All works by Mayakovsky. The most famous works of Mayakovsky V. In Lyrical works of Mayakovsky list

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky is a truly outstanding personality. A talented poet, playwright, screenwriter and actor. One of the most striking and odious figures of his time.

He was born on July 19, 1893 in the Georgian village of Baghdati. The family had five children: two daughters and three sons, but of all the boys, only Vladimir survived. The boy studied at a local gymnasium, and then at a school in Moscow, where he moved with his mother and sister. By that time, his father was no longer there: he died of blood poisoning.

During the revolution, hard times came for the family, there was not enough money, and there was nothing to pay for Volodya's education. He did not finish his studies, and later joined the Social Democratic Party. For political beliefs and participation in riots, Mayakovsky was arrested more than once. It was in prison that the first lines of the great poet were born.

In 1911, the young man decided to continue his studies at the school of painting, however, his teachers did not appreciate his work: they were too peculiar. During his studies, Mayakovsky became close to the Futurists, whose work turned out to be close to him, and in 1912 he published the first poem "Night".

In 1915, one of the most famous poems, "A Cloud in Pants", was written, which he first read at a reception at Lily Brik's house. This woman became his main love and his curse. All his life he loved and hated her, they broke up and rekindled countless times. The poem dedicated to her, Lilichka, is one of the most powerful and touching declarations of love in modern literature. In addition to Lilia, there were many other women in the life of the poet, but not one of them was able to touch those strings of the soul with which Lilichka played so skillfully.

In general, Mayakovsky's love lyrics did not attract; his main attention was occupied by politics and satire on topical topics. The poem "Seated" is perhaps one of the most striking demonstrations of Mayakovsky's satirical talent. What is important, the plot of the poem is relevant to this day. In addition, he writes many scripts for films and starred in them himself. The most famous film that has survived to this day is The Young Lady and the Hooligan.

The theme of revolution occupies a huge place in the creative heritage of the poet. The poet enthusiastically perceived what was happening, although at that time he had a very difficult time financially. At this time, he wrote "Mystery-buff". Almost until his death, Mayakovsky glorifies Soviet power, and for its 10th anniversary, he writes the poem "Good."

(Painting by Vladimir Mayakovsky "Roulette")

With his works glorifying the revolution and Comrade Lenin, Mayakovsky toured Europe and America a lot. He draws satirical and propaganda posters, works in several publishing houses, including ROSTA Windows of Satire. In 1923, together with several associates, he created the LEF creative studio. One after another, in 1928 and 1929, two famous plays by the author, Bedbug and Bathhouse, were published.

Mayakovsky's calling card was the unusual style he invented and the poetic meter in the form of a ladder, as well as many neologisms. He is also credited with the glory of the first advertiser of the USSR, because he stood at the origins of this direction, created masterpiece posters calling for the purchase of a particular product. Each drawing was accompanied by uncomplicated, but sonorous verses.

(G. Egoshin "V. Mayakovsky")

A large place in the poet's lyrics is occupied by children's poems. Big Uncle Mayakovsky, as he called himself, writes amazingly touching lines for the younger generation and personally speaks with them to young listeners. The poem “Whom to be” or “What is good and what is bad” was known by heart to every Soviet, and after that Russian schoolchild. Many critics noted the amazing artistic style of the author and his ability to simply and clearly express far from childish thoughts in a language accessible to kids.

However, like many poets of the 20th century, Mayakovsky did not hide the fact that he was disappointed in the chosen direction. Towards the end of his life, he moved away from the circle of futurists. The new government headed by Stalin did not at all inspire his creative potential, and more and more severe censorship and criticism fell upon him over and over again. His exhibition "20 Years of Work" was ignored by politicians and even friends and colleagues. This markedly crippled Mayakovsky, and the subsequent failure of his plays only exacerbated the situation. Failures on the love front, in creative activity, refusal to travel abroad - all this affected the emotional state of the writer.

On April 14, 1930, the poet shot himself in his room, contrary to the lines he once wrote: “And I won’t go out into the flight, and I won’t drink poison, and I won’t be able to pull the trigger over my temple ...”

"About it". .

"Vladimir Ilyich Lenin". .

"Flying Proletarian". .

"Good!". .

