Writing
In the poem “Windows to the Courtyard”, yellow is consonant with feelings of longing, the futility of being; this is the color of candles forgotten by someone, unnecessary already in the morning:
From this starting point - the mood of sadness, melancholy - a wide range of feelings arise: both in the direction of forcing despondency up to despair, hopelessness and the inevitability of a tragic end, and in the opposite direction - to a feeling of the riot of life in all its manifestations, most often in love and passion . Entering a three-part synonymous construction that creates one holistic concept, the yellow color is associated with a tragic solution to the theme of youth close to Blok:
Memories are majestic
Like clouds hugging the sunset
Heaped up a pile of towers
They erected walls, cities,
Where the sky was yellow and scary,
And formidable in his youth.
In the poetic trilogy of A. Blok, the yellow color is first encountered in one of the most penetratingly sad youthful poems “An autumn day descends in a slow succession ...”. The yellow color, participating in the creation of a figure of psychological parallelism, goes through several stages of poetic transformation: an epithet-metaphor (A. Veselovsky's term), a symbol (aging, fading, loneliness), comparison. Yellow in this poem is a key image that creates a certain mood associated with the theme of autumn as fading:
An autumn day descends in a slow succession,
Slowly spinning yellow leaf
And the day is transparently fresh, and the air is wonderfully clean -
The soul will not escape invisible decay.
So every day she gets older
And every year, like a yellow leaf spinning,
Everything seems, and I remember, and imagine,
That the autumn of past years was not so sad.
The same is true in such poems as "It is clear that the golden days have come...", "Past days with unfading radiance...". Autumn in these works is psychologically felt as such a time of the year when a person is seized by a complex feeling of freedom, looseness and emptiness. The yellow color is especially sharp in such paintings, combined with blue and red:
Freedom looks into the blue.
The window is open. The air is harsh.
For yellow-red foliage
The month is running out.
In creating a poetic image big role plays and the sound side of the word yellow. Yellow sounds sharper than, for example, red. This quality is further exacerbated by high vocalism, especially in the rhyme of zholta - bolts, which first appears in the poem "There - in the street there was some kind of house ..."
In this and other poems, the sharpness of yellow is emphasized by black or a dark background:
Flashing yellow lights
And electric candles.
And he met her in the shadows
And I watched and sang their meetings.
In juxtaposition of yellow and black (dark), yellow breaks the usual, calm atmosphere, for example, the charm of soft evening tones:
Where there were quiet, soft shadows -
Yellow stripes of evening lamps... I, 278
But color contrast using yellow can also be created by opposing yellow to another, brighter color, then yellow becomes the background:
The monk walked and carried holy signs.
On the way, in the yellowing fields,
Fire poppies flared up
Reflected in cloudy eyes.
The combination of yellow and black can convey a sense of tragedy, fatality of what is happening:
Having fun in the yellow light
All night the circle was shrinking against the walls,
The ranks of the dancers doubled,
And a relentless friend appeared.
In an allegorical painting, the combination of yellow and black conveys the death of the day and the birth of the night:
Here on the yellowed clouds
Reflection of a frosted candle.
Ran in white cosmos
Black night trumpeters. II, 60
We also meet yellow in a harmonious combination with other colors: “Green, yellow, blue, red - the whole night is in the rays ...” III, 287; "The glow is white, yellow, red..." I, 136.
As the basis of a metaphor, yellow is most often tragic, accompanies death, mental suffering of the hero:
In the blue frosty vault
So the sick disk will be flattened,
Spitting everything in nature
Intolerable yellowness. III, 48
Yellow as a symbol of death, decay becomes the basis of the poem "Do not despise, for God's sake ..." and determines its compositional completeness:
Someday my descendants
Planting spring flowers
Found fragments in the land of bones
And yellow sheets of songs. I, 399
In the poem “On Death” (the cycle “Free Thoughts”), yellow is both a companion and a messenger of death, in the face of which a person is defenseless and pitiful: “helpless yellow leg”, “chicken yellowness of a jockey”,
So close to me - lay the jockey,
All in yellow, in the greens of spring cereals,
Fallen back with his face turned
Into the deep caressing sky. II, 296
The reader manages to get used to the yellow color as an invariable attribute of death, and when this color appears again in a poem in such a seemingly neutral context as “piles of yellow sand”, you no longer believe in this seeming neutrality and expect trouble. And she breaks in with a cry - “Fell! Fell!".
Alliterated j, z, having the source of the sound complex "yellow-yellowness" and related to it, contribute to the transfer of the tragedy or drama of the situation:
In the black branches of naked trees
Yellow winter sunset outside the window.
(To the scaffold for the execution of the condemned
They will lead you at such a sunset.) III, 31
In the poem "Humiliation" yellow sounds in the same tragic tone in compositional and thematic repetition; piercing j, z are complemented by whistling and hissing:
In the yellow, huge winter sunset
Drowned (so magnificently!) bed ...
