!
...So they go with a sovereign step -
Behind is a hungry dog.
Ahead - with a bloody flag,
And we are unknown behind the blizzard,
And unharmed by a bullet,
With a gentle tread above the storm,
Snow scattering of pearls,
In a white corolla of roses -
Ahead is Jesus Christ.
In the twentieth century, Russia went through many trials: coups d'état, regime changes, revolution after revolution... The turbulent times dictated their conditions and demanded changes in social and political life. The “ruler of thoughts” - literature - took on the solution to many pressing issues. The talented treated the revolution differently. Some did not accept it and left their native lands, while others stayed and longed for change for the better. Alexander Blok insisted that it is necessary to listen to the revolution with all your heart and consciousness; for him it is “music that those who have ears should hear.”
The history of the creation of the poem "The Twelve". Recognition of a poet, critic
The work was written after the February one, and Blok himself admits that the poem took shape very quickly for him, because he wrote it in anticipation of change. First he wrote individual stanzas, and then collected them into a single composition, and in the end he was amazed at how little was crossed out in it. It is curious that the poem grew from just a few words (“I’ll slash, slash with a knife”), after which 8 stanzas instantly appeared. It was a blizzard January day, and the poet carried this mood throughout his entire work. Blok’s poem might not have survived to this day, since the author, in his dying delirium, demanded that his wife Lyubov Mendeleevna burn his brainchild, but she did not. Alexander Alexandrovich instantly turned into an enemy of the people and poets, for which Nikolai Gumilyov sentenced him: service to the Antichrist, secondary and execution of the sovereign.
Events take place in winter in Petrograd. A blizzard blows through which screams and squeals can be heard. A detachment of twelve Red Army soldiers, the so-called fighters against the old world, are moving through the city at night, shooting mercilessly and destroying everything in their path. One of them, the sensual Vanka, kills his friend Katka and subsequently experiences her death, but his comrades order him to gather his strength: “Now is not the time to babysit you.” The squad warns citizens about the upcoming robbery: they will eradicate everything that reminds them of the old world. They forget about God, walk “without the name of a saint,” and remind the praying Petka that he already has “the blood of a girl,” which means he should not expect God’s help. However, in the last, twelfth chapter He appears: “In a white corolla of roses Ahead is Jesus Christ.” Who it is - the savior or the destroyer - Blok does not give an answer, so the meaning of the ending of the poem “The Twelve” is interpreted differently.
Image of Jesus
The appearance of Christ in the finale is an unexpected phenomenon, since Holy Rus' has already been shot at several times and the cross has been removed. A hundred years have passed since the poem was written, and literary scholars are still considering this issue and putting forward several guesses. Jesus leads a detachment of Red Guards and leads them into new world- criminals became saints. Other researchers believe that these are the apostles, marching in a revolutionary step under the leadership of Peter. Mikhail Voloshin assures that the image of Christ in the poem “The Twelve” was introduced for a different purpose: he does not save the detachment, but, on the contrary, tries to hide from it. Pavel Florensky drew attention to the changes in the name Jesus - in Blok it is “Jesus”, but one should not be naive and assume that the typo was made by accident. The detachment is led by the Antichrist, who is also omnipotent, invulnerable “and invisible behind the blizzard.”
Composition of the poem
“Twelve” is a response to the music of the revolution that Blok heard, and the musicality of the work is achieved by a clear rhythm. The poem is not similar to the previous works of Alexander Alexandrovich, and the poet seems to be in search new form which he succeeds in doing. The tradition of the march would later be continued in his work by the futurist Vladimir Mayakovsky. The poem consists of twelve parts of different shapes, which are interconnected and form a single whole. If you analyze the poem "The Twelve", you can identify ellipses between the stanzas that were inserted by the editors after publication - obviously, the censors considered it necessary to omit some places. At certain points, the narrative part fades into the background, and the actions are described in dialogues and monologues. The rhyme is inconsistent, and in some episodes there is none at all; often the action is interrupted by shooting - “fuck-tah-tah!”