Poems

1912

1. "Night"
2. "Morning"
3. "Port"

1913

1. "Street to Street"
2. "Could you?"
3. "Signboards"
4. "I" On the pavement A few words about my wife A few words about my mother A few words about myself
5. "From fatigue"
6. "Hell of the City"
7. "Nate!"
8. "They don't understand anything"

1914

1. "Veil Jacket"
2. "Listen"
3. "But still"
4. "War has been declared." July 20
5. "Mom and the Evening Killed by the Germans"
6. "Violin and a little nervous"

1915

1. "Me and Napoleon"
2. "To you"
3. "Hymn to the Judge"
4. "Hymn to the scientist"
5. "Navy Love"
6. "Hymn to Health"
7. "Hymn to Criticism"
8. "Dinner Hymn"
9. "That's how I became a dog"
10. "Magnificent Ridiculousness"
11. "Hymn to Bribe"
12. "Attentive attitude towards bribe-takers"
13. "Monstrous Funeral"

1916

1. "Hey!"
2. "Giveaway"
3. "Tired"
4. "Needles"
5. "The last Petersburg fairy tale"
6. "Russia"
7. "To all"
8. "The author dedicates these lines to himself, beloved"

1917

1. "Brothers Writers"
2. "The revolution". April 19
3. "The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood"
4. "To the answer"
5. "Our March"

1918

1. "Good attitude towards horses"
2. "Ode to the Revolution"
3. "Order on the army of art"
4. "Poet worker"
5. "That side"
6. "Left march"

1919

1. "Stunning Facts"
2. "We are walking"
3. "Soviet alphabet"
4. "Worker! Throw out non-party stupidity ... ". October
5. Song of the Ryazan peasant. October

1920

1. "The weapon of the Entente is money ...". July
2. "If you live in disarray, as the Makhnovists want ...". July
3. "A story about bagels and a woman who does not recognize the republic." August
4. "Red hedgehog"
5. "Attitude towards the young lady"
6. "Vladimir Ilyich"
7. "An extraordinary adventure that happened with Vladimir Mayakovsky in the summer at the dacha"
8. “The story of how the godfather of Wrangel was interpreted without any mind”
9. "Gay"
10. “The cigarette case went into the grass by a third ...”
11. "The Last Page of the Civil War"
12. "Oh rubbish"

1921

1. "Two not quite ordinary cases"
2. "A poem about Myasnitskaya, about a woman and about the all-Russian scale"
3. "Order No. 2 of the Arts Army"

1922

1. "Happy"
2. "Bastards!"
3. "Bureocracy"
4. "My speech at the Genoa Conference"
5. "Germany"

1923

1. "About Poets"
2. "About" fiascos "," apogees "and other unknown things"
3. "Paris"
4. "Newspaper Day"
5. "We don't believe!"
6. "Trusts"
7. "April 17"
8. "Spring Question"
9. "Universal Answer"
10. "Thieves"
11. "Baku"
12. "Young guard"
13. "Norderney"
14. "Moscow-Königsberg". 6 September
15. "Kyiv"

1924

• Bourgeois, - say goodbye to pleasant days - we will finally finish with hard money
• A Little Difference ("In Europe..."), <1924>
• Hard money - solid ground for the bond between the peasant and the worker

1925

1926

1. "Sergey Yesenin"
2. "Marxism is a weapon..." April 19
3. "Four-story hack"
4. "Conversation with the financial inspector about poetry"
5. "Forefront of the Advanced"
6. "Bribery"
7. "Agenda"
8. "Protection"
9. "Love"
10. "Message to the Proletarian Poets"
11. "Bureaucrat Factory"
12. "To Comrade Netta" July 15
13. "Terrible Familiarity"
14. "Office Habits"
15. "Hooligan"
16. "Conversation on the Odessa raid of landing craft"
17. "Letter from the writer Mayakovsky to the writer Gorky"
18. "Debt to Ukraine"
19. "October"

1927

1. "Stabilization of life"
2. "Paper Horrors"
3. "Our Youth"
4. "Across the cities of the union"
5. “My speech at the show trial on the occasion of a possible scandal with the lectures of Professor Shengeli”
6. "What were you fighting for?"
7. "You give a beautiful life"
8. "Instead of an ode"
9. "Best Verse"
10. "Lenin is with us!"
11. "Spring"
12. "Careful March"
13. "Venus de Milo and Vyacheslav Polonsky"
14. "Mr. People's Artist"
15. "Well!"
16. "A General Beginner's Guide to Sneaks"
17. "Crimea"
18. "Comrade Ivanov"
19. "We'll see for ourselves, we'll show them"
20. "Ivan Ivan Gonorarchikov"
21. "Wonders"
22. "Marusya got poisoned"
23. "A letter to the beloved Molchanov, abandoned by him"
24. "The masses don't understand"

