And tart and mysterious moisture. Block stranger poem. Analysis of the poem “Stranger” by A. A. Blok
Alexander Blok wrote the poem “Stranger” in 1906, but the poems saw the light of day at the end of 1908, when they were included in the “City” cycle. The poet continues a series of lyrical poems, but shows the stranger of his dreams not divorced from life, but against the backdrop of the surrounding world, mixing a bouquet of philosophy into the poem.
Let's pay attention to one more move by Block. The lady is always alone and wears a hat with mourning feathers. Perhaps the author shows the beauty’s recent grief and her renunciation of the world, at least for today. Thus, the image moves from the category of a living stranger to the category of a dream.
The poet concludes in a doubly interesting way - he places himself in the category of drunkards, and refuses the stranger, preferring wine. He hides it under the key, renouncing beauty in favor of the search for truth; wine is only a metaphor, nothing more. A stranger remained in my dreams, and a glass of wine on the table - a combination of spiritual and material.
In the evenings above the restaurants
The hot air is wild and deaf,
And rules with drunken shouts
Spring and pernicious spirit.
Far above the dust of the alley,
Above the boredom of country dachas,
The bakery's pretzel is slightly golden,
And a child's cry is heard.
And every evening, behind the barriers,
Breaking the pots,
Walking with the ladies among the ditches
Tested wits.
Oarlocks creak over the lake
And a woman's squeal is heard,
And in the sky, accustomed to everything
The disk is bent senselessly.
And every evening my only friend
Reflected in my glass
And tart and mysterious moisture
Like me, humbled and stunned.
And next to the neighboring tables
Sleepy lackeys hang around,
And drunkards with rabbit eyes
“In vino veritas!” they scream.
And every evening, at the appointed hour
(Or am I just dreaming?),
The girl's figure, captured by silks,
A window moves through a foggy window.
And slowly, walking between the drunken,
Always without companions, alone
Breathing spirits and mists,
She sits by the window.
And they breathe ancient beliefs
Her elastic silks
And a hat with mourning feathers,
And in the rings there is a narrow hand.
And chained by a strange intimacy,
I look behind the dark veil,
And I see the enchanted shore
And the enchanted distance.
Silent secrets have been entrusted to me,
Someone's sun was handed to me,
And all the souls of my bend
Tart wine pierced.
And ostrich feathers bowed
My brain is swinging,
And blue bottomless eyes
They bloom on the far shore.
There's a treasure in my soul
And the key is entrusted only to me!
You're right, drunken monster!
I know: the truth is in the wine.
The hot air is wild and deaf,
And rules with drunken shouts
Spring and pernicious spirit.
Above the boredom of country dachas,
The bakery's pretzel is slightly golden,
And a child's cry is heard.
Walking with the ladies among the ditches
And a woman's squeal is heard,
And in the sky, accustomed to everything
The disk is bent senselessly.
Reflected in my glass
And tart and mysterious moisture
Like me, humbled and stunned.
Sleepy lackeys hang around,
And drunkards with rabbit eyes
“In vino veritas!”* they shout.
(Or am I just dreaming?),
The girl's figure, captured by silks,
A window moves through a foggy window.
Always without companions, alone
Breathing spirits and mists,
She sits by the window.
Her elastic silks
And a hat with mourning feathers,
And in the rings there is a narrow hand.
I look behind the dark veil,
And I see the enchanted shore
And the enchanted distance.
Someone's sun was handed to me,
And all the souls of my bend
Tart wine pierced.
My brain is swinging,
And blue bottomless eyes
They bloom on the far shore.
And the key is entrusted only to me!
You're right, drunken monster!
I know: the truth is in the wine.
Analysis of the poem “Stranger” by A. A. Blok
Blok’s most famous poem, dating back to the second period of his creativity, is “The Stranger.”
The entire first stanza of this poem is actually an extended metaphor, although many researchers argue that it is possible to establish with extreme accuracy where the events described in the poem took place. The picture itself does not need such specification:
The hot air is wild and deaf,
And rules with drunken shouts
Spring and pernicious spirit"
The next three stanzas further strengthen this motif, emphasizing the disharmony of the world:
And a woman's squeal is heard,
And the sky, accustomed to everything,
The disk is bent senselessly.”
