You swore to the grave...
Poems by Nikolai Zabolotsky
You swore to the grave
To be my sweetheart.
Having come to their senses, both
We have become smarter.
Having come to their senses, both
We suddenly realized
What happiness to the grave
It won't, my friend.
The swan hesitates
On the flame of water.
However, to the ground
And he will float away.
And lonely again
The water will glisten
And looks into her eye
Night star.
Read by V. Maratov
Nikolai Alekseevich Zabolotsky was born (April 24) May 7, 1903 in Kazan into the family of an agronomist. Nikolai's childhood years were spent in the village of Sernur, Vyatka province, not far from the city of Urzhum. After graduating from a real school in Urzhum in 1920, Zabolotsky entered Moscow University to study two faculties at once - philological and medical. The literary life of Moscow captivates the poet. He is keen on imitating either Blok or Yesenin. From 1921 to 1925, Zabolotsky studied at the Pedagogical Institute. Herzen in Leningrad. Over the years of study, he became close to a group of young authors, the “Oberiuts” (“Union of Real Art”). All members of this association were characterized by elements of illogicality, absurdity, and grotesqueness; these moments were not purely formal devices, but expressed, in a unique way, the conflicting nature of the world order. Participation in this group helps the poet find his path. His first book of poems, Columns, was published in 1926. This book was a resounding and even scandalous success. Readers were literally stunned by the poetics of the grotesque and tongue-tiedness, violations of rhythm and meter, shocking prosaism, and outright non-literary stylistics. In 1938, he was repressed on false charges and sent to work as a builder on Far East, V Altai region, Karaganda. In the 1930-1940s, Zabolotsky wrote “Metamorphoses,” “Forest Lake,” “Morning,” etc. In 1946, Zabolotsky returned to Moscow. Works on translations of Georgian poets, visits Georgia. In the 1950s, the poems “Ugly Girl”, “Old Actress”, etc. were published, which made his name widely known. In 1957 he visited Italy. Zabolotsky was fond of painting by Filonov, Chagall, Bruegel. The ability to see the world through the eyes of an artist remained with the poet throughout his life. In 1955, Zabolotsky had his first heart attack, and on October 14, 1958, his diseased heart stopped forever.
You swore to the grave...
Poems by Nikolai Zabolotsky
You swore to the grave
To be my sweetheart.
Having come to their senses, both
We have become smarter.
Having come to their senses, both
We suddenly realized
What happiness to the grave
It won't, my friend.
The swan hesitates
On the flame of water.
However, to the ground
And he will float away.
And lonely again
The water will glisten
And looks into her eye
Night star.
Read by V. Maratov
Nikolai Alekseevich Zabolotsky was born (April 24) May 7, 1903 in Kazan into the family of an agronomist. Nikolai's childhood years were spent in the village of Sernur, Vyatka province, not far from the city of Urzhum. After graduating from a real school in Urzhum in 1920, Zabolotsky entered Moscow University to study two faculties at once - philological and medical. The literary life of Moscow captivates the poet. He is keen on imitating either Blok or Yesenin. From 1921 to 1925, Zabolotsky studied at the Pedagogical Institute. Herzen in Leningrad. Over the years of study, he became close to a group of young authors, the “Oberiuts” (“Union of Real Art”). All members of this association were characterized by elements of illogicality, absurdity, and grotesqueness; these moments were not purely formal devices, but expressed, in a unique way, the conflicting nature of the world order. Participation in this group helps the poet find his path. His first book of poems, Columns, was published in 1926. This book was a resounding and even scandalous success. Readers were literally stunned by the poetics of the grotesque and tongue-tiedness, violations of rhythm and meter, shocking prosaism, and outright non-literary stylistics. In 1938, he was repressed on false charges and sent to work as a builder in the Far East, in the Altai Territory, Karaganda. In the 1930-1940s, Zabolotsky wrote “Metamorphoses,” “Forest Lake,” “Morning,” etc. In 1946, Zabolotsky returned to Moscow. Works on translations of Georgian poets, visits Georgia. In the 1950s, the poems “Ugly Girl”, “Old Actress”, etc. were published, which made his name widely known. In 1957 he visited Italy. Zabolotsky was fond of painting by Filonov, Chagall, Bruegel. The ability to see the world through the eyes of an artist remained with the poet throughout his life. In 1955, Zabolotsky had his first heart attack, and on October 14, 1958, his diseased heart stopped forever.
http://audio.tv-on-line.eu/spisok-rasskazi/1273-zabolockii.html
“You swore to the grave...” Nikolai Zabolotsky
You swore to the grave
To be my sweetheart.
Having come to their senses, both
We have become smarter.Having come to their senses, both
We suddenly realized
What happiness to the grave
It won't, my friend.The swan hesitates
On the flame of water.
However, to the ground
And he will float away.And lonely again
The water will glisten
And looks into her eye
Night star.
