Motives of love lyrics. “The theme of love in the works of Marina Tsvetaeva

Another sacred theme of Tsvetaeva’s lyrics is the theme of love. I don’t know another poetess who would write about her feelings like that.

From seduction to disappointment - such is the “love cross” of Tsvetaeva’s heroine; passions and characters were revealed in poetry, images of living people were completely destroyed in his mind. The only person whose image, neither in life nor in poetry, was not only not destroyed, but did not fade at all, was Sergei Efron. “I wrote on a slate board...” is the title of a poem dedicated to my husband. In it, Tsvetaeva confesses her love: the fourfold repetition of the word “love” speaks of the desire for this feeling, of joy, of happiness:

And finally - so that everyone knows! -

What do you love! love! love! love! -

Signed with a heavenly rainbow.

The earth is not enough for her, she needs the sky so that it can hear and know about her love. In the last lines of the poem, Tsvetaeva vows to perpetuate her husband’s name:

Unsold by me! - Inside the ring!

You will survive on the tablets.

A poet is always an enthusiastic person; a poet, in love, forgets about everything in the world except the person whom he has chosen as his half. Marina Tsvetaeva herself created the person she loved, created him the way she wanted to dress him up and was broken when this person could not withstand her onslaught of feelings, tension in relationships, the state of “always being on the crest of a wave.” We know that Tsvetaeva is not easy in relationships with people, this is her essence, her condition. She gave herself entirely to love, without reserve, without looking back. In the poem of the cycle "N.N.V." "Nailed", dedicated to Vysheslavtsev, a graphic artist, most interesting person, the apotheosis of unheard-of, grandiose love, not afraid of death, is given. Almost every line here sounds like a formula:

Nailed to the pillory

I will still say that I love you.

...You won’t understand, my words are small! -

How little shame I have for the pillory!

(Nailed, 1920)

No collision can be equal to this love, for which the heroine will sacrifice everything:

What if the regiment entrusted me with the banner,

And suddenly you would appear before my eyes -

With another in hand - petrified like a pillar,

My hand would release the banner...

Tsvetaeva's heroine is ready to die for love; being a beggar, she is not afraid of losing blood, because even in an unearthly life - in the land of “silent kisses” - she will love her chosen one.

Tsvetaeva contrasts the love of a mother for her son and the love of a woman for a man, believing that even a mother is not capable of loving her child as much as a woman loves a man, and therefore the mother is ready to “die” for her son, and she is ready to “die.”

When on earth, ordinary life a woman loves a man, she tries to be proud, even if it is very difficult for her, not to humiliate herself, not to sink to a state where the man himself will be unpleasant to be around.

“Having trampled” the last part - “Below your feet, Below the grass,” she did not sink, she did not lose pride (what is pride - when you love?!) because she was nailed down by the hand of her beloved - “a birch tree in the meadow.” She is not afraid of gossip and condemnation: “And not the roar of crowds - It’s the pigeons cooing early in the morning...”

The third part of this poem differs from the first two: it has six couplets, of which the first and last stanzas sound like a hymn of love. A hymn to Tsvetaeva’s love, for every woman in love is capable of “being - or not being”, for her, if “to be” - then with love, beloved, if “not to be” - then not to be at all:

You wanted it. - So. - Hallelujah.

I kiss the hand that hits me.

...With cathedral thunder - to strike to death! -

You, a scourge that flew up like white lightning!

(Nailed, 1920)

Lightning - it kills, it is instantaneous, but dying at the hands of a loved one, apparently, is happiness for Tsvetaeva’s heroine, which is why there is an exclamation point at the end of the line.

Tsvetaeva dedicated a few words to her husband Sergei Efron. Tremendous human devotion and admiration are expressed in the poem “I wear his ring with pride!”

It is thin with the first thinness of its branches.

His eyes are - wonderful - useless! -

Under the wings of open eyebrows -

Two abysses...