These pictures prepare the appearance of a miracle: the contrast between the past and the appearance of the beautiful Stranger is too great. The vision itself appears as if from the evening twilight, from the vulgar scream of drunkards, the creaking of rowlocks, the squealing of women; it arises as a denial of a disharmonious world.
A stranger among restaurant tables, among drunks. The fact that this may just be a dream is indicated by only one unexpected detail - “breathing spirits and mists,” the author’s words explain a little. “Always and everywhere, the greatest and deepest of all lies a peaceful fog...” This image of fog further enhances the mystery of the Stranger’s appearance. The next three stanzas are filled with complex symbolism that cannot be directly deciphered, and does not need it. Here everything is fragile, based on mystery, the soul is freed from the vulgar pressure of everyday life, flies away to other worlds, revealing treasures unknown to the world in its depths. The important thing is that the human soul came into contact for a moment with the world of beauty. In this context, the words no longer hurt the ears:
They bloom on the far shore.”
The poem ends with a stanza where there are two exclamatory sentences, the meaning of which is contrastingly opposed to each other:
And the key is entrusted only to me!
You're right, drunken monster!
I know: truth and guilt.”
Poem. Alexander Blok: stranger.
"Poems about love and poems about love" - Love lyrics of Russian poets & Anthology of Russian poetry. © Copyright Pyotr Solovyov
In the evenings above the restaurants
The hot air is wild and deaf,
And rules with drunken shouts
Spring and pernicious spirit.
Far above the dust of the alley,
Above the boredom of country dachas,
The bakery's pretzel is slightly golden,
And a child's cry is heard.
And every evening, behind the barriers,
Breaking the pots,
Walking with the ladies among the ditches
Tested wits.
Oarlocks creak over the lake
And a woman's squeal is heard,
And in the sky, accustomed to everything
The disk is bent senselessly.
And every evening my only friend
Reflected in my glass
And tart and mysterious moisture
Like me, humbled and stunned.
And next to the neighboring tables
Sleepy lackeys hang around,
And drunkards with rabbit eyes
“In vino veritas!”* they shout.
And every evening, at the appointed hour
(Or am I just dreaming?),
The girl's figure, captured by silks,
A window moves through a foggy window.
And slowly, walking between the drunken,
Always without companions, alone
Breathing spirits and mists,
She sits by the window.
And they breathe ancient beliefs
Her elastic silks
And a hat with mourning feathers,
And in the rings there is a narrow hand.
And chained by a strange intimacy,
I look behind the dark veil,
And I see the enchanted shore
And the enchanted distance.
Silent secrets have been entrusted to me,
Someone's sun was handed to me,
And all the souls of my bend
Tart wine pierced.
And ostrich feathers bowed
My brain is swinging,
And blue bottomless eyes
They bloom on the far shore.
There's a treasure in my soul
And the key is entrusted only to me!
You're right, drunken monster!
I know: the truth is in the wine.
* In vino veritas! - The truth is in the wine! (lat.)
Analysis of the poem “Stranger” by Alexander Blok
To understand the meaning of the poem “Stranger,” you need to know the history of its creation. Blok wrote it in 1906 during a difficult period when his wife left him. The poet was simply crushed by despair and spent whole days binge drinking in dirty, cheap establishments. Blok's life was going downhill. He was well aware of this, but could not fix anything. His wife’s betrayal put an end to all the poet’s hopes and aspirations. He has lost the purpose and meaning of his existence.
The poem begins with a description of the situation in which the lyrical hero now finds himself. He had long been accustomed to the gloomy atmosphere of dirty restaurants. The author is constantly surrounded by drunk people. Nothing changes around, it drives you crazy with its monotony and meaninglessness. Even the source of poetic inspiration, the moon, is just “a disk accustomed to everything.”
