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

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Часть текста: Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns. 2 I was born in 1910, in Paris. My father was a gentle, easy-going person, a salad of racial genes: a Swiss citizen, of mixed French and Austrian descent, with a dash of the Danube in his veins. I am going to pass around in a minute some lovely, glossy-blue picture-postcards. He owned a luxurious hotel on the Riviera. His father and two grandfathers had sold wine, jewels and silk, respectively. At thirty he married an English girl, daughter of Jerome Dunn, the alpinist, and granddaughter of two Dorset parsons, experts in obscure subjectspaleopedology and Aeolian harps, respectively. My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or...

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Часть текста: Владимира Набокова Chapter Four. Night Roams the Fields Chapter Four Night Roams the Fields I confess, I believe in ghosts. Whatever a person’s creed, wheresoever one places one’s faith, in river spirits, the Great Mother, a desert bush, crucified shepherds, or a bald and paunchy wise man sitting serenely under a Bo tree, an afterlife is humanly impossible to disbelieve. Even avowed atheists, I suspect, know, intuitively, implicitly, that there is something more. Whether or not there is Bog with a capital B, the possibility that human existence, with its stomach-sucking abyss of laughter and tears, tea leaves and tree bark, fleeting smiles and fleecy clouds, ineffable bliss and inconsolable despair, ends, once and for all, merely as a consequence of the sudden cessation of a small series of mechanical events (beating heart, expanding lungs) is purely and simply unthinkable--in the literal sense of that term. As a late friend of mine liked to say when confronted by a particularly short-sighted variety of seize-the-day hedonist: Life is not a dress rehearsal, true; but neither is it the final act. Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a...

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Часть текста: переводу "Евгения Онегина" К переводу "Евгения Онегина" * Vladimir Nabokov. On translating "Eugene Onegin" * 1 What is translation? On a platter A poets pale and glaring head, A parrot's screech, a monkey's chatter, And profanation of the dead. The parasits you were so hard on Are pardoned if I have your pardon, O, Pushkin, for my stratagem: I travelled down your secret stem, And reached the root, and fed upon it; Then, in a language newly learned, I grew another stalk and turned Your stanza patterned on a sonnet, Into my honest roadside prose-- All thorn, but cousin to your rose. 2 Reflected words can only shiver Like elongated lights that twist In the black mirror of a river Between the city and the mist. Elusive Pushkin! Persevering, I still pick up Tatiana's earring, Still travel with your sullen rake. I find another man's mistake, I analize alliterations That grace your feasts and haunt the great Fourth stanza of your Canto Eight. This is my task - a poet's patience And scholiastic passion blent: Dove-dropping on your monument. Перевод на русский (перевел Михаил Блюмин) 1 Что перевод? Прикрытый крышкой Блистательный поэта бред, Крик попугая, треп мартышки И грубо попранный секрет. О Пушкин, строгость к паразитам Прибереги,-- из них маститый Путь непростительный нашел; Таинственный исползав ствол, Достиг я корня, напитался; Язык твой зная назубок, Взрастил затем я свой росток, Который рос и превращался В соцветие тернистых проз-- Сестер...

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Часть текста: affair. The bride may dispense with a tiara of orange blossoms securing her finger-tip veil, nor does she carry a white orchid in a prayer book. The bride’s little daughter might have added to the ceremonies uniting H. and H. a touch of vivid vermeil; but I knew I would not dare be too tender with cornered Lolita yet, and therefore agreed it was not worth while tearing the child away from her beloved Camp Q. My soi-disant passionate and lonely Charlotte was in everyday life matter-of-fact and gregarious. Moreover, I discovered that although she could not control her heart or her cries, she was a woman of principle. Immediately after she had become more or less my mistress (despite the stimulants, her “nervous, eager chri a heroic chri ! had some initial trouble, for which, however, he amply compensated her by a fantastic display of old-world endearments), good Charlotte interviewed me about my relations with God. I could have answered that on that score my mind was open; I said, insteadpaying my tribute to a pious platitudethat I believed in a cosmic spirit. Looking down at her fingernails, she also asked me had I not in my family a certain strange strain. ...

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Часть текста: order to enjoy my phantasms in peace I firmly decided to ignore what I could not help perceiving, the fact that I was to her not a boy 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...

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Часть текста: BOMB Magazine Интервью данное Брайеном Бойдом журналу BOMB Magazine BRIAN BOYD by Thomas Bolt From a specially-bound set of Nabokov's early Russian poems, inscribed by Nabokov for his wife Vera. Image from Vera's Butterflies (NY: Glenn Horowitz Bookseller, 1999). Courtesy the Estate of Vladimir Nabokov. A commentator from a distant southern land that begins with Z composes an outlandish elucidation of another man's masterpiece. His startling, perhaps outrageous claims upset certain entrenched academic specialists, and he must flee (a world tour, a centenary), and undergo the ordeals of exile before coming to rest, in some almost successful disguise—as a professor of English at the University of Auckland, New Zealand. An unlikely plot, but the real story is no less exceptional: Brian Boyd, author of the prize-winning two-volume biography, Vladimir Nabokov: The Russian Years and Vladimir Nabokov: The American Years, and of Nabokov's Ada: The Place of Consciousness and the just-released Nabokov's Pale Fire: The Magic of Artistic Discovery, is a scholar who changed his mind. Writing in The...