1928

1. "Without a rudder and without a spinner"
2. "Ekaterinburg-Sverdlovsk"
3. "The story of the caster Ivan Kozyrev about moving into a new painting"
4. "Emperor"
5. "Letter to Tatyana Yakovleva"

1929

1. "Conversation with Comrade Lenin"
2. "Perekop enthusiasm"
3. "Gloomy about comedians"
4. "Harvest March"
5. "Soul of Society"
6. "Party Candidate"
7. "Inject self-criticism"
8. "All is calm in the West"
9. "Parisian"
10. "Beauties"
11. "Poems about the Soviet passport"
12. "Americans are surprised"
13. "An example not worthy of imitation"
14. "Bird of God"
15. "Poems about Thomas"
16. "I'm happy"
17. "Khrenov's story about Kuznetskstroy and the people of Kuznetsk"
18. "Special opinion"
19. "Give the material base"
20. "Lovers of difficulty"

1930

1. “Already the second. You must have gone to bed..."
2. "March of the shock brigades"
3. "Leninists"

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An excerpt characterizing the List of works by Vladimir Mayakovsky

- Natasha! now it's your turn. Sing me something, - the voice of the countess was heard. - Why are you sitting down, like conspirators.
- Mum! I don’t feel like it,” Natasha said, but at the same time she got up.
All of them, even the middle-aged Dimmler, did not want to interrupt the conversation and leave the corner of the sofa, but Natasha got up, and Nikolai sat down at the clavichord. As always, standing in the middle of the hall and choosing the most advantageous place for resonance, Natasha began to sing her mother's favorite play.
She said that she did not feel like singing, but she had not sung for a long time before, and for a long time after, as she sang that evening. Count Ilya Andreevich, from the study where he was talking to Mitinka, heard her singing, and like a pupil in a hurry to go to play, finishing the lesson, he got confused in words, giving orders to the manager and finally fell silent, and Mitinka, also listening, silently with a smile, stood in front of count. Nikolai did not take his eyes off his sister, and took a breath with her. Sonya, listening, thought about what an enormous difference there was between her and her friend, and how impossible it was for her to be in any way as charming as her cousin. The old countess sat with a happily sad smile and tears in her eyes, occasionally shaking her head. She thought about Natasha, and about her youth, and about how something unnatural and terrible is in this upcoming marriage of Natasha to Prince Andrei.
Dimmler, sitting down next to the countess and closing his eyes, listened.
“No, countess,” he said at last, “this is a European talent, she has nothing to learn, this gentleness, tenderness, strength ...
– Ah! how I fear for her, how I fear,” said the countess, not remembering to whom she was speaking. Her maternal instinct told her that there was too much in Natasha, and that she would not be happy from this. Natasha had not yet finished singing, when an enthusiastic fourteen-year-old Petya ran into the room with the news that mummers had come.
Natasha suddenly stopped.
- Fool! she shouted at her brother, ran up to a chair, fell on it and sobbed so that she could not stop for a long time afterwards.
“Nothing, mother, really nothing, so: Petya scared me,” she said, trying to smile, but tears kept flowing and sobs squeezed her throat.
Dressed-up servants, bears, Turks, innkeepers, ladies, terrible and funny, bringing with them cold and fun, at first timidly huddled in the hallway; then, hiding one behind the other, they were forced into the hall; and at first shyly, but then more and more cheerfully and amicably, songs, dances, choral and Christmas games began. The countess, recognizing the faces and laughing at the dressed up, went into the living room. Count Ilya Andreich sat in the hall with a beaming smile, approving the players. The youth has disappeared.
Half an hour later, in the hall, among the other mummers, another old lady in tanks appeared - it was Nikolai. The Turkish woman was Petya. Payas - it was Dimmler, the hussar - Natasha and the Circassian - Sonya, with a painted cork mustache and eyebrows.
After condescending surprise, misrecognition and praise from those who were not dressed up, the young people found that the costumes were so good that they had to be shown to someone else.
Nikolai, who wanted to take everyone on an excellent road in his troika, suggested that, taking with him ten dressed-up people from the yard, go to his uncle.
- No, why are you upsetting him, the old man! - said the countess, - and there is nowhere to turn around with him. To go, so to the Melyukovs.
Melyukova was a widow with children of various ages, also with governesses and tutors, who lived four miles from the Rostovs.