In this situation, hope for deliverance comes to the lyrical hero in the form of a mysterious stranger. It is not clear from the poem whether this woman is real, or just a figment of the imagination, distorted by the constant consumption of wine. The stranger at the same time passes between the drunken rows and takes her place at the window. She is a creature from another, pure and bright world. Looking at her majestic appearance, smelling the perfume, the author understands the abomination of his situation. In his dreams, he flies away from this stuffy room and begins a completely new life.
The ending of the poem is ambiguous. The conclusion to which the author comes (“The truth is in wine!”) can be interpreted in two ways. On the one hand, Blok was not like the drunkards around him, who had completely lost hope for the future. He realized that he continued to keep a spiritual “treasure” that he had the right to dispose of. On the other hand, seeing a stranger and awakening faith in the best may simply be drunken delirium, followed by a severe hangover.
The poem is written in figurative language. Epithets reflect the author’s spiritual emptiness (“pernicious”, “meaningless”, “sleepy”). The gloominess of the situation is enhanced by metaphors (“tart and mysterious moisture”, “with the eyes of rabbits”) and personifications (“ruled by... a pernicious spirit”).
The description of the stranger provides a sharp contrast to the dirty restaurant. The author highlights only individual details that have symbolic meaning for him (“elastic silk”, “narrow hand”). The fleeting nature of the image emphasizes the unreality of what is happening. In the author's mind, the line between dream and reality is blurred.
The poem “Stranger” occupies a special place in Blok’s work. It reflects the author’s sincere feelings and reflections during a period of acute mental and life crisis. An attempt has been made to find a way out of this disastrous situation.
]
Hiding the snow prison.
And blue Komsomol girls,
Squealing, swimming in the Crimea.
The gradually growing Blok line in the poem is resolved by the vision of a “blessed country” (in Blok’s “Stranger” - “and I see an enchanted shore / and an enchanted distance”).
In Blok’s poem, the vision of the far shore is clearly contrasted with the picture of the ugly world, while Ivanov says nothing at all about the world from which the “blessed country” is visible. That is, it is said in the first stanza, but this is a view from above, at a certain pan-European state of freedom on all four sides, but Ivanov does not say a word about his own, concrete, emigrant existence, as if there is no existence at all. Or rather, all that exists is not external circumstances, but inner life, the life of the soul. In this sense, Blok’s “she sits by the window” shines with renewed vigor - all future vision will be “through a dark glass,” with the emphasis not so much on the divination of our vision, but on the fact that it is internal, not external.
The folklore “by seas-oceans” indicates distance (far, far away), and Russianness, and the fabulousness of the vision - the blessed country is somewhere there, “beyond the sea-ocean, in the thirtieth kingdom, the far-off state. After the colon - a description of the most blissful country, not named - and a name is not needed, because Blok’s voice has already sounded, the folklore beginning “beyond the seas and oceans” has already sounded.
From the “universal homeland”, from the new European world, the path leads to Russia, and this path - internal - is akin to mental vision (and this is why this vision is different from Blok’s, where it is not completely clear whether this is insight, or drunken delirium - in Ivanov “walking between the sober and the drunk” is not only a charming inaccuracy of memory, but also an indication of a certain absoluteness of vision).
The epithet blessed is explained in the following lines:
There are Christmas trees
Hiding the snow prison.
And blue Komsomol girls
Squealing, swimming in the Crimea.
They dive over the graves
On one side - poetry, on the other - the groom.
It seems that the first two verses are about blissful ignorance - it is no coincidence that Christmas trees hide a snowy prison. In this sense, the winter of the first two verses can also be interpreted as a symbol of death (“the purest shroud of winter, sweeping away life”). But not only that, because for Ivanov, winter is almost always a memory of home, of Russian snow, in contrast to the “fertile south.”
It is worth paying attention to the fact that in relation to the “emigrant was,” Ivanov uses the epithet blessed, which in the context of exile refers more likely to a posthumous existence than to an earthly paradise.
It seems to me that “blessed country” refers to blissful ignorance, and to blissful vision, and bliss in the simple sense of happiness (blue Komsomol girls).