(to Sergei Efron, 1920)

Just a boy - he was eighteen years old - he was a year younger than Marina. Tall, thin, slightly dark. With a beautiful, delicate and spiritual face, on which huge bright eyes radiated, shone, and were sad:

There are huge eyes

Colors of the sea...

(to Sergei Efron, 1920)

Family, “Efron’s” eyes - the same ones were in Seryozha’s sisters, and then in daughter Tsvetaeva’s. "Enter stranger into the room, you see these eyes and already know - this is Efron,” said one artist who knew them all in Koktebel.

Maybe it all started with a Koktebel pebble? A bunch of semi-precious stones lurking on the Koktebel beaches, they dug them up, collected them, and were proud of each other about their finds. Be that as it may, in fact, Tsvetaeva connected her meeting with Seryozha with the Koktebel stone.

“1911. After measles, I had my hair cut. I was lying on the shore, digging, Voloshin Max was digging nearby.

Max, I will only marry the one from all over the coast who can guess what my favorite stone is.

Marina! (Max's insinuating voice) - lovers, as you may already know, become stupid. And when the one you love brings you (in the sweetest voice) ...a cobblestone, you will quite sincerely believe that this is your favorite stone!

...With a pebble - it came true, because S.Ya. Efron...almost on the first day we met, he opened it and handed it to me - the greatest rarity! - ...a carnelian bead, which is still with me to this day. "

Marina and Seryozha found each other instantly and forever. Their meeting was what Tsvetaeva’s soul longed for: heroism, romance, sacrifice, high feelings. And - Seryozha himself: so handsome, young, pure, so drawn to her as to the only thing that could tie him to life.

At the beginning of her journey, Marina couldn’t wait to sculpt her hero according to the image created by her imagination. She projects onto Seryozha a reflection of the glory of the young generals - the heroes of 1812, of ancient chivalry; she is not only convinced of his high purpose - she is demanding. It seems that her early poems addressed to Seryozha are commanding, Tsvetaeva strives, as it were, to curse fate: so be it!

I defiantly wear his ring

Yes, in Eternity - a wife, not on paper. -

His overly narrow face

Like a sword...

Tsvetaeva begins a poem in which she draws a romantic portrait of Seryozha and makes wishes about the future. Each stanza of it is a step leading upward to a pedestal - or a scaffold? - last lines:

In his person I am faithful to chivalry.

To all of you who lived and died without fear! -

Such - in fatal times -

They compose stanzas and go to the chopping block.

(to Sergei Efron, 1920)

She could not yet imagine that “fateful times” were just around the corner. There is no doubt that I felt like an elder, an adult next to this young man. Having fallen in love with Seryozha - herself a recent teenager - Marina accepted his pain and responsibility for his fate. She took him by the hand and led him through life. But if she herself was out of politics, then Efron went to fight on the side of the White Army, although logically family tradition It was more natural for Sergei Efron to end up in the ranks of the “Reds”. But here Efron’s mixed origin also intervened in the turn of Fate. After all, he was not only half Jewish - he was Orthodox. How did Tsvetaeva miss the word “tragically”?

There was a tragic look in his face

Two ancient bloods...

(to Sergei Efron, 1920)

Why is it tragic? Did he himself feel the duality of his position as a half-breed and suffer from it? And wasn’t that what made the word “Russia”, “my Russia” sound more painful?

The tragedy of the situation lies in the fact that the choice he made was not final. He was tossed from side to side: the White Army, the departure from volunteerism, the feeling of his “guilt” before the new Russia... For now, in the summer of 1911, the future was depicted as a happy fairy tale. Tsvetaeva experienced a huge turning point in her life: a loved one appeared! - who needed it. Therefore, the poem ends with a stanza that sounds almost like a formula:

In his person I am faithful to chivalry.