Features of language in the poem "The Twelve"
The brightest symbolist of the twentieth century, Alexander Blok, had a crucial moment in creativity. The poet, who had previously written poems about women and love, began to become interested in new topics, and the onset of the revolution finally convinced him to rethink the motives of his work. very unusual - Blok wrote it in a fit of expectations, passions and collected urban folklore, not ignoring even vernacular and abusive language. The phrase “Mignon ate chocolate” belongs to Lyubov Mendeleeva. Blok’s prostitute Katya is “fat-faced,” the lantern is “electric,” the cadets are “cadets,” and Rus' is “fat-assed.” The author perfectly conveyed the color street life, but after spending full analysis poem "The Twelve", one can identify catchphrases. Stanza "...Wind, wind - all over God's world!" soon became a proverb.
This mysterious number is twelve...
Delving deeper into the history of the poem, one can identify some contradictory points. In the history of world culture, there are some numbers, the peculiarity of which was noticed by ancient people: they brought good luck to some, misfortune to others. The number 12 is the personification of cosmic order and is found in European, Chinese, Vedic and pagan cultures. Since Christianity has been preached in Russia since the tenth century, it is of interest sacred meaning this number for Christians. So, 12 is the number of Jesus' apostles, 12 fruits of the spirit, 12 tribes of Israel; at the base of the Holy City there were 12 gates and stones, which is also very symbolic. Everyone also knows that this figure is often found not only in religion, but also in Everyday life person. Day and night last 12 hours, 12 months a year. IN Ancient Greece and Rome, exactly the same number of main gods sat on Olympus.
Twelve is a truly unusual and mysterious number, but Alexander Blok himself warned that the poem is very symbolic, and any symbol and hint can be interpreted in different ways. Perhaps the meaning of this number in the poem is very realistic, since at the time of the revolution the Red Guard patrols actually numbered 12 people.
Two worlds in the work
The confrontation between the past and the new - main topic poem "The Twelve". Blok saw in the revolution “deliverance from the spiritual swamp” and firmly believed that sooner or later this should happen. The old world with its foundations was not destined to exist for long - for the sake of change, society is ready to make sacrifices. The poem begins with a snowstorm, which is an image of a revolution. "Wind, wind - all over God's world!" - against this wind of change, which seems to have swept not only Russia, but the whole world, not everyone can resist. Twelve Red Army soldiers walk through a snowstorm, not afraid of anything. The old world is powerless before the coming new one, and the harbingers of revolution are just as uncontrollable and unstoppable.
Democracy or anarchy?
Twelve Red Army soldiers are the main images of the poem "The Twelve". They are irreconcilable with the old foundations - they go, and they don’t care about anything. They are a reflection true face a revolution that sweeps away everything in its path, just like a blizzard. The Red Guards warn residents to lock the “floors” and unlock the cellars, since “there will be robberies today.” Such outcries symbolize anarchy, but not the struggle of the proletariat for better life. They despise the old world, but what can they offer in return? While destroying, they are not ready to create. They don’t say: “We will build our new world, we will create it!” Analysis of the poem "The Twelve" will allow us to see the death of the country in the events taking place. The uselessness of the revolution is confirmed by the old woman, who, seeing the poster “All power to the Constituent Assembly!”, is amazed at why it is needed. From such a huge piece of cloth one could sew foot wraps for the children, because in these hungry and cold times, when “everyone is naked and barefoot,” the state needs to take care of the well-being of the people.
Even the church is deprived of its former power. Alexander Blok portrays a priest, who, if earlier he “walked forward on his belly” and shone with a cross, is now, just like everyone else, subjugated by the Red Guards, and they address him as “comrade priest.” The new government does not need the church and faith, and the Red Guards are calling to shoot at Holy Rus' with a rifle.
Sacrifices for what?
For the revolution, the life of one person means nothing against the backdrop of a worldwide blizzard. When one of the twelve Red Army soldiers named Petka accidentally kills his girlfriend Katya, he begins to wail, not believing what is happening. In the eyes of the eleven others, this looks like weakness, because it is not the place to relax in such a situation. important point when the fate of Russia is being decided.
Katya is a symbol of everyone human vices, an anti-heroine who hangs out with the cadets and gets into everyone’s bed. She “wore gray leggings, ate Minion chocolate” and, in general, was an atypical representative of a Russian woman. Perhaps Blok's poem was written to confirm that people like Katya really must be sacrificed for the sake of the revolution.
Chaos or harmony: which will win?
