Владимир Набоков: Поиск по текстам произведений автора и критике. Cлово "FILL". Классическая русская литература.

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Часть текста: friend, not a glamour man, not a pal, not even a person at all, but just two eyes and a foot of engorged brawnto mention only mentionable matters. There was the day when having withdrawn the functional promise I had made her on the eve (whatever she had set her funny little heart ona roller rink with some special plastic floor or a movie matinee to which she wanted to go alone), I happened to glimpse from the bathroom, through a chance combination of mirror aslant and door ajar, a look on her face… that look I cannot exactly describe… an expression of helplessness so perfect that it seemed to grade into one of rather comfortable inanity just because this was the very limit of injustice and frustrationand every limit presupposes something beyond ithence the neutral illumination. And when you bear in mind that these were the raised eyebrows and parted lips of a child, you may better appreciate what depths of calculated carnality, what reflected despair, restrained me from falling at her dear feet and dissolving in human tears, and sacrificing my jealousy to whatever pleasure Lolita might hope to derive from mixing with dirty and dangerous children in an outside world that was real to her. And I have still other smothered memories, now unfolding themselves into limbless monsters of pain. Once, in a sunset-ending street of Beardsley, she turned to little Eva Rosen (I was taking both nymphets to a concert and walking behind them so close as almost to touch them with my person), she turned to Eva,...

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Часть текста: и молчит! Ничто ее не занимает, 4 Ее души не шевелит. Качая важно головою, Соседи шепчут меж собою: Пора, пора бы замуж ей!.. 8 Но полно. Надо мне скорей Развеселить воображенье Картиной счастливой любви. Невольно, милые мои, 12 Меня стесняет сожаленье; Простите мне: я так люблю Татьяну милую мою! 2 …гаснет. .. — Галлицизм, se consume. 11 …милые мои… — Поэт обращается к своим друзьям и читателям. 14 Татьяну милую мою! — Создатель Татьяны теперь забудет о ней на двадцать восемь строф (исключая упоминание о грядущих именинах в гл. 4, XLIX), то есть до гл. 5, IV, где начинается тема гадания — сна — именин, заканчивающаяся в гл. 6, III. С точки зрения художественного бремени это значит, что Татьяна страдает и вянет по крайней мере полгода — длится агония, прерываемая посещением пустынного замка Онегина в седьмой главе, после чего мы вместе с Татьяной отправляемся в Москву. Варианты Пушкин набросал несколько версий строфы XXIV. XXIVa В тетради 2370, л. 52 об. есть отвергнутый ...

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Часть текста: or early twenties have no bearing on Lolita whatever. Humbert was fond of "little girls"-- not simply "young girls." Nymphets are girl-children, not starlets and "sex kittens." Lolita was twelve, not eighteen, when Humbert met her. You may remember that by the time she is fourteen, he refers to her as his "aging mistress." One critic has said about you that "his feelings are like no one else's. " Does this make sense to you? Or does it mean that you know your feelings better than others know theirs? Or that you have discovered yourself at other levels? Or simply that your history is unique? I do not recall that article; but if a critic makes such a statement, it must surely mean that he has explored the feelings of literally millions of people, in at least three countries, before reaching his conclusion. If so, lama rare fowl indeed. If, on the other hand, he has merely limited himself to quizzing members of his family or club, his statement cannot be discussed seriously. Another critic has written that your "worlds are static. They may become tense with obsession, but they do not break apart like the worlds of everyday reality. " Do you agree? Is there a static quality in your view of things? Whose "reality"? "Everyday" where? Let me suggest that the very term "everyday reality" ...