Like any poet, the theme of love could not bypass Tsvetaeva’s work. Love is the most for her strong feeling on the ground. Her heroine is not afraid to speak boldly about her feelings, and is not afraid of the shame associated with declaring her love. Marina Tsvetaeva dedicated several lines to her husband, Sergei Efron. The height to which Tsvetaeva raised her husband in her poems could only be sustained by an impeccable person. Not to anyone else to a real person She did not address anyone with such exactingness - except perhaps to herself; she did not raise anyone so high. From seduction to disappointment - this is the “love cross” of Tsvetaeva’s heroine.

Almost every poet has poems on the theme of love, which everyone understands in their own way. So, V.V. For Mayakovsky, love is tragic; for A. Blok, this feeling is like a mysterious “stranger”, cut off from the world of vulgarity, the embodiment pure beauty. How is the theme of love revealed in Tsvetaeva’s lyrics?

The inherent desire of romantics for re-creation, for a sharply contrasting vision of the world, is clearly expressed in the love lyrics of M. Tsvetaeva. Everywhere we see Shakespearean intensity of feelings. M. Tsvetaeva called the poet “a man with a thousand people.” Hence the maximalism in love inherent in both the poet himself and, of course, her lyrical heroine. “After all, I am not for life. Everything I have is on fire! “I am a ragged person, and you are all in armor,” she wrote bitterly in 1923 to the young poet Bachrach.

The motive of suffering certainly accompanies the theme of love in the poetry of M. Tsvetaeva. The romantic Tsvetaeva wanted to understand and accept earthly life through love, so she puts her beloved on a pedestal, idealizes him, but then inevitably follows the drama of the collapse of the image created by the power of her imagination. In “Yesterday I looked into your eyes,” the lyrical heroine recalls how her beloved “Yesterday—he was lying at her feet!” Equated with the Chinese state! , and now he left her in the frozen steppe. The lyrical heroine refers to love as a stepmother, from whom “Do not expect either judgment or mercy.”

Love in the poetess’s poems is both imaginary and real. In the poem “Nobody Took Nothing Away,” dedicated to Osip Mendelshtam, love is only a figment of Tsvetaeva’s imagination, but she also has real love described in verse. This is a meeting between Tsvetaeva and her husband, which seemed to be orchestrated by fate itself, their love at first sight and a spiritual connection that lasted until the end of their lives. This very “real” love in Tsvetaeva also acquires ideal features. In a poem "S.E.", dedicated to her husband, from the very first lines she includes her relationship with her beloved in the mainstream of the eternal romantic theme confrontation with the philistine world.

Tsvetaeva's love lyrics highest degree passionate, she was at the same time deeply tragic from the constant feeling of loneliness that arose in her, the absence of an interlocutor who would be a match for herself.

The theme of love in the works of M. I. Tsvetaeva. Love is one of important topics in the works of M. I. Tsvetaeva. WITH youth the poetess could not imagine herself without this feeling. The first object of her love, which received poetic expression, was the son of Napoleon, the hero of “The Eaglet,” her favorite poem

E. Rostand, which Marina translated in her youth. Later, every person in whom she saw or imagined a kinship of souls involuntarily became an object of love for her. Tsvetaeva could not imagine herself outside of love, and she completely dissolved in this feeling. Let's remember how Tsvetaeva met her future husband, S. Ya. Efron. Having met him on the beach, she wished that if he brought her her favorite carnelian stone, they would get married. Romantic motifs similar to this story are characteristic of her poems, but her lyrical heroine is not only romantic. Lyubov Tsvetaeva can be open and sacrificial, brave, defiant, caring. For her heroine, love is being. Marina Ivanovna’s poems present all sides, all times of love - its origins, falling in love, its fire, its heyday, the period of jealousy, the end of love, separation.

Where does such tenderness come from?

Not the first - these curls

I smooth out my lips

I knew - darker than yours.

...Where does such tenderness come from?

And what to do with her, boy?