“Here, ma chere, clever,” said the old count, who had begun to stir. “Now let me dress up and go with you.” I'll stir up Pasheta.
But the countess did not agree to let the count go: his leg hurt all these days. It was decided that Ilya Andreevich was not allowed to go, and that if Luiza Ivanovna (m me Schoss) went, the young ladies could go to Melyukova's. Sonya, always timid and shy, began to beg Louisa Ivanovna more insistently than anyone else not to refuse them.
Sonya's outfit was the best. Her mustache and eyebrows were unusually suited to her. Everyone told her that she was very good, and she was in a lively and energetic mood unusual for her. Some kind of inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided, and in her man's dress she seemed like a completely different person. Luiza Ivanovna agreed, and half an hour later four troikas with bells and bells, screeching and whistling in the frosty snow, drove up to the porch.
Natasha was the first to give the tone of Christmas merriment, and this merriment, reflected from one to another, grew more and more intensified and reached its highest degree at the time when everyone went out into the cold, and talking, calling to each other, laughing and shouting, sat down in the sleigh.
Two troikas were accelerating, the third troika of the old count with an Oryol trotter in the bud; Nikolai's fourth own, with its low, black, shaggy root. Nikolay, in his old woman's attire, on which he put on a hussar, belted cloak, stood in the middle of his sleigh, picking up the reins.
It was so bright that he could see plaques gleaming in the moonlight and the eyes of the horses looking around frightenedly at the riders rustling under the dark canopy of the entrance.
Natasha, Sonya, m me Schoss and two girls sat in Nikolai's sleigh. In the old count's sleigh sat Dimmler with his wife and Petya; dressed up courtyards sat in the rest.
- Go ahead, Zakhar! - Nikolai shouted to his father's coachman in order to have an opportunity to overtake him on the road.
The trio of the old count, in which Dimmler and other mummers sat, screeching with skids, as if freezing to the snow, and rattling with a thick bell, moved forward. The trailers clung to the shafts and bogged down, turning the strong and shiny snow like sugar.
Nikolai set off for the first three; the others rustled and squealed from behind. At first they rode at a small trot along a narrow road. While we were driving past the garden, the shadows from the bare trees often lay across the road and hid the bright light of the moon, but as soon as we drove beyond the fence, a diamond-shiny, with a bluish sheen, a snowy plain, all doused with moonlight and motionless, opened up on all sides. Once, once, pushed a bump in the front sleigh; the next sleigh and the following jogged in the same way, and, boldly breaking the chained silence, the sleigh began to stretch out one after the other.
- A hare's footprint, a lot of footprints! - Natasha's voice sounded in the frosty constrained air.
– As you can see, Nicolas! Sonya's voice said. - Nikolai looked back at Sonya and bent down to get a closer look at her face. Some kind of completely new, sweet face, with black eyebrows and mustaches, in the moonlight, close and far, peeped out of the sables.
"It used to be Sonya," Nikolai thought. He looked closer at her and smiled.
What are you, Nicholas?
“Nothing,” he said, and turned back to the horses.
Having ridden out onto the main road, greased with runners and all riddled with traces of thorns, visible in the light of the moon, the horses themselves began to tighten the reins and add speed. The left harness, bending its head, twitched its traces with jumps. Root swayed, moving his ears, as if asking: “Is it too early to start?” - Ahead, already far separated and ringing a receding thick bell, Zakhar's black troika was clearly visible on the white snow. Shouting and laughter and the voices of the dressed up were heard from his sleigh.
“Well, you, dear ones,” shouted Nikolai, tugging on the reins on one side and withdrawing his hand with a whip. And only by the wind, which seemed to intensify against them, and by the twitching of the tie-downs, which were tightening and increasing their speed, it was noticeable how fast the troika flew. Nicholas looked back. With a shout and a squeal, waving their whips and forcing the natives to gallop, other troikas kept up. Root steadfastly swayed under the arc, not thinking of knocking down and promising to give more and more when needed.

It is impossible to imagine the 20th century without V. Mayakovsky. Mayakovsky was the most famous and talented futurist poet.