The old world is insignificant and it can no longer exist. It's about to collapse. The author compares it with the image homeless dog, who stands behind the bourgeoisie with his tail between his legs. The struggle does not last long: the dark future has already passed, but is there any light in sight? What awaits the people after this snowstorm? The Red Guards promise even greater destruction, because a future built on blood cannot be considered bright. When analyzing the poem "The Twelve", one cannot help but notice that at the end the storm calms down, and the revolutionary people are coming into the future with a “sovereign step”, accompanied by someone in a “white crown of roses”. This is Jesus Christ. His sudden appearance promises salvation and hope that the horrors of destruction will be removed, and the people will have the strength to overcome everything in a revived Russia. It seems that harmony will soon be reborn from chaos. For the sake of happy life ready to kill and die themselves.
Disappointment with change
The revolution of Alexander Blok can be compared to an element that, although it purifies the world, does not yet have the ability to create. The old is destroyed, but the new, built on blood, is no better. Once upon a time, Alexander Blok waited for the revolution, believed in it, said: “Those who are filled with music will hear the sigh of the universal soul, if not today, then tomorrow”; later, disillusioned with the changes taking place, he stopped hearing the “music of the revolution.” We can conclude that nothing new can be built through destruction - it is much better to preserve and improve what has been built up bit by bit over many centuries.
Black evening.
White snow.
Wind, wind!
The man is not standing on his feet.
Wind, wind -
All over God's world!
The wind curls
White snow.
There is ice under the snow.
Slippery, hard
Every walker
Slips - oh, poor thing!
From building to building
They will stretch the rope.
On the rope - poster:
The old woman is killing herself - crying,
He won't understand what it means
What is this poster for?
Such a huge flap?
How many foot wraps would there be for the guys,
And everyone is undressed, barefoot...
Old lady like a chicken
Somehow I rewound over a snowdrift.
- Oh, Mother Intercessor!
- Oh, the Bolsheviks will drive you into a coffin!
The wind is biting!
The frost isn't far behind!
And the bourgeois at the crossroads
He hid his nose in his collar.
Who is this? - Long hair
And he says in a low voice:
- Traitors!
- Russia is dead!
Must be a writer -
Vitia...
And there’s the long-haired one -
To the side and behind the snowdrift...
That today is not cheerful,
Comrade pop?
Do you remember how it used to be
He walked forward with his belly,
And the cross shone
Belly on the people?
There's a lady in karakul
Turned up to another:
- We cried and cried...
Slipped
And - bam - she stretched out!
Ay, ay!
Pull, lift!
The wind is cheerful.
Both angry and happy.
Twists the hems,
Passers-by are mowed down.
Tears, crumples and wears
Large poster:
“All power to the Constituent Assembly!”
And he delivers the words:
...And we had a meeting...
...In this building...
...Discussed -
Resolved:
For a while - ten, at night - twenty-five...
...And don’t take less from anyone...
…Let's go to sleep…
Late evening.
The street is empty.
One tramp
Slouching,
Let the wind whistle...
Hey, poor guy!
Come -
Let's kiss...
Of bread!
What's ahead?
Come on in!
Black, black sky.
Anger, sad anger
It boils in my chest...
Black anger, holy anger...
Comrade! Look
Both!
The wind is blowing, the snow is fluttering.
Twelve people are walking.
Rifles black belts
All around - lights, lights, lights...
There is a cigarette in his teeth, he has taken a cap,
You need the Ace of Diamonds on your back!
Freedom, freedom,
Eh, eh, without a cross!
Tra-ta-ta!
It's cold, comrades, it's cold!
And Vanka and Katka are in the tavern...
- She has kerenki in her stocking!
Vanyushka himself is rich now...
- Vanka was ours, but he became a soldier!
Well, Vanka, son of a bitch, bourgeois,
My, try, kiss!
Freedom, freedom,
Eh, eh, without a cross!
Katka and Vanka are busy -
What, what are you doing?..
Tra-ta-ta!
All around - lights, lights, lights...
Shoulders - gun belts...
Revolutionary step up!
The restless enemy never sleeps!
Comrade, hold the rifle, don’t be afraid!
Let's fire a bullet into Holy Rus' -
To the condo,
In the hut,
In the fat ass!
Eh, eh, without a cross!
How did our guys go?
To serve in the Red Army -
To serve in the Red Army -
I'm going to lay down my head!
Oh, you, bitter grief,
Sweet life!
Torn coat
Austrian gun!