Crafty, wandering singer,

With eyelashes - no longer?

“Tsvetaeva’s “I love” suspiciously often did not fit into the idea of the feelings usually associated with this word, it ended up in some non-standard chain of causes and effects, emotions and concepts... in Tsvetaeva’s unusually rich world, an innumerable number of facets of love feelings were revealed,” writes the poetess’s biographer I. Kudrova. She calls love an important trait of the poetess; Marina Ivanovna expressed every feeling that flared up in her in poetry. S. E. Golliday, S. Ya. Parnok, O. E. Mandelstam, B. L. Pasternak, R. M. Rilke - love for these people gave us beautiful Tsvetaeva poems. Having fallen in love with a person, Tsvetaeva appropriated him for herself, forever. Considering him to be hers, she poured out all of herself on him, all her emotions, joys, and of course love.

In 1916, in a letter to P. Yurkevich, young Tsvetaeva writes what is contained in the word “love” for her: “From my very childhood, since I can remember, it seemed to me that I wanted to be loved. Now I know and tell everyone: I need love, I need understanding. For me this is love.

And save what you call love (sacrifice, loyalty, jealousy) for others, for another - I don’t need that. But I want ease, freedom, mutual understanding - not to hold anyone back and not to be held back by anyone!”

A. A. Saakyants comments on Tsvetaeva’s early poems as follows: “Marina Tsvetaeva’s youthful lyrics are a diary of her soul. In poetry she captures everyone she loves, by whom she is captured; her lyrical heroine is identical with her.”

The heroine of Tsvetaeva's poems has many faces - the submissive "beautiful, autocratic, not powerful in herself, voluptuous" Manon Lescaut, the seductress Carmen, whom Tsvetaeva makes a couple for Don Juan, the daring gypsy Mariula, the warlike Amazon, the sorceress. Love is lightning for them

nasal feeling, impulse, lifting off the ground.

She bewitches her beloved -

I spread a bunch of burnt hair in your glass so you don’t eat, so you don’t sing,

I didn’t drink, I didn’t sleep.

So that youth is not a joy,

So that sugar is not sweetness,

So that he doesn’t get along in the darkness of the night with his young wife.

The lyrical heroine strives to understand the feelings of Don Juan:

And Don Juan had a sword,

And Don Juan had - Donna Anna That's all that people told me About the beautiful, about the unfortunate Don Juan.

But today I was smart:

Exactly at midnight I went out onto the road,

Someone walked in step with me,

Calling names.

And a strange staff was white in the fog...

There was no Don Juan - Donna Anna!

She is able to say thank you for not being loved and regret it.

Thank you with both heart and hand For being me - without knowing it yourself! -

So love: for my night's peace,

For the rare meeting at sunset hours,

For our non-walks under the moon,

For the sun, not above our heads, -

Because you are sick - alas! - not by me,

Because I am sick - alas! - not by you!

Love - “it came in one wave, and was carried away by another wave” - is replaced by jealousy. The abandoned heroine speaks ironically and bitterly to her lover, belittling the other woman, the simple one, for whom she was abandoned:

How do you live with someone else, -

Easier, right? - Oar strike! -

Coastline

Will the memory soon fade away...

How do you live with downtime?

A woman? Without deities?..

... How do you live with earthly

A woman without a sixth sense?..

Well, behind your head: are you happy?

No? In a hole without depths -

How are you, dear?

Is it harder

Is it the same as for me with others?

The heroine is offended by the betrayal; she wants to selfishly hurt her lover by the fact that she was not left alone, and to emphasize her uniqueness for him, her divinity. The device of antithesis clearly distinguishes between the image of the abandoned heroine and the image of another woman. It should be noted that the heroine completely shifts the blame for what happened onto the hero. The heroine’s rhetorical questions emphasize her peculiarity.

The cry of the heroine’s soul merges with the “cry of women of all times”: “My dear, what have I done to you?” I learned to live in the fire itself,

He threw it himself - into the frozen steppe!

