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

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Часть текста: работа переводчика, стали для Набокова способом взаимодействия с другими писателями. Воспринимая жизненный опыт одних, он соотносил его изложение с тем, что читал у других. Темы, образность, стилистические обороты, которые он встречал у писателя, он вновь использовал в собственных ранних стихах и привносил в работу над переводом других поэтов. Учитывая, что впоследствии Набоков любил подчеркивать свою независимость и что современная критика пытается поместить его на пересечении модернизма и постмодернизма, заслуживает внимания тот факт, что первыми, кого он почтил, были романтики и неоромантики, то есть художники, чьи чувства часто оказывались на виду у всех и чьи необычные судьбы выбивались из ряда других, наравне с их творчеством. Таким писателем был Мюссе. Он был первой «маской», которой воспользовался Набоков, чтобы рассказать о своих самых глубоких чувствах и опыте, так и оставшихся главным источником для его творчества: о воспоминаниях первой любви, о смерти отца, об утрате России. Остается только добавить сюда невозможность пользоваться родным языком — и список утрат, которыми в дальнейшем питалось творчество Набокова, будет полным. «La Nuit de décembre» было не единственным стихотворением Мюссе, которым он увлекся на первых порах. В качестве эпиграфа к первому сборнику...

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Часть текста: Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin Chapter seven CHAPTER SEVEN Moscow! Russia's favorite daughter! Where is your equal to be found? Dmitriev How not to love one's native Moscow? Baratïnski “Reviling Moscow! This is what comes from seeing the world! Where is it better, then?” “Where we are not.” Griboedov I Chased by the vernal beams, down the surrounding hills the snows already have run in turbid streams 4 onto the inundated fields. With a serene smile, nature greets through her sleep the morning of the year. Bluing, the heavens shine. 8 The yet transparent woods as if with down are greening. The bee flies from her waxen cell after the tribute of the field. 12 The dales grow dry and varicolored. The herds are noisy, and the nightingale has sung already in the hush of nights. II How sad your apparition is to me, spring, spring, season of love! What a dark stir there is 4 in my soul, in my blood! With what oppressive tenderness I revel in the whiff of spring fanning my face 8 in the lap of the rural stillness! Or is enjoyment strange to me, and all that gladdens, animates, all that exults and gleams, 12 casts spleen and languishment upon a soul long dead and all looks dark to it? III Or gladdened not by the return of leaves that perished in the autumn, a bitter loss we recollect, 4 harking to the new murmur of the woods; or with reanimated nature we compare in troubled thought the withering of our years, 8 for which...

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Часть текста: his heavy better half. 4 Gvozdin, Buyanov, Petushkov, and Flyanov (who is not quite well) have bedded in the dining room on chairs, with, on the floor, Monsieur Triquet 8 in underwaistcoat and old nightcap. All the young ladies, in Tatiana's and Olga's rooms, are wrapped in sleep. Alone, sadly by Dian's beam 12 illumined at the window, poor Tatiana is not asleep and gazes out on the dark field. III With his unlooked-for apparition, the momentary softness of his eyes, and odd conduct with Olga, 4 to the depth of her soul she's penetrated. She is quite unable to understand him. Jealous anguish perturbs her, 8 as if a cold hand pressed her heart; as if beneath her an abyss yawned black and dinned.... “I shall perish,” says Tanya, 12 “but perishing from him is sweet. I murmur not: why murmur? He cannot give me happiness.” IV Forward, forward, my story! A new persona claims us. Five versts from Krasnogórie, 4 Lenski's estate, there lives and thrives up ...

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Часть текста: Aleksandr Pushkin Fragments of Onegin's journey FRAGMENTS OF ONEGIN'S JOURNEY The last [Eighth] Chapter of Eugene Onegin was published [1832] separately with the following foreword: “The dropped stanzas gave rise more than once to reprehension and gibes (no doubt most just and witty). The author candidly confesses that he omitted from his novel a whole chapter in which Onegin's journey across Russia was described. It depended upon him to designate this omitted chapter by means of dots or a numeral; but to avoid ambiguity he decided it would be better to mark as number eight, instead of nine, the last chapter of Eugene Onegin, and to sacrifice one of its closing stanzas [Eight: XLVIIIa]: 'Tis time: the pen for peace is asking nine cantos I have written; my boat upon the joyful shore 4 by the ninth billow is brought out. Praise be to you, O nine Camenae, etc. “P[avel] A[leksandrovich] Katenin (whom a fine poetic talent does not prevent from being also a subtle critic) observed to us that this exclusion, though perhaps advantageous to readers, is, however, detrimental to the plan of the entire work since, through this, the transition from Tatiana the provincial miss to Tatiana the grande dame becomes too unexpected and unexplained: an observation revealing the experienced artist. The author himself felt the justice of this but decided to leave out the chapter for reasons important to him but not to the public. Some fragments [XVI–XIX, l–10] have been published [Jan. 1, 1830, Lit. Gaz. ] ; we insert them here, subjoining to them several other stanzas.” E. [sic] Onegin drives from Moscow to Nizhni Novgorod: [IX] . ....