He turned to the genre of the poem: “A cloud in pants”, “About this”, “Good!”, “Vladimir Ilyich Lenin”, Flute-spine”, Man”, dramas: Plays "Bedbug" and "Bath".

His poems are lyrical through and through, in essence, they are expanded lyres. st.

In the poem About it”he turns to a scientist who in the distant future will be able to resurrect people, give them a new, clean, happy life:

In lyrical-epic poems " Good!" and "Vladimir Ilyich Lenin"Mayakovsky embodied the thoughts of a socialist man, a hero of his era.

"A cloud in pants". The original title of the poem - "The Thirteenth Apostle" - was replaced by censorship. Each part of the poem expresses a certain idea (4). But the poem itself cannot be strictly divided into chapters in which four cries are consistently expressed ("Down with your system, love, art, religion!"). The experiences of the lyrical hero capture different spheres of life, including those where loveless love, false art, criminal power dominate, and Christian patience is preached. The movement of the lyrical plot of the poem is due to the hero's confession, which at times reaches a high tragedy.

First part of the poem- about the tragic unrequited love of the poet. It contains jealousy, pain of unprecedented strength, the hero's nerves rebelled: "like a sick person from the bed, a nerve jumped", then the nerves "jump furiously, and already the legs give way under the nerves." The author of the poem painfully asks: “Will there be love or not? Which one is big or tiny? The chapter reflects the emotions of the lyrical hero: “Hello! Who is speaking? Mum? Mum! Your son is very sick! Mum! He has a heart of fire." The love of the lyrical hero of the poem, and this leads him to deny love-sweet-voiced chant, because true love is difficult, it is love-suffering.

The theme of poetry dedicated to the third chapter. The lyrical hero declares his break with previous poets, with "pure poetry" .

Another "down with" the poem - " down with your system”, your “heroes”: the “iron Bismarck”, the billionaire Rothschild and the idol of many generations - Napoleon.

Through the entire third chapter the theme of the collapse of the old world. In the revolution, Mayakovsky sees a way to put an end to the hated system and calls for a revolution. The author of the poem sees the coming future, where there will be no loveless love, the bourgeois system and the religion of patience. And he himself sees himself as the "thirteenth apostle", the herald of the new world.

The theme of personal, unsurmounted shocks develops into a glorification of future happiness. The author is disappointed in the moral force of religion. The finale of the poem sounds not without the author's irony: the Universe does not hear the protest of the "thirteenth apostle" - it sleeps!

The poem is characterized by hyperbolism, originality, planetary comparisons and metaphors.

Plays "Bug" and "Bath" were written by the poet in one breath. They reflected heavy impressions of the discrepancy between the real Soviet reality and the author's utopian ideal. Setting as his goal the agitation of a contemporary, Mayakovsky raised "eternal" questions. The dramaturgy of recent years stands out sharply with realistic strokes, which are combined with satirical techniques of caricature and grotesque. The central figures here are the tradesman and the bureaucrat.

Main hero of the play "Bug"- the owner of a trade union card with aristocratic manners. Mayakovsky, with caustic irony, ridiculed the petty-bourgeois nature of Pierre Skripkin. The newly-minted aristocrat - "a former party member, a former worker" - constantly gets into trouble. The speech of the Soviet tradesman is full of ridiculous inconsistencies. The claim to education makes him turn to the language of civilized people, but the square abuse still betrays a dark inside. The highest goal for Prisypkin is petty-bourgeois well-being. Such a position was deeply alien to Mayakovsky. The poet dreamed of spiritual growth and moral purification of his contemporaries. According to the author, a catastrophe awaits those who choose the path of vulgarity and philistinism. And yet, "Klop" is not a forecast of the coming tradesman. On the contrary, fire frees humanity from it. But Mayakovsky is far from unclouded optimism. Resurrected fifty years later, Klop-Prisypkin immediately began to spread the infection of vulgarity. The author warned his contemporaries about the danger lurking in a seemingly innocent call for a "good life".