That's what you, dear, did to me!

My dear, what have I done to you?

The sincerity of love is shattered by the coldness of the beloved. The tragedy intensifies from line to line, the heroine suffers, feels the doom of her love and seeks an explanation - if not from her lover, then at least from something: a chair, a bed. She is ready to ask for forgiveness without even knowing why. Later, the lyrical heroine changes - now it is Sibyl, Eurydice, Ariadne, Phaedra. The change of heroine is caused by the motive of the tragedy of love, its doom, the impossibility of returning what is gone. The heroine descends from heaven to earth and loses hope.

Tsvetaeva’s greatest work about love is the autobiographical “Poem of the End,” built, according to critics, on the contrast of “everyday life” and “being.” Here is how Tsvetaeva defines this feeling:

Love is flesh and blood.

The color is watered with its own blood.

Do you think - love -

Chatting across a table?

Just an hour and go home?

How are those gentlemen and ladies?

Love means...

Child, replace it with a scar On a scar!

… “Love, it means onion

Stretched bow: separation”...

B. L. Pasternak admired this poem: “The Poem of the End is its own, lyrically closed, world affirmed to the last degree.”

“I owe all my poems to the people I loved - who loved me - or did not love me,” wrote M. I. Tsvetaeva at the end of her life. Even if her feelings were not always understood and accepted, because, as a researcher of Kudrova’s work noted, love for Tsvetaeva is not at all what many people understand by this word, but the paper preserved her experiences and emotions for posterity and revealed to us this new, unfamiliar side poetesses.

The comprehensive theme of love in the lyrics of M. I. Tsvetaeva

I. O lyrical hero M. Tsvetaeva.

II. Love is the main theme of M. Tsvetaeva’s poetry.

1. A feeling that knows no boundaries.

2. Love for the Motherland.

3. Love and death.

III. The eternal theme of love.

Love! Love! And in convulsions, and in the coffin

I’ll be wary - I’ll be seduced - I’ll be embarrassed - I’ll rush.

Oh dear! Not in a grave snowdrift,

I won’t say goodbye to you in the clouds.

M. Tsvetaeva

The concept of a lyrical hero as a subject of utterance who is not identical to the author of the work is not applicable to the poems of Marina Tsvetaeva: her lyrical heroine is always equal to the personality of the poet. The law of her lyrics is utmost, absolute sincerity. And all the works she wrote are about love. Whatever the poetess dedicated her poems to, they were always dictated by love: for a person, for a word, for life and even for death.

Love for Marina Tsvetaeva is a feeling that knows no boundaries and does not recognize boundaries. You can declare love - shout it! – to the whole world:

I wrote on a slate board,

And on the leaves of faded fans,

Both on river and sea sand,

Skates on the ice, and a ring on the glass, -

And on trunks that are hundreds of winters old,

And finally - so that everyone knows! –

What do you love! love! love! love! –

She signed it with a heavenly rainbow.

Love is always a miracle, a mystery; attracts, bewitches, captivates... The four times repeated first line of the poem “Where does such tenderness come from?..” creates an unusual rhythmic pattern, a special poetic intonation of the work:

Where does such tenderness come from?

Not the first - these curls

I smooth out my lips

I knew - darker than yours.

The stars rose and went out

(Where does such tenderness come from?),

The eyes rose and went out

Right before my eyes...

In the article “The Poet and Time” M. Tsvetaeva writes: “Every poet is essentially an emigrant... An emigrant from the Kingdom of Heaven and the earthly paradise of nature... An emigrant from Immortality in time. A defector to his heaven.” Theme of love for native land Tsvetaeva sounds tragic. Eternal loneliness, the spiritual cosmopolitanism of the poetess, with which she pays for her “wingedness”, for being chosen by God, constitutes her eternal, incurable pain:

So the edge didn’t save me

My, that and the most vigilant detective

Along the whole soul, all across!