So Christmas trees remind us of a bright holiday, of that holiday, which, according to Blok, was a memory of the Golden Age, of a sense of home.
The Christmas holiday was bright in Russian families, like Christmas tree candles, and pure as resin. In the foreground was a large green tree and cheerful children; even adults, not experienced in having fun, were less bored, huddling near the walls. And everything danced - both the children and the dying candles.
It was in this way that Dostoevsky, feeling this holiday, this steadfastness of the home, the legitimacy of good and bright morals, wrote (in “The Diary of a Writer”, in 1876) the story “The Boy at Christ’s Christmas Tree.” When the freezing boy saw from the street, through a large glass, a Christmas tree and a pretty girl and heard music, it was for him some kind of heavenly vision; as if in his death sleep he had a vision of a new and bright life.
In Ivanov’s poem, a vision of paradise, a new bright life coexists with death, just as in the first stanza Greece “blooms with graves.” At the same time, the blue Komsomol members themselves can hardly be regarded as the personification of world evil.
It turns out that the picture of the blessed country is contrasted with the picture of the European world in the first stanza: there is freedom “on all four sides,” here there is a prison. But these paintings are similar: both here and there – oblivion about death, about heroic death (“the blossoming of the graves” and “diving over the graves” - by the way, again a reference to Tyutchev - “the graves below you are silent too”).
In 1949, Ivanov described this “snow prison” differently:
Russia has been living in prison for thirty years,
On Solovki or Kolyma.
And only in Kolyma and Solovki
Russia is the one that will live for centuries.
In the poem “The path is clear at Thermopylae” there is still the same image of a “snow prison”, but “everything else” is no longer “planetary hell”, but Komsomol members bathing in the Crimea. One can hardly agree with the straightforward statement of Kirill Pomerantsev: “Russian youth are innocent of the sins of their parents and do not know that they live in prison. Deprived of his own joys, the poet rejoiced for her.” In my opinion, there is no trace of joy in these lines. But there is tenderness in them. Both the diminutive suffixes and the Christmas tree/Komsomolochka rhyme itself, coupled with the epithet blue, rather indicate the bliss of ignorance and innocence than the “cold and darkness” of the coming days.
In the final stanza the same picture:
They dive over the graves
On one side - poetry, on the other - the groom...
“They dive over the graves” - including over the graves of the White Guards, and the poems and the groom in the next line are the same indication of the innocence of life, youth, love (more precisely, spring, falling in love). It is noteworthy that it is “poems”, and not anything else, but “poems” are from that very, impossible and irrevocable Russian life.
The final lines of the poem return us to where it begins - the Battle of Thermopylae:
...And Leonidas at Thermopylae,
Of course, he died for them too.
The circle of history closes, and this ring structure is not accidental - the view from above embraces the whole, but the whole itself - not in an abstract idea, but in the concrete, that is, in the individual (both the one who died and the one who sees it - “and We"). We can trace this movement in the poem itself: from the “universal homeland” and the picture of the post-war, European world in the first stanza, to the inner life of the chaotic students of Leontyev and Tyutchev - hope (third stanza), which sees the “blessed country” - i.e. Russian Greece - new Russia (fourth stanza) - to the individual (Leonidas at Thermopylae) and the affirmation of the non-merger and inseparability of history itself - personal and universal - “of course, he died for them too.”
The hopeless struggle at Thermopylae ends in the defeat and death of the Spartans. The Greco-Persian war itself will end several decades later with the signing of a peace treaty, quite favorable for Hellas, but the days of Hellas are numbered - in modern Greece only ruins remind of the “golden age”.
Georgy Ivanov’s poem is, in essence, an unambiguous and uncompromising answer to the question asked by Konstantin Leontyev’s “not chaotic” students: “I really don’t like today’s Russia. I don’t know if it’s worth dying for her or in her service?” There is no doubt that Georgiy Ivanov does not particularly like “today’s Russia” – the snow prison. The stronger the statement “of course, he died for them.”