"Bath" With On the one hand, the play is called "Bath" - we do not find any bath there. With On the one hand, this is a drama, but on the other hand, “... with a circus and fireworks”, that is, just a farce, and not a drama at all. On the one hand, the entire conflict in the play is centered around Chudakov's "machine", but on the other hand, this machine is invisible, that is, as if it does not exist. On the one hand, it is as if we have a theater in front of us, but on the other hand, we also see a theater within a theater, so that the first theater is no longer a theater, but a reality. In the entire play as a whole and in each of its individual elements, we find a discrepancy between subject matter and meaning. The most abstract concepts here are reduced, materialized, materialized, and the most concrete objects, phenomena and even people are dematerialized up to complete disappearance.

The whole play as a whole is a metaphor. Lear. the core of "Bani" is the problem of time. The time machine in "Bath" is not just Chudakov's invention, but also a metaphor for innovation and creativity itself. She is plotted against another machine - the bureaucratic one. The culmination of the opposition of the two machines is Pobedonosikov's last monologue in Act VI. Why is it called "Bath"? First, "Bath" is a metaphor for cleansing laughter. Secondly, it is a metaphor for the purification of the creative, to which we come as a result of artistic comprehension of reality.

36. Block, cycles, poem "The Twelve"

As a poet, Blok was formed under the influence of the traditions of Russian classical literature. In his work, Alexander Blok reflected the essential features of a critical era. The reflection of the Russian revolution lies on his poems and poems.

Burning years! Is there thoughtlessness in you, is there any hope?

The thematic range of lyrics is wide - from the most intimate movements of the soul, from the sacrament of youthful love to philosophical generalizations and the historical path of the people.

Blok's early poems made up the first book published in 1904 - " Poems about the Beautiful Lady"multifaceted. These poems are symbolic, the mournful HERE and the beautiful THERE are contrasted, the holiness of the ideals of the hero, the desire for the promised land, a decisive break with the surrounding life, the cult of individualism, beauty. The plot of the cycle is the expectation of a meeting with a beloved who will transform the world and the hero. The heroine, on the one hand, a real woman "She is slender and tall // Always arrogant and stern". On the other hand, we have before us the heavenly, mystical image of the "Virgin", "The Majestic Eternal Wife", "Incomprehensible". "He" is in love a knight, a humble monk, ready for self-denial.“She” is the incorporeal focus of faith, hope and love of the lyrical hero.

The lyrical hero is shown in development

His second book, unexpected joy", made the poet's name popular in writers' circles. Among the poems are "The Stranger", "The Girl Sang in the Church Choir", "Autumn Wave".
Block's hero becomes an inhabitant of noisy city streets, eagerly peering into life. He is alone surrounded by drunkards, he rejects this world that terrifies his soul, looks like a booth, in which there is no place for anything beautiful and holy. The world poisons him, but a stranger appears amidst this drunken frenzy, and her image awakens bright feelings, it seems that she believes in beauty. Her image is surprisingly romantic and alluring, and it is clear that faith in goodness is still alive in the poet. Vulgarity, dirt cannot tarnish the image of a stranger, reflecting Blok's dreams of pure, selfless love. And the poem "Autumn Wave" became the first embodiment of the theme of the motherland, Russia in the work of Blok. Nekrasov's intonations appear in the poems - love for the motherland - love-salvation, the understanding that one's fate cannot be imagined in isolation from it.

After a trip to Italy in 1909, Blok wrote the cycle " Italian poems", in the spring of 1914 - cycle " Carmen". In these poems, Blok remains the finest lyricist, praising beauty and love.

Through the deepening of social tendencies (the cycle "City"), religious interest (the cycle "Snow Mask"), the comprehension of the "terrible world", the awareness of the tragedy of modern man (the play "Rose and the Cross") Blok came to the idea of ​​the inevitability of "retribution" (the cycle " Yamby"; the poem "Retribution"). Persistently and strongly expressed in Blok's work is hatred for the world of the "well-fed", for the ugly, inhuman features of life (the Terrible World cycle, 1909-16).

love lyrics Blok is romantic; along with delight and ecstasy, she carries a fatal and tragic beginning (sections of the cycle "Snow Mask", "Faina", "Retribution", 1908-13, "Carmen", 1914).

The theme of the poet and poetry. The idea of ​​the poet's freedom, his independence from public opinion, superiority over the crowd runs through all the early poems on the theme of creativity. poems “To Friends” and “Poets. “To the Muse” creativity is not a reward, but hard work, which often brings disappointment and dissatisfaction than laurels and joy. Inspiration is sent down by God, and you have to pay for any gift, and the poet pays with personal happiness and peace, comfort and well-being.