He won’t find a birthmark!

Every house is foreign to me, every temple is empty to me,

And everything is equal, and everything is one.

But if there is a bush along the way

Especially the mountain ash stands up...

The pause that interrupted the words of renunciation speaks of love for the Motherland more eloquently than the most ardent, pathetic praises.

The theme of death occupies special place in the work of the poetess. Death does not seem to stop life, it is unable to interrupt the dialogue of the poetess with the living. The theme of the poem “You come, you look like me...” is life and death. It is structured as a dialogue with an imaginary descendant, and this dialogue sounds clear and strong, the “voice from underground” does not confuse, does not reproach, it affirms: life is one. And simple cemetery flowers, and a rejection of hypocritical grief, and a reminder: I was there too! I loved to laugh! - all this asserts: there is no death, there is eternal love, a force that binds both the living and those who once lived. This feeling makes Marina look closely at the portrait on the wall (the poem “Grandmother”), prompting her to an amazing oxymoron: “young grandmother.” And an exclamation:

- Grandmother! - This brutal rebellion

In my heart – isn’t it from you?.. –

About the same thing: life goes on, and death makes the love of life brighter and sharper.

Whatever Marina Tsvetaeva writes about - about her native land, about loved ones and dear people, about joy and suffering - all her works are united by one theme: these are poems about love. An eternal, inexhaustible, vital theme that inspires poets, is close to everyone, and makes us human.

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The comprehensive theme of love in the lyrics of M. I. Tsvetaeva

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They wrote about Tsvetaeva’s poem and said that it was all written “on a tear”, that “it screams”, that “this poem is “the cry of women of all times”, that “moan, scream, despair run through the entire work.” The poem is filled vital energy, which exploded after separation from her sweetheart. “You can hear hopelessness in Tsvetaeva’s poem. It seems that the author of the poem wants to shout to our consciousness. You can hear this cry: “My dear, what have I done to you?” Even a cry is heard, “and a groan stands along the whole earth.” She suffocates from excess bitterness, the heroine screams in pain broken heart. There are many exclamation marks in the poem, a question is heard, a reproach is heard, feelings are brought to the limit. She speaks on behalf of all abandoned women, there is hopelessness here, an appeal to the whole world, a cry of a ripped open gut.

Everyone understands love in their own way. For some, love is happiness, while for others it is suffering, pain and loneliness. It is about unhappy, unrequited love that most poems are written. M. Tsvetaeva also wrote about such love.

At the center of the poem are two motives: the image of the lyrical heroine and the image of unhappy love. It is based on the technique of contrast and contrast, which helps us better understand the heroine’s feelings:

Yesterday I looked into your eyes,

And now everything is looking sideways!

Yesterday I was sitting before the birds, -

All larks these days are crows.

The heroine remembers past love, about happy moments together. But all this is already in the past. What happened to her now? Why did her loved one leave her? Probably no one will know about this. And the heroine herself constantly asks the question: “My dear, what have I done to you?” Maybe they broke up because they were too different.

I'm stupid, and you're smart,

Alive, but I am dumbfounded.

Using the antonyms “stupid - smart”, “alive - dumbfounded”, “I - you”, the poetess emphasizes the contrast between the two heroes. The lyrical heroine also understands this. This makes it even harder for her. She hates, curses love:

Not mother, but stepmother - love:

Expect neither judgment nor mercy.

The dear ships are taking away,

The white road leads them away.

And there is a groan all along the earth...

The heroine also mourns her beloved, although nothing happened to him. But for her he died, he is no more. “Life fell like a rusty penny!” This is what remains of the former happiness. Reading these lines, it’s as if you hear the grinding of rusty iron. In order to convey these sounds to us, the poetess uses the sound (zh), which is in almost every word: lay, power, unclenched, life, rusty. The heroine understands that love has passed, but does not want to realize it. She asks the same question again and again: “My dear, what have I done to you?” Not finding an answer to it, she turns in despair to the household objects around her:

I'll ask for a chair, I'll ask for a bed:

Why, why do I suffer and suffer?