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Часть текста: mania, recurrent images based on coincidence and chance resemblance. Soyons logiques , crowed the cocky Gallic part of my brainand proceeded to rout the notion of a Lolita-maddened salesman or comedy gangster, with stooges, persecuting me, and hoaxing me, and otherwise taking riotous advantage of my strange relations with the law. I remember humming my panic away. I remember evolving even an explanation of the “Birdsley” telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop being a nymphet, stop torturing me. An additional, abominable, and perfectly gratuitous worry was lovingly prepared for me in Elphinstone. Lo had been dull and silent during the last laptwo hundred mountainous miles uncontaminated by smoke-gray sleuths or zigzagging zanies. She hardly glanced at the famous, oddly shaped, splendidly flushed rock which jutted above the mountains and had been the take-off for nirvana on the part of a temperamental show girl. The town was newly built, or rebuilt, on the flat floor of a seven-thousand-foot-high valley; it would soon bore Lo, I hoped, and we would spin on to California, to the Mexican border, to mythical bays, saguaro desserts, fatamorganas. Jos Lizzarrabengoa, as you remember, planned to take his Carmen to the Etats Unis. I conjured up a Central American tennis competition in which Dolores Haze and various Californian schoolgirl champions would dazzlingly participate. Good-will tours on that smiling level eliminate the distinction between passport and sport. Why did I hope we would be happy abroad? A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs,...

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Часть текста: птица” – модном и в Люте, и в Лосе. Смешанные метафоры и двусмысленные речи всегда возбуждали Винов, истых детей Венеры. Уха, шашлык и “Аи” имели успех поверхностный и привычный; зато в старинных напевах таилось нечто тоскливо томительное, быть может, благодаря участию в вечере контральто из Ляски и баса, которого все называли Банфом, прославленных исполнителей английских версий русских “романсов”, разымчивая “цыганщина” которых пронизывает Григорьева и Глинку. Была там и Флора – тоненькая, едва оформившаяся, полуобнаженная кафешантанная танцовщица неясного происхождения (румынка? романка? рамсийка?), к чьим упоительным услугам Ван этой осенью несколько раз прибегал. Как человек, “знающий свет”, он с холодным (быть может, чрезмерно холодным) безучастием взирал на ее даровитые прелести, впрочем, последние несомненно приправляли тайным очарованием эротическое возбуждение, зуд которого не покидал Вана с той самой минуты, как обе его красавицы избавились от мехов и уселись чуть впереди него в подцвеченном праздничном мареве; дрожь этого возбуждения отчасти усугублялась сознанием (прозрачно прикрытым нарочитой неподвижностью профильной позы) украдчивой, ревнивой, интуитивной подозрительности, с которой Ада и Люсетта неулыбчиво всматривались в его лицо, пытаясь подметить в нем отклик на деланно-скромное выражение профессионального узнавания, с которым сновала ...

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Часть текста: are by Brian Boyd unless otherwise noted." (A number are noted as being by Nabokov fils, but certainly not all.) From the Reviews: "Some selectivity could have made for a more accessible volume, though the care with which it has been assembled is an impressive testament to the deep devotion that Nabokov continues to inspire almost 25 years after his death. Apart from entomologists and Nabokov fans, it is difficult to imagine that many readers will last the enormous distance." - Simon Caterson, The Age "While few readers will want to study the scientific articles reprinted here, their presence in this striking miscellany operates in subtle ways to remind us that Nabokov (who referred to himself as VN), was also a student "of that other VN, Visible Nature"." - Jay Parini, The Guardian "Nabokovian humour shines through these writings, illustrated by a note he penned to Hugh Hefner pointing out how the carefully positioned wings and eyespot of a butterfly can be made to look like the Playboy bunny motif." - Steve Connor, The Independent "This book...

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Часть текста: phrase. Another thing that might have been of some help is the fact that I am subject to the embarrassing qualms of superstition: a number, a dream, a coincidence can affect roe obsessively-- though not in the sense of absurd fears but as fabulous (and on the whole rather bracing) scientific enigmas incapable of being stated, let alone solved. Has your life thus far come up to expectations you bad for yourself as a young man? My life thus far has surpassed splendidly the ambitions of boyhood and youth. In the first decade of our dwindling century, during trips with my family to Western Europe, I imagined, in bedtime reveries, what it would be like to become an exile who longed for a remote, sad, and (right epithet coming) unquenchable Russia, under the eucalipti of exotic resorts. Lenin and his police nicely arranged the realization of that fantasy. At the age of twelve my fondest dream was a visit to the Karakorum range in search of butterflies. Twenty-five years later I successfully sent myself, in the part of my hero's father (see my novel The Gift) to explore, net in hand, the mountains of Central Asia. At fifteen I visualized myself as a world-famous author of seventy with a mane of wavy white hair. Today I am practically bald. If birthday wishes were horses, what would yours be for yourself? Pegasus, only Pegasus. You are, I am told, at work on a new novel. Do you have a working title? And could you give me a precis of what it is all about?...