It's still tight to breathe from the hugs,
But you whistle again and again... III
The ghostly yellow color in the poem “I was seized by fright, drawn ...” implies the fatality of passions, the terrible abyss that opens up to those who have joined the black blood, the horror of the fall:
... And in the morning the first beam is ringing
Through the yellow curtains...
An autumn day descends in a slow succession,
Slowly spinning yellow leaf
And the day is transparently fresh, and the air is wonderfully clean -
The soul will not escape invisible decay.
So, every day she tries,
And every year, like a yellow leaf spinning,
Everything seems and remembers and imagines
That the autumn of past years was not so sad.
How fleeting is the shadow of early autumn days,
How do you want to contain their early alarm
And this yellow leaf that fell on the road
And this pure day, full of shadows,
Then, that the shadows of the day are excesses of beauty,
Then what are these days of calm excitement
Carry, give the last inspiration
An excess of flying dreams.
More poems:
- In the yellow twilight, in the rustling alleys Leaves turn yellow, turn white, redden ... Foxes, like a motley discord - Each one asks for a unique one. And touching the non-flying leaves, Yellow slips away into the yellow mist. Lemon leaves...
- Yellow leaf, autumn path in an expensive land ... - Tell me something ... - I love you. The moon is shining above, looking into my life... - What do you know about me? –...
- A five-fingered leaf, very soon, like a strange dance of Petipa, a maple leaf will rush into the city, a five-fingered leaf ... And the cries of seagulls on a cruel day, where the leaf is purple red, will be remembered as Pyotr Tchaikovsky, like ...
- Written with L. Kozlova All day today snowing. He falls, twirling silently. Do you remember? Then, too, everything was covered with snow - it was the snow of our meetings. He lay before...
- Orange, and yellow, and crimson - Oh, how the forest has dressed up today! But some strange echo is heard And a strange reflection is seen all around. Look: as soon as a warm leaf sways - And now ...
- To the poet of joy and drunkenness, And the mighty fate of Moral Lelia judged me, Useful to reiterate the lesson: I experienced desire for love, I sang it, I waited for it; The expectation was insane, my soulless was ...
- And the sunset in the raspberry forest, Burning out, enticing into the past, You have a name day today, Well, what do I have today? I have a sad concern, How to save from blizzards and from rains ...
- Shiny panel. Chilly winds walk through the bright puddles, It's not yet time for the cold of winter, It's time for bad weather. Around the lanterns from the darkness of rain Veils of yellow cobwebs. And the rain tending to the loam, Asphalt...
- The time for autumn fishing has begun, Resinous smoke hung over the cauldrons, And the nets hung on piles Sway from the sound of hammers. And we follow the morning fishing, We see how they go to sea ...
- There are terrible dreams: with some kind of obsession, All that we are guilty of before ourselves, What in reality torments us with regret, Surrounds the bed in darkness - with reproach and a thunderstorm. Some monster faces...
- I don't know if the spruce can grow - It's painfully old, I guess she wants to mourn On autumn evenings. She stands on a gray rock And always looks to where they come from ...
- Victory Day, how far it was from us, As an ember melted in an extinct fire ... There were miles, charred in dust, - We brought this day closer as best we could. This Victory Day is...
ELEGY(Greek ἐλεγεία) is a lyrical genre of ancient poetry, a poem imbued with a mixed feeling of joy and sadness, or only sadness, reflection, reflection, with a touch of poetic intimacy. In ancient Greece, E. wrote Archilochus, Callimachus, from the Latin poets - Ovid, Catullus. The form of ancient E. - a number elegiac distichs. In Russian poetry, the first E. was written by V. Trediakovsky; E. as a genre developed in the late 18th and especially early 19th centuries. E. wrote K. Batyushkov, V. Zhukovsky, A. Pushkin, M. Lermontov, N. Yazykov, N. Nekrasov, A. Fet, and in the 20th century. — V. Bryusov, K. Fofanov, I. Annensky, A. Blok and others. Poetic size Russian E. predominantly iambic.
Here is the "Autumn Elegy" of the young A. Blok:
I
An autumn day descends in a slow succession,
Slowly spinning yellow leaf
And the day is transparently fresh, and the air is wonderfully clean -
The soul will not escape invisible decay.
So every day she grows old,
And every year, like a yellow leaf, spinning,
Everything seems, and I remember, and imagine,
That the autumn of past years was not so sad.
II
How fleeting is the shadow of early autumn days,
How I want to contain their early anxiety,
And this dark leaf that fell on the road
And this pure day, full of shadows,
Then, that the shadows of the day are excesses of beauty,
Then what are these days of calm excitement
Carry, give the last inspiration
An excess of flying dreams.
G. Sannikov wrote an interesting "Elegy" in terms of laconicism and lyrical restraint:
I dreamed:
You live on the moon
On a distant moon
Unavailable to me.
It's you, it's you
At night from above
And sad and mute
You drive me crazy
full moon
The nakedness of passions.
I am alone on earth
Like a spark in the ashes
I comprehend, shining
Bidirectional communication.
But we can't cross our arms
I'm doomed to be sad
Like you about me
On a distant moon
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