How lonely a person must be for him to start talking to inanimate objects. The woman is rushing around, looking for an answer from someone unknown to the question that is tormenting her, and this someone seems to answer her:

Kissed - wheeled:

Kiss the other one, - they answer

Everything around suggests that her beloved has left for someone else, that he no longer loves her. The heroine herself understands this. She understands perfectly well that she is not to blame for anything, and that she did not want to hurt anyone. The pain was only caused to her:

Accustomed to live in the fire itself;

He threw it himself - into the frozen steppe!

This is what you, dear, did to me.

Contrasting fire and the frozen steppe, herself and him, her life before and after separation, the heroine understands that only she suffered, her beloved has long forgotten about her. The lyrical heroine believes that with the end of love, life ends. She believes that only death comes to replace love:

Where Love retreats

Death the Gardener approaches there.

It is no coincidence that the words Death and Love are written with capital letters. In this poem they are personified, these are living images. The image of love is present throughout the poem, but at the end it is replaced by the image of death. The end of love is the end of life, so the heroine believes.

After reading this poem, it is impossible to remain indifferent. How skillfully the poetess conveyed all the thoughts and feelings of the heroine! From the words alone: “My dear, your little hands,” it is clear how much the heroine loves. Constant repetition of the question: “My dear, what have I done to you?” - helps us understand all the feelings and experiences of a woman in love.

At the beginning of the poem, dots predominate, and a dash is placed after almost every word. This only emphasizes the heroine’s excitement. Her speech is confused, the heroine constantly pauses. But at the end of the poem, the periods are replaced by exclamation marks. The woman no longer speaks, but screams, screams from powerlessness to do anything. She was left alone. And perhaps, dying, she asks for forgiveness:

Forgive me for everything, for everything,

My dear, what have I done to you!

Akhmatova’s poem is a different matter. Some critics said: “It is written indifferently.” “The poem lacks emotion.” “We don’t see the suffering, the anguish, the heartache and the bitterness.” “That inner pain, bleeding, wounded soul is not shown, as in Tsvetaeva’s poem.” “She writes about a peaceful separation.” “In this poem, everything happens smoothly, without torment and suffering.” Only a few saw the intensity and depth of feelings, no less than in Tsvetaeva’s poem, in Akhmatova’s heroine. What is the reason for such deafness and blindness?

Even the first researchers of Akhmatova’s work drew attention to the most important feature her poetics. Thus, Boris Eikhenbaum noted that “laconism and energy of expression are the main features of Akhmatova’s poetics.” He also wrote about the intensity of expression and semantic condensation characteristic of the poetess. “What we usually have in Akhmatova is not the lyrical emotion itself in its solitary expression, but a narrative or record of what happened.” The fact that Akhmatova “does not say more than what the things themselves say, she does not impose anything, does not explain on her own behalf,” wrote Viktor Zhirmunsky.

"Her love dramas“, unfolding in verse,” we read in A. Pavlovsky’s book, “happen as if in silence: nothing is explained, nothing is commented on, there are so few words that each of them carries a huge psychological load.”

This side of Akhmatova’s poetry was studied especially thoroughly in E. Dobin’s work “The Poetry of Anna Akhmatova.” Dobin shows how the dramatic principle invaded Akhmatova’s lyrics, “but did not weaken, and did not push aside, but gave it a hitherto unknown appearance and content.” This is reflected primarily in the fact that “rarely does a lyrical poet exhibit such a gravitation towards gesture, such a richness of gesture as Akhmatova’s, and such a subtle penetration into state of mind through a gesture."