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Часть текста: only a year older than my aging mistress, had obviously long ceased to be a nymphet, if she ever had been one. Eva Rosen, a displaced little person from France, was on the other hand a good example of a not strikingly beautiful child revealing to the perspicacious amateur some of the basic elements of nymphet charm, such as a perfect pubescent figure and lingering eyes and high cheekbones. Her glossy copper hair had Lolita’s silkiness, and the features of her delicate milky-white face with pink lips and silverfish eyelashes were less foxy than those of her likesthe great clan of intra-racial redheads; nor did she sport their green uniform but wore, as I remember her, a lot of black or cherry darka very smart black pullover, for instance, and high-heeled black shoes, and garnet-red fingernail polish. I spoke French to her (much to Lo’s disgust). The child’s tonalities were still admirably pure, but for school words and play words she resorted to current American and then a slight Brooklyn accent would crop up in her speech,...

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Часть текста: 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...

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Часть текста: Winter! The peasant, celebrating, in a flat sledge inaugurates the track; his naggy, having sensed the snow, 4 shambles at something like a trot. Plowing up fluffy furrows, a bold kibitka flies: the driver sits upon his box 8 in sheepskin coat, red-sashed. Here runs about a household lad, upon a hand sled having seated “blackie,” having transformed himself into the steed; 12 the scamp already has frozen a finger. He finds it both painful and funny — while his mother, from the window, threatens him... III But, maybe, pictures of this kind will not attract you; all this is lowly nature; 4 there is not much refinement here. Warmed by the god of inspiration, another poet in luxurious language for us has painted the first snow 8 and all the shades of winter's delectations. 27 He'll captivate you, I am sure of it, when he depicts in flaming verses secret promenades in sleigh; 12 but I have no intention of contending either with him at present or with you, singer of the young Finnish Maid! 28 IV ...

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Часть текста: was even intended for, since only a pharisaic parody of privacy could be attained by means of the incomplete partition dividing the cabin or room into two communicating love nests. By and by, the very possibilities that such honest promiscuity suggested (two young couples merrily swapping mates or a child shamming sleep to earwitness primal sonorities) made me bolder, and every now and then I would take a bed-and-cot or twin-bed cabin, a prison cell or paradise, with yellow window shades pulled down to create a morning illusion of Venice and sunshine when actually it was Pennsylvania and rain. We came to know nous connmes, to use a Flaubertian intonationthe stone cottages under enormous Chateaubriandesque trees, the brick unit, the adobe unit, the stucco court, on what the Tour Book of the Automobile Association describes as “shaded” or “spacious” or “landscaped” grounds. The log kind, finished in knotty pine, reminded Lo, by its golden-brown glaze, of friend-chicken bones. We held in contempt the plain whitewashed clapboard Kabins, with their faint sewerish smell...

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Часть текста: из-под одеяла. Сосульки дивно горели под низким солнцем , и я смотрела на капель – там, снаружи, за стеклом. Солнце ложилось россыпью драгоценных камений. Я подняла жалюзи, чтобы насладиться видом моря солнечной зелени , которым любовалась еще с конца прошлого лета. На небе виднелся светозарный бирюзовый просвет , который отступающий холод собрал в первые светлые завои весны. Мною овладело блаженное чувство легкости и покоя. Я сбежала по лестнице и вышла босая на леденящую, испятнанную солнцем тропинку сада. Я закрыла глаза, сознание на секунду покинуло меня, и на его место пришел ясный и чистый сон. Погрузившись в него, словно в воду, я почувствовала, как наверху алое солнце желания и решимости озаряет мир глазками живого света. Но когда я открыла глаза, то увидела, что все изменилось за время моего отсутствия. Соседние горы покрыла слепящая завеса , за домиком, припавшим к земле возле ворот сада, мерцал яблочно-зеленый свет , а из гаража исходил ослепительный пылающий луч. Небо вдруг стало стремительно темнеть, и на его фоне, среди тишины таинственной, томно-сумеречной, поплыли вдаль тополя. Черный дрозд выводил дрожащую трель, и опушенные котиком алые небеса грозили скрыть последние солнечные лучи. Осторожно, на цыпочках, я направилась к гаражу, завороженная манившей меня издали горстью баснословных огней. Не дойдя до цели, я сошла с тропинки и остановилась на лужайке под запорошенной звездами небесной твердью. И вдруг поняла, что уже настало лето. Сияла ночь, напитанная лунным светом , подобная переливчатому персидскому стихотворению. Вокруг надкрылечного фонаря, под которым, словно снежинки, вились мотыльки, образовалась теплая дымка. Личинка светлячка извивалась на камне, а взрослые светляки мерцали и исчезали, как золотистые...

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Часть текста: vision into a sequence of words; their physical accumulation in the page impairs the actual flash, the sharp unity of impression: Rug-heap, car, old man-doll, Miss O.’s nurse running with a rustle, a half-empty tumbler in her hand, back to the screened porchwhere the propped-up, imprisoned, decrepit lady herself may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to groupfrom a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the green bank where he laya banked banker so to speakwas not in a dead faint, but was comfortably and methodically recovering from a mild heart attack or its possibility; and, finally, that the laprobe on the sidewalk (where she had so often pointed out to me with disapproval the crooked green cracks) concealed the mangled remains of Charlotte Humbert who had been knocked down and dragged several feet by the Beale car as she was hurrying across the street to drop three letters in the mailbox, at the corner of...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "GLEAM"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "GLEAM"