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Часть текста: 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 or some other gloomy self-conscious stench and nothing to boast of (except “good beds”), and an unsmiling landlady always prepared to have her gift (“…well, I could give you…”) turned down. Nous connmes (this is royal fun) the would-be enticements of their repetitious namesall those Sunset Motels, U-Beam Cottages, Hillcrest Courts, Pine View Courts, Mountain View Courts, Skyline Courts, Park Plaza Courts, Green Acres, Mac’s Courts. There was sometimes a special line in the write-up, such as “Children welcome, pets allowed” ( You are welcome, you are allowed). The baths were mostly tiled showers, with an endless variety of spouting mechanisms, but with one definitely non-Laodicean characteristic in common, a propensity, while in use, to turn instantly beastly hot or blindingly cold upon you, depending on whether your neighbor turned on his cold or his hot to deprive you of a necessary complement in the shower you had so carefully...

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Часть текста: романа в истории литературы» делает его, как отмечает Альфред Аппель, «образцом литературного исследования в самом себе» [229] . Центральная тема «Ады» — инцест между родными братом и сестрой и, конечно же, Набоков в своем переосмыслении этой темы во многом опирается на литературных предшественников. Появление темы инцеста в новой европейской литературе во многом совпадает с развитием романтизма, высшими проявлениями которого были Франсуа-Рене Шатобриан (1768–1848) во Франции и лорд Байрон (1788–1824) в Англии. Они оба отдали дань этой запретной теме как в литературе, так, возможно, и в жизни [230] . Присутствие шатобриановских мотивов в подтексте «Ады» отмечалось многими исследователями. Дж. Апдайк в своей ранней рецензии подробно останавливается на шатобриановских отзвуках в романе, отмечая, что сюжетная основа для сопоставления — повесть 1802 года «Рене», а также определенные пассажи из автобиографии этого французского писателя «Замогильные записки» (1849–1850). Как замечает Набоков в своих комментариях к «Евгению Онегину», «тонкий аромат инцеста» пронизывает отношения Рене и его сестры, Амелии, прообразом которых принято считать отношения самого автора с его сестрой Люсиль [231] . Инцестуальная история Шатобриана, говорит он, была замыслена под тем же ильмом в графстве Миддлсекс в Англии, под которым Байрон «предавался капризам своего возраста» [232] . Байрон тоже присутствует в «Аде», ...

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Часть текста: ther wrote out his answers to the questions or dictated them to the interviewer; in some instances, notes from the conversation were later recast as formal questions-and-answers. The interviewer was Nabokov's student at Cornell University in 1954, and the references are to Literature 311-312 (MWF, 12), a course on the Masterpieces of European Fiction (Jane Austen, Gogol, Dickens, Flaubert, Tolstoy, Stevenson, Kafka, Joyce, and Proust). Its enrollment had reached four hundred by the time of Nabokov's resignation in 1959. The footnotes to the interview, except where indicated, are provided by the interviewer, Alfred Appel, Jr. For years bibliographers and literary journalists didn't know whether to group you under "Russian" or "American. "Now that you're living in Switzerland there seems to be complete agreement that you're American. Do you find this kind of distinction at all important regarding your identity as a writer? I have always maintained, even as a schoolboy in Russia, that the nationality of a worthwhile writer is of secondary importance. The more distinctive an insect's aspect, the less apt the taxonomist is to glance first of all at the locality label under the pinned specimen in order to decide which of several vaguely described races ...

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Часть текста: Ночь бродит по полям ГЛАВА ЧЕТВЕРТАЯ Ночь бродит по полям Признаюсь, я верю в привиденья. Какой бы ни была религия человека, кому бы или чему бы он ни поклонялся — речным духам, Великой Матери, пустынной купине, распятым пастухам или лысому и тучному мудрецу, безмятежно восседающему под древом Бо, — неверие в потустороннюю жизнь остается за гранью его человеческих возможностей. Подозреваю, что даже завзятый атеист сознает — интуитивно, имплицитно, — что существует нечто еще. Существует ли Бог с прописной Б или нет его вовсе, вероятие того, что жизнь человека, которая есть занимающая дух бездна смеха и слез, чайных листьев и древесной коры, мимолетных улыбок и летучих облаков, несказанного блаженства и неутешного горя, заканчивается раз и навсегда всего только вследствие внезапного обрыва мелкой череды механических событий (биений сердца, расширения легких), вероятие это является попросту и начисто немыслимым — в буквальном значении этого слова. Как говаривал покойный мой друг, сталкиваясь с особенно близорукой разновидностью живущего одним днем гедониста: жизнь — не генеральная репетиция, но и не последний акт. Леди и джентльмены, я обязан сделать признание: с самого начала этой книги нечто повадилось навещать меня. Я не хочу сказать этим, будто я стал одержим моей темой, или обморочен ароматом литературной славы, или, наконец, пал жертвой idee fixe . Я имею в виду томительные преследования в духе английского “ haunted ”, происходящего, кстати сказать, от старо-земблянского “ heimte ” — внушать, притягивать, захватывать, притязать. Кто-то или что-то преследовало меня, плетясь по пятам моих размышлений, пряча от...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "HAUNT"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "HAUNT"