Blok considers the main theme of his work theme of the Motherland. From the first poems about Russia ("Autumn Wave", "Autumn Love", "Russia"), a two-faced image of the country arises - impoverished, pious and at the same time free, wild, robbery. During this period, the poet creates cycles of poems "Motherland", "On the field of Kulikovo." The ambivalent attitude towards Russia is especially vividly embodied in the poem "Sin shamelessly, soundly ...". Blok paints a realistic picture of contemporary Russia.
And under the lamp near the icon
Drinking tea, snapping off the bill,
Then flip the coupons
Pot-bellied opening the chest of drawers ...

But it ends with the words:
Yes, and such, my Russia,

You are dearer to me than all the edges.
The poet took a slightly different angle in his cycle “On the Kulikovo Field”.

The revolution of 1917 was reflected in the largest post-October poem " Twelve"(1918). It reflected both real events and the poet's views on history, the essence of civilization and culture.

The very beginning of the poem sets the reader up for the struggle; two worlds stand in sharp contrast - the old and the new, just born:

Black evening.

White snow.

Wind, wind!

A person does not stand on his feet.

Human passions and the raging elements act in unison, destroying everything obsolete, personifying the old way of life. As attributes of the old way of life - a bourgeois, a lady, and a priest:
There is a lady in doodle
Turned to the other...
We were crying, we were crying...
slipped
And - bam - stretched out!

And then, shaking off the fragments of the lost society, twelve people go. Who are they - builders of the future or cruel destroyers, murderers?

Blok used many symbols in his poem: names, numbers, colors.
The leitmotif of the poem arises from the first bars: in the break and opposition of "white" and "black". Black is a vague, dark beginning. White symbolizes purity, spirituality, it is the color of the future.

The image of Christ is also symbolic in the poem. Jesus Christ is the herald of new human relationships, the spokesman for holiness and purifying suffering. For Blok, his "twelve" are real heroes, since they are the performers of a great mission, they are doing a holy deed - a revolution. As a symbolist and mystic, the author expresses the sanctity of the revolution religiously. Emphasizing the sanctity of the revolution, Blok puts before these "twelve" the invisibly walking Christ.

And yet. The street collapsed like a syphilitic's nose. The river is voluptuousness, spread in saliva. Throwing away the linen to the last leaf, the gardens obscenely collapsed in June.

Could you? . I immediately smeared the map of everyday life, splashing paint from a glass; I showed the oblique cheekbones of the ocean on a dish of jelly.

Bath. Table on the right, table on the left. Drawings hanging from everywhere and scattered everywhere. Comrade Foskin is in the middle sealing the air with a blowtorch. Chudakov goes from lamp to lamp, reviewing the drawing.

To you! . To you, who live for an orgy orgy, having a bathroom and a warm closet! Aren't you ashamed of those submitted to George to read from the newspaper columns?

Bribers. Door. On the door - "It is impossible without a report" Under Marx, in an armchair embracing, with a high salary, tall and smooth, sits an invested responsible.

Attentive attitude to bribe-takers. Is it possible to write about bribes to poets! Dear ones, we have no time. Can not be so. You who are bribe-takers, if only for this reason, do not, do not take bribes.

In a loud voice . Dear fellow descendants! Rummaging in today's petrified shit, studying the darkness of our days, you may also ask about me.

Naval Love. On the seas, playing, the destroyer rushes with the destroyer. Clings, as if to honey, a sedge, to a destroyer a destroyer.

That's how I became a dog. Well, it's completely unbearable! All as is bitten by malice. I'm not angry as you could: like a dog, the face of the moon is bare-headed - I would take it and howl everything.

Hymn to health. Among the thin-legged, liquid with blood, with difficulty turning the neck of a bull, on a well-fed holiday to the obese health of people from meat, I loudly cry!

Cheap sale.

Giveaway. Do I entangle a woman in a touching romance, do I just look at a passerby - everyone cautiously holds his pocket.

To all . No. It is not true. Not! And you? Darling, why, why? Well - I went, I gave flowers, but I didn’t steal silver spoons from the box!

Veil jacket. I will sew myself black pants from the velvet of my voice. Yellow jacket from three arshins of sunset. Along the Nevsky of the world, along its polished stripes, I will profil with the step of Don Juan and the veil.

Lilichka! . Instead of a letter, the smoke blew out the tobacco air. The room is a chapter in the Krunykhovsky hell. Remember - outside this window for the first time your hands, frenzied, stroked.