We are at the mercy of all bourgeoisie
Let's fan the world fire,
World fire in blood -
God bless!
The snow is spinning, the reckless driver is screaming,
Vanka and Katka are flying -
Electric flashlight
On the shafts...
Ah, ah, fall!
n in a soldier's overcoat
With a stupid face
Twists, twirls the black mustache,
Yes, it twists
He's joking...
That's how Vanka is - he's broad-shouldered!
That's how Vanka is - he is talkative!
hugs Katya the Fool,
Speaks...
She threw her face back
Teeth sparkle like pearls...
Oh you, Katya, my Katya,
Thick-faced...
On your neck, Katya,
The scar did not heal from the knife.
Under your breasts, Katya,
That scratch is fresh!
Eh, eh, dance!
It hurts the legs are good!
She walked around in lace underwear -
Walk around, walk around!
Fornicated with the officers -
Get lost, get lost!
Eh, eh, get lost!
My heart skipped a beat!
Do you remember, Katya, the officer -
He did not escape the knife...
Al didn't remember, cholera?
Is your memory not fresh?
Eh, eh, refresh
Let me sleep with you!
She wore gray leggings,
Minion ate chocolate.
I went for a walk with the cadets -
Did you go with the soldier now?
Eh, eh, sin!
It will be easier for the soul!
...Again galloping towards us,
The reckless driver is flying, screaming, yelling...
Stop, stop! Andryukha, help!
Petrukha, run behind!..
Fuck-bang-tah-tah-tah-tah!
Snowy dust swirled towards the sky!..
The reckless driver - and with Vanka - ran away...
One more time! Cock the trigger!..
Fuck-gobble! You will know
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It's like walking with a stranger's girl!..
Run away, scoundrel! Alright, wait,
I'll deal with you tomorrow!
Where is Katka? - Dead, dead!
Shot in the head!
What, Katka, are you happy? - No goo-goo...
Lie, you carrion, in the snow!
Revolutionary step up!
The restless enemy never sleeps!
And again there are twelve,
Behind his shoulders is a gun.
Only the poor killer
You can't see your face at all...
Faster and faster
He quickens his pace.
I wrapped a scarf around my neck -
It won't recover...
What, comrade, are you not happy?
- What, my friend, are you dumbfounded?
- What, Petrukha, he hung his nose,
Or did you feel sorry for Katka?
Oh, comrades, relatives,
I loved this girl...
The nights are black and intoxicating
Spent with this girl...
Because of the poor prowess
In her fiery eyes,
Because of a crimson mole
Near the right shoulder,
I lost it, stupid
I ruined it in the heat of the moment... ah!
Look, you bastard, he started a barrel organ,
What are you, Petka, a woman, or what?
- Truly the soul inside out
Did you think of turning it out? Please!
- Maintain your posture!
- Keep control over yourself!
Now is not the time
To babysit you!
The burden will be heavier
To us, dear comrade!
And Petrukha slows down
Hasty steps...
He throws his head up
He became cheerful again...
Eh, eh!
It's not a sin to have fun!
Lock the floors
There will be robberies today!
Unlock the cellars -
The bastard is on the loose these days!
Oh, woe is bitter!
Boredom is boring
Mortal!
It's time for me
I’ll carry it out, I’ll carry it out...
I'm already crowned
I'll scratch it, I'll scratch it...
I'm already seeds
I'll get it, I'll get it...
I'm already using a knife
I'll strip, strip!..
You fly, bourgeois, little crow!
I'll drink some blood
For the sweetheart,
Black-browed...
Rest, Lord, the soul of your servant...
You can’t hear the city noise,
There is silence above the Neva Tower,
And there is no more policeman -
Go for a walk, guys, without wine!
A bourgeois stands at a crossroads
And he hid his nose in his collar.
And next to him he cuddles with coarse fur
A mangy dog with its tail between its legs.
The bourgeois stands there like a hungry dog,
It stands silent, like a question.
And the old world is like a rootless dog,
Stands behind him with his tail between his legs.
There was some kind of blizzard,
Oh, blizzard, oh, blizzard!
Can't see each other at all
In four steps!
The snow curled like a funnel,
The snow rose in columns...
Oh, what a blizzard, save me!
- Petka! Hey, don't lie!
What did I save you from?
Golden iconostasis?
You're unconscious, really.