The most expressive example in this sense is “Song of the Last Meeting”. “Here the dramatic nature emerges prominently. And this can be played on stage. Everything is real: a dark house, candles burning in the bedroom, three steps leading to the garden. The material action is impeccably described: “... but my steps were light, I right hand I put on the glove on my left hand,” “I looked at the dark house.” In all this one can see mental pain and confusion. “But my steps were light.” But - a painful attempt to restrain myself... Just like the dead laconicism of the gesture: “I put the glove from my left hand on my right hand.” Akhmatova gives with one blow all the feminine and all the lyrical confusion, with one stroke of the pen she perpetuates the primordial nervous gesture of a woman and a poet, who in great moments of life forgets where the right and where the left are - not only the glove, but also the hands and cardinal directions, which suddenly lose their confidence. Through the obvious, even amazing precision of details, something more than a state of mind is affirmed and symbolized - an entire mental structure. In a word, from these two Akhmatova lines a rich scattering of broad associations is born, spreading like circles in water from a thrown stone. In this couplet there is the whole woman, the whole poet and the whole of Akhmatova in her uniqueness and uniqueness, which cannot be imitated. Before Akhmatova, no one in our country gave such a gesture.” “It seemed like there were a lot of steps, / But I knew there were only three!” How much is said by this: every step away from him, every step after the last meeting, every step of a woman leaving forever - pain and torment. “Only in the bedroom the candles were burning with an indifferent yellow fire.” “Why are there candles in the bedroom and, say, not in the living room?” Because the hottest, brightest, most passionate hours of what happened before the last meeting are associated with the bedroom. And now the candles are burning there with an indifferent yellow fire.

Thus, we can conclude: Akhmatova carries her feelings within herself, she does not splash them out, like Tsvetaeva. There is such pain here that it is impossible to express in words, because the meeting is the last!

The pain is deep in the heart, and this storm manifests itself through confusion and shock. She has everything mixed up: the staircase with steps, the glove, the candles are burning with an indifferent yellow fire, even her home I don't care about her suffering.

Indeed, this can be played on stage. You can draw this... (drawing by Natasha Chernyshova)

SO, Tsvetaeva told everything, Akhmatova showed everything . Where Akhmatova has strict harmony, quiet speech, grief that cannot be expressed in words, Tsvetaeva has an appeal to the whole world, a cry, a cry.

So Tsvetaeva’s poetry is an annoying groan, while Akhmatova’s poetry is a half-whisper, a complaint in a low voice. These are the lyrics of her breaking up a relationship, or ending it, or losing feeling. Almost all of her poems are about love - about last meeting or about a farewell explanation. The style of Akhmatova's lyrics is her dialogue with the reader. Love in her poems is love-suffering, sadness, longing. Akhmatova's heroine is always full of love, but her feeling is either unrequited or cruelly betrayed. It was Akhmatova who managed to give love “the right female voice" “I taught women to speak...” she said. True, she then added: “But how can you silence them?”

All these shades of feeling of the lyrical heroine A.A. Akhmatova comes from an understanding of love as passion, love as a struggle, a duel of souls. In the love lyrics of M.I. There is no “equivalent” to Tsvetaeva’s soul of the lyrical heroine, there is no struggle, no duel, there is only dedication of oneself to a loved one. He is “desired”, “stinged”, “sick”!

A. Akhmatova's love lyrics are infinitely varied and psychologically bottomless. In the love lyrics of M. Tsvetaeva there is more “high illness”, the element of feeling, female dedication. It can be said that Akhmatova’s love lyrics generally have more psychological maturity and experience; Tsvetaeva has more eternal youth. Maybe even this: in Akhmatova’s love lyrics there is more of the feminine, attracting the masculine, and in Tsvetaeva’s love lyrics there is more of the eternally feminine, calling to spiritual heights in love. In their love lyrics there is CONSOUND and DIFFERENT SOUND, as it is also in souls different women: those who love their lyrics; and those who, perhaps, are not even familiar with her.