Analysis of Zabolotsky’s poem “You swore to the grave...”
The autumn of 1956 was a tragic time for Zabolotsky. His beloved wife Ekaterina Klykova left the poet. Moreover, she chose Vasily Grossman, a famous Russian writer, author of the novel “Life and Fate,” as her new husband. Nikolai Alexandrovich took the collapse extremely hard family relations. However, the official divorce had not yet been formalized, and Zabolotsky had already begun dating 28-year-old Natalia Roskina, who worked in the editorial office of the non-periodical scientific publication Literary Heritage and was his longtime fan. He even managed to marry her, although the marriage did not last long. The short-term romance with Roskina was partly inspired by the cycle “Last Love”, which included ten poems. One of them is “You swore to the grave...”.
For the first time in this series, Zabolotsky wrote not about love as such, not about some abstract feeling, but about what he had to endure, to let through himself. The works in the cycle are placed by the author without relying on the chronology of actual events. In all poems, the love drama is revealed through landscapes. The poet projects deeply personal emotions, memories, and impressions onto the life of nature. In “You swore to the grave...” the last two stanzas are devoted precisely to the depiction of the landscape. Zabolotsky introduces the figure of a swan swaying on the flames of the waters. Sooner or later the bird is destined to swim to the ground. Then “the water will sparkle lonely, and a night star will look into its window.” Naturally, this natural sketch intersects with the main motive of the poem - there is no happiness until the grave. All in human life Even love passes.
The work “You swore to the grave...” is mentioned in the memoirs written by Natalia Roskina and relating to her short-lived romance with Zabolotsky. In her memoirs, she said that Nikolai Alexandrovich often demanded various oaths from her. You couldn't just promise anything. Under any circumstances, the poet asked his beloved to swear.
The cycle “Last Love” is a masterpiece of Soviet lyric poetry, which is still not fully appreciated by a wide range of readers. Often people are only familiar with the poem ““, and even then thanks to the famous song “Enchanted, Bewitched.” Of course, Zabolotsky’s intimate lyrics deserve much more attention, because in “ Last love” tells with amazing depth the dramatic story of a relationship that brought enormous emotional pain.
You swore to the grave
To be my sweetheart.
Having come to their senses, both
We have become smarter.
Having come to their senses, both
We suddenly realized
What happiness to the grave
It won't, my friend.
The swan hesitates
On the flame of water.
However, to the ground
And he will float away.
And lonely again
The water will glisten
And looks into her eye
Night star.
More poems:
- The Sphinx, unsolved to the grave, is still being debated about again; In his love, anger grumbled, And in his anger, love glowed. Child of the eighteenth century, He was a victim of His passions: And...
- There was everything. The most absurd thing was to implore her: be afraid! Swear on white bread, Swear on white snow, Swear on the blue sky! There was everything. Her passion sounded more absurd than her vows. And she swore on white...
- Look: by the pond, where the heat flows into the cool shade through the trembling willow branches, midges fly; the sparkling day gave birth to them, And they will die by night, having lived a moment. And others will be born in...
- At your grave, longing, Alone in the silence of midnight, I stand and cry, and I want to believe in immortality of the soul. Sorry! I convey the last kisses to your lips; Tell me: should we wait for a date? Let's connect...
- I will not end my passion until the grave. I will not go to foreign lands. I have never been and never will be what a poet should be. Not in literary games, not at feasts, not in...
- In the depravity of the word, the obdurate, soulless hypocrite threw poisoned arrows from around the corner of furious mockery into the holes of the wounds of the ailing brow, - But I dreamed that the echo of His unbridled laughter would not rush into...
- Young Roger takes his sharp sword: Fight for faith, honor and homeland! He is ready for battle... but he goes to his sweetheart: B last time say goodbye to the beautiful. "Don't cry: over...
- The organ thunder of a civil funeral service thunders under the vault, melts into the tiles, and drowns out the envy and resentment that have not yet been silenced in some hearts. You're dead, artist. And forever wrong All tongues that sarcastically...
- The strong leaves fell off during the night, and the rain knocked them off the trembling branches. The frost will strike, and snowstorms will sweep the grove and the cemetery of wet graves. Autumn of the earth, I love you in transitions, colors, sometimes brown...
- In the spring, in the glow of rainbow dreams, Life seemed like an ideal dream. Perhaps it was love in the spring that was to blame! Now, under the sky shrouded in darkness, The winds are still crying between the bare trees, And the heart...
- My day is melodiously serene, My hour floats by like a cloud And the fact that evening is inevitable Does not call me to despondency... Is a whirlwind playing with leaves in the forest, Or is a stream rushing its wave, - That's it...
- In the dark flame of the candle Buried as if alive, The fire splashes instantly perish in the tremulous night, But with a prayer the blue rays glimmer for a long time In the dark flame of the candle. Eh, I wish I could fall asleep early, Yes...