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Часть текста: in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin Chapter three CHAPTER THREE Elle était fille; elle était amoureuse. Malfilâtre I “Whither? Ah me, those poets!” “Good-by, Onegin. Time for me to leave.” “I do not hold you, but where do 4 you spend your evenings?” “At the Larins'.” “Now, that's a fine thing. Mercy, man — and you don't find it difficult thus every evening to kill time?” 8 “Not in the least.” “I cannot understand. From here I see what it is like: first — listen, am I right? — a simple Russian family, 12 a great solicitude for guests, jam, never-ending talk of rain, of flax, of cattle yard.” II “So far I do not see what's bad about it.” “Ah, but the boredom — that is bad, my friend.” “Your fashionable world I hate; 4 dearer to me is the domestic circle in which I can…” “Again an eclogue! Ah, that will do, old boy, for goodness' sake. Well, so you're off; I'm very...

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Часть текста: were taken of the swarms that arose at my passage, and other hours of the day were devoted to the reproduction of the interview proper. It eventually appeared on the Bookstand program and was published in The Listener (November 22, 1962). I have mislaid the cards on which I had written my answers. I suspect that the published text was taken straight from the tape for it teems with inaccuracies. These I have tried to weed out ten years later but was forced to strike out a few sentences here and there when memory refused to restore the sense flawed by defective or improperly mended speech. The poem I quote (with metrical accents added) will be found translated into English in Chapter Two of The Gift, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1963. Would you ever go back to Russia? I will never go back, for the simple reason that all the Russia I need is always with me: literature, language, and my own Russian childhood. I will never return. I will never surrender. And anyway, the grotesque shadow of a police state will not be dispelled in my lifetime. I don't think they know my works there-- oh, perhaps a number of readers exist there in my special secret service, but let us not forget that Russia has grown tremendously provincial during these forty years, apart from the fact that people there are told what to read, what to think. In America I'm happier than in any other country. It is in America that I found my best readers, minds that are closest to mine. I feel intellectually at home in America. It is a second home in the...

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Часть текста: ресторан Большого Манхэттена. Обе юные дамы были в весьма коротких и откровенных вечерних туалетах, «размиражированных» в этом сезоне, по модному в том же сезоне выражению, Вассом: Ада в черном, прозрачном, Люсетт в атласном, золотисто-зеленом, цвета шпанской мушки. Губы сестер «перекликались» тоном (не интенсивностью) помады; глаза подведены в стиле «изумленной райской птички», что считалось модным в Лосе и в Люте. Месиво метафор и пустословие были к лицу всем троим Винам, баловням Венеры. И уха, и шашлык, и аи возымели эффект легкий и привычный; в то время как песни прежних лет, исполняемые известными мастерами русского «романса» — ласканкой-контральто и банфширским басом — с отзвуком пронзительной цыганщины, клокочущей в словах Григорьева и музыке Глинки, странным образом разбередили душу. Была там и Флора, хрупкая, едва ли достигшая брачного возраста, полуодетая мюзикхольная девочка неясного происхождения (румынка? римлянка? рамзейка?), чьими восхитительными услугами Ван позволял себе воспользоваться неоднократно за последнюю осень. Как «светский человек» Ван взирал с вежливым (быть может, даже чересчур) безразличием на ее чарующие прелести, хотя втайне они, несомненно, внесли свою яркую лепту во всколыхнувшееся в нем эротическое возбуждение, когда обе его красавицы, сбросив свои меха, явились пред ним в многоцветье праздничного великолепия; и Ванов трепет даже несколько обострялся осознанием тайной (ощутимой в полуоборота, краешком глаза), ревнивой, интуитивной подозрительности, с какой Ада и Люсетт без улыбки следили, как воспримет он внешне безобидный взгляд, таивший узнавание клиента и роняемый не раз скользившей мимо блядушкой (cute whorelet), как наши юные дамы с притворным безразличием прозвали меж собой Флору ( весьма дорогую и совершенно бесподобную). Но...

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Cлово "FILL"