Think, think sensibly -
Ali's hands are not covered in blood
Because of Katka's love?
- Take a revolutionary step!
The restless enemy is close!
Forward, forward, forward,
Working people!
...And they go without the name of the saint
All twelve - into the distance.
Ready for anything
No regrets...
Their rifles are steel
To an invisible enemy...
In the back streets,
Where one snowstorm gathers dust...
Yes, downy snowdrifts -
You can't drag your boot...
It hits my eyes
Red flag.
Is heard
Measured step.
Here he will wake up
Fierce enemy...
And the blizzard throws dust in their eyes
Days and nights
All the way!…
Go-go,
Working people!
...They walk into the distance with a mighty step...
-Who else is there? Come out!
This is the wind with a red flag
Played out ahead...
Ahead is a cold snowdrift.
- Whoever is in the snowdrift, come out!
Only a poor dog is hungry
Waddles behind...
Get off, you scoundrel.
I'll tickle you with a bayonet!
The old world is like a mangy dog,
If you fail, I'll beat you up!
... Bares his teeth - the wolf is hungry -
Tail tucked - not far behind -
A cold dog is a rootless dog...
- Hey, answer me, who's coming?
Who's waving the red flag there?
- Take a closer look, it’s so dark!
-Who is walking there at a quick pace?
Burying for everything at home?
Anyway, I'll get you
Better surrender to me alive!
- Hey, comrade, it will be bad,
Come out, let's start shooting!
Fuck-tah-tah! - And only echo
Responsible in homes...
Only a blizzard of long laughter
Covered in snow...
Fuck-fuck-fuck!
Fuck-fuck-fuck!
...So they go with a sovereign step -
Behind is a hungry dog.
Ahead - with a bloody flag,
And we are unknown behind the blizzard,
And unharmed by a bullet,
With a gentle tread above the storm,
Snow scattering of pearls,
In a white corolla of roses -
Ahead is Jesus Christ.
Analysis of the poem “The Twelve” by Blok
Many consider the poem “The Twelve” to be the main work in Blok’s work. It was written by the poet in early 1918 and reflects his view of the Russian revolution.
Poem 12 is an original poem. It is written in an innovative style. The language of the poem is as close as possible to the illiterate “soldier of the revolution.” A highly educated person is perplexed by some fragments of the poem. Extreme cynicism and frankness of the “twelve apostles of the revolution” - characteristic feature verse.
The plot is based on a tour of a Red Army patrol consisting of twelve people. People who represent the birth of a new world are cold-blooded criminals and murderers for whom nothing is sacred. They are driven by extreme hatred of everything that the old society symbolizes. Blok’s true attitude towards the created characters is still not completely clear. In memoirs and works Soviet writers the main characters were subjected to excessive idealization. The struggle to build communism was associated only with bright and fair ideas. For Blok’s characters, one of the main goals is to “shoot a bullet into Holy Rus'.”
The poem is oversaturated with bloodthirsty sadistic slogans and phrases: “world fire in blood”, “shot in the head”, “I’ll drink the blood” and many others. etc. The speech of the main characters is replete with rudeness and curses.
The patrol itself looks like a completely meaningless action. The Red Army soldiers do not have any specific purpose. They, like vultures, want to find any excuse for robbery or murder.
With some unhealthy persistence, Blok constantly introduces into the text of his work Christian images. The number of “heroes” is equal to the number of apostles. “Black malice” is equated with “holy malice.” All the monstrous acts of the revolutionaries are accompanied by the wish “God bless!” Finally, the leader of a gang of murderers and thugs intoxicated with blood becomes main symbol Christianity - Jesus Christ. Blok himself claimed that he simply could not choose a more significant figure for this role.
The poem “The Twelve” leaves behind mixed feelings. Only an incorrigible fighter for a general revolution or a mentally unstable person can consider it a work glorifying the birth of a new world. It also does not fall under the category of “the harsh truth of life,” if only because “I slash, slash with a knife” somehow does not fit with “rest, O Lord, the soul of Thy servant.” There are opinions that Blok was simply mocking the new system, but he himself did not confirm this. It is known that the poet had a desire to burn his poem.