I love . Usually this is how Love is given to any born, - but between services, incomes and other things, the soil of the heart hardens from day to day.

Mom and the Evening Killed by the Germans. White mothers convulsively prostrated along the black streets, staring at the coffin. They wept at those shouting about the beaten enemy: “Ah, close, close the eyes of the newspapers!

scum. Hunger approaches the tonsils .. Only, as if at a feast, a gang of bribe-takers walks around, purses are spread wide.

Tired. Didn't sit at home. Annensky, Tyutchev, Fet. Again, guided by longing for people, I go to cinemas, to taverns, to cafes.

Nate! . In an hour, your flabby fat will flow out into a clean alley from here, and I have opened so many verses of caskets to you, I am a wast and a spender of priceless words.

An extraordinary adventure that happened with Vladimir Mayakovsky at the dacha. Pushkino. Akulova Gora, Rumyantsev's dacha, 27 versts along the Yaroslavl railway. dor. In a hundred and forty suns, the sunset was blazing, summer was rolling in July, it was hot, the heat was floating - it was at the dacha.

unfinished . Loves? does not love? I break my hands and scatter my fingers, breaking them so they tear, guessing and letting corollas of oncoming daisies through May

They don't understand anything. He went to the hairdresser, said - calm: "Be kind, comb my ears." The smooth hairdresser immediately became coniferous, his face stretched out like a pear.

Night . Crimson and white were discarded and crumpled, handfuls of ducats were thrown into the green, and burning yellow cards were distributed to the black palms of the run-down windows.

A cloud in pants . Tetraptich (introduction) Your thought, dreaming on a softened brain, like a fat footman on a greasy couch, I will tease about a bloody heart flap: I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.

Ode to Revolution. To you, booed, ridiculed by batteries, to you, ulcerated by the slander of bayonets, I enthusiastically raise a solemn “O” over the abuse of the ode!

From fatigue. Earth! Let me heal your balding head with rags of my lips stained with other people's gilding. With the smoke of hair over the fires of eyes made of tin, let me wrap the sunken breasts of the marshes.

Parisian. Can you imagine Parisian women with a neck with a pearly, brilliant hand... Stop imagining! Life is tougher - my Parisian looks different.

A letter to his beloved Molchanov, abandoned by him, as reported in No. 219 of Komsomolskaya Pravda in a verse called "Date". I heard that Molchanov left you, as if he undertook this, seeing that you don’t have a “fair” jacket in the fall.

Letter to Comrade Kostrov from Paris on the Essence of Love. Forgive me, comrade Kostrov, with the inherent spiritual breadth, that I will squander part of the stanzas allotted for Paris for lyrics.

Listen! . Listen! After all, if the stars are lit, it means that someone needs it? So - someone wants them to be? So - someone calls these spitting pearls?

Order by the Army of Art. The rigmarole of the old men of the brigade is the same rigmarole. Comrades! To the barricades! - barricades of hearts and souls.

Prosessed. As soon as the night turns into dawn, I see every day: who is in charge, who is in whom, who is watered, who is in the gap, the people disperse into institutions.

Sorry . me, comrade Kostrov, with the inherent spiritual breadth, that I will squander part of the stanzas allotted for Paris for lyrics.

Russia. Here I go, an overseas ostrich, in feathers of stanzas, sizes and rhymes. I try to hide my head, stupid, in the plumage ringing explosion.

To yourself, beloved. Four. Heavy as a blow. "Caesar's to Caesar's is God's." And for someone like me, where to stick? Where is my lair?

The Secret of Youth. No, not those “youth” who, huddled in the lawn and in the boat, begin to rinse their throats with vodka to the sound of squealing and clamor, No, not those “youth” who, on good spring nights, crooked by the fashion of their clothes, sweep the boulevards with bell-bottoms.

Sergei Yesenin. You have gone, as they say, into another world. Emptiness... Fly, crashing into the stars. No advance for you, no beer. Sobriety. No, Yesenin, this is not a mockery.

The Tale of the Little Red Riding Hood. There lived a cadet in the world. The cadet was wearing a red cap. Apart from this cap, which the cadet got, there was not a damn thing red about him, and there isn't.

Violin and a little nervous. The violin twitched, begging, and suddenly roared so childishly that the drum could not stand it: "Good, good, good!"