The history of the creation of the poem “12” dates back to one February day, which became a turning point for the fate of Russia. Or maybe even earlier - since the time of the revolutionary circle of Pyotr Verkhovensky from “Demons” or the famous Pushkin “on the ruins of autocracy...”. Be that as it may, Blok’s creation can be compared with the chronicle of those times - with an eye to the fact that the symbolist “Twelve” is very far from any objective reflection of events.
"Intellectuals and Revolution"
Blok was destined to become a witness revolutionary events 1917-1918, which took place in cold Petrograd, as well as all the hardships they suffered. Thus, the poet was even once arrested by representatives of the new government - for one day, which deeply struck Alexander. At the same time, he did not emigrate and even tried to join revolutionary life through his activities. This made it possible for researchers of past years to consider the poet as an ardent supporter of October.
However, such a statement will seem somewhat incorrect if you pay attention to Blok’s article “Intellectuals and Revolution,” written in 1918. Unlike "The Twelve", which left unclear true attitude Block to what was happening, journalism dispelled all doubts of the public. Yes, Blok accepts the revolution, but without negative or positive assessments, considering the events of those times as a pattern that had to be experienced.
“A terrible noise growing in me and around me”
The entire history of the creation of Blok’s poem “12” lies in a bunch of unnumbered sheets that were filled with the future masterpiece over the course of a month. The work was written in one breath, when only a year had passed. According to Blok himself, the history of the creation of the poem “12” began with the phrase “I’ll slash with a knife!” Researchers have found that the second chapter was originally written, followed by the sixth, seventh, eighth, and the final chord was the scene with Jesus Christ.
Without deciphering it, the history of the creation of Blok’s poem “12” looks incomplete. If the title of the work, evoking associations with the apostles, existed initially, then the appearance of Jesus was a spontaneous decision. The poet's notes from February 1918 testify to this: the gospel image seemed to Blok in a snowstorm. The poet’s remark to the first illustrator of “The Twelve,” Yu. Annenkov, looks very mysterious: “If thick snow had breathed from the upper left corner of the “murder of Katka” and Christ had breathed through it, this would have been an exhaustive cover.”
"Today I am a genius"
Thus Blok marked the end of work on his work. But does this mean that the story of the creation of the poem “12” ends here? Not at all. In March 1918, the poet’s brainchild saw the light, being initially published in the newspaper “Znamya Truda”, and then published as a separate publication.
Despite the fact that subsequently for future generations Soviet schoolchildren“The Twelve” (Blok’s poem), the history of its creation, images and plot were mandatory for memorization; initially the Bolsheviks treated it with distrust. Apparently, something in the creation of a classic Silver Age they sensed something alien, almost counter-revolutionary.
“Served the cause of the Antichrist?”
However, even the most wary and hostile attitude towards the poem of representatives Soviet power could not be compared with the reviews of the “old” intelligentsia. Thus, Gumilyov directly stated that the poet, having completed the ending with the Gospel image, “served the cause of the Antichrist.” The poet was declared a traitor, and Kolchak, during a conversation with Vyacheslav Ivanov, either jokingly or seriously suggested that Blok should be hanged when the white troops regained power (although the reliability last fact controversial). It is also known that Akhmatova refused to take part in literary evenings, if they were going to read Blok’s poem there. By the way, the poet himself rarely gave a reading of “The Twelve.” His wife did this - very unsuccessfully, it should be noted.
Ironic thing...
Similar sharply negative reviews The critics can be understood: “The Twelve,” Blok’s poem, the story of the creation of a new man and state in the place of the former Russia, evoked very gloomy forebodings among the intelligentsia. Part of the masters artistic word Still, they remained on the side of the poet and tried to give their own interpretation of his brainchild. Thus, Viktor Shklovsky was one of the first to notice the unique style of Blok’s creation, linking this with the influence of the popular chansonnier Savoyarov in Russia at that time. By the way, Bunin also pointed out this feature - however, in a negative context, calling the poet’s work vulgar.
The history of the creation of the poem “12” was accompanied by grandiose events that soon faded away. After the noise of the revolution, an ominous silence fell for Blok. He wrote practically no poems; many of his plans remained unfulfilled. Creative death led to physical death: the poet did not survive 1921. They say that before his death, in delirium, he wished that his main creation, the poem “12,” would be burned. The history of creation, briefly analyzed in our article, and Blok’s enthusiasm for working on the work somewhat contradict this fact. As well as eyewitness accounts of the poet’s departure to a better world.
