Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "PEN"

Часть текста: I say "our" and I say "prose" because I am thinking of American works of fiction, including my own stuff. It would seem that this reticence is somehow linked up with a sense of decorum. Conformists suspect that to speak of "inspiration" is as tasteless and old-fashioned as to stand up for the Ivory Tower. Yet inspiration exists as do towers and tusks. One can distinguish several types of inspiration, which intergrade, as all things do in this fluid and interesting world of ours, while yielding gracefully to a semblance of classification. A prefatory glow, not unlike some benign variety of the aura before an epileptic attack, is something the artist learns to perceive very early in life. This feeling of tickly well-being branches through him like the red and the blue in the picture of a skinned man under Circulation. As it spreads, it banishes all awareness of physical discomfort-- youth's toothache as well as the neuralgia of old age. The beauty of it is that, while...

2. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter one

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Часть текста: light inspirations, unripe and withered years, 16 the intellect's cold observations, and the heart's sorrowful remarks. CHAPTER ONE To live it hurries and to feel it hastes. Prince Vyazemski I “My uncle has most honest principles: when he was taken gravely ill, he forced one to respect him 4 and nothing better could invent. To others his example is a lesson; but, good God, what a bore to sit by a sick person day and night, not stirring 8 a step away! What base perfidiousness to entertain one half-alive, adjust for him his pillows, 12 sadly serve him his medicine, sigh — and think inwardly when will the devil take you?” II Thus a young scapegrace thought as with post horses in the dust he flew, by the most lofty will of Zeus 4 the heir of all his kin. Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan! The hero of my novel, without preambles, forthwith, 8 I'd like to have you meet: Onegin, a good pal of mine, was born upon the Neva's banks, where maybe you were born, 12 or used to shine, my reader! There formerly I too promenaded — but harmful is the North to me. 1 III Having served excellently, nobly, his...

3. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter three

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Часть текста: 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 sorry. 8 Oh, Lenski, listen — is there any way for me to see this Phyllis, subject of thoughts, and pen, and tears, and rhymes, et cetera? 12 Present me.” “You are joking.” “No.” “I'd gladly.” “When?” “Now, if you like. They will be eager to receive us.” III “Let's go.” And off the two friends drove; they have arrived; on them are lavished the sometimes onerous attentions 4 of hospitable ancientry. The ritual of the treat is known: in little dishes jams are brought, on an oilcloth'd small table there is set 8 a jug of lingonberry water. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IV They by the shortest road ...

4. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter four

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Часть текста: itself, 8 taking its pleasure without loving. But that grand game is worthy of old sapajous of our forefathers' vaunted times; 12 the fame of Lovelaces has faded with the fame of red heels and of majestic periwigs. VIII Who does not find it tedious to dissemble; diversely to repeat the same; try gravely to convince one 4 of what all have been long convinced; to hear the same objections, annihilate the prejudices which never had and hasn't 8 a little girl of thirteen years! Who will not grow weary of threats, entreaties, vows, feigned fear, notes running to six pages, 12 betrayals, gossiping, rings, tears, surveillances of aunts, of mothers, and the onerous friendship of husbands! IX Exactly thus my Eugene thought. In his first youth he had been victim of tempestuous errings 4 and of unbridled passions. Spoiled by a habitude of life, with one thing for a while enchanted, disenchanted with another, 8 irked slowly by desire, irked, too, by volatile success, hearkening in the hubbub and the hush to the eternal mutter of his soul, 12 smothering yawns with laughter: this was the way he killed eight years, having lost life's best bloom. X With belles no longer did he fall in love, but dangled after them just anyhow; when they refused, he solaced in a twinkle; 4 when they betrayed, was glad to rest. He sought them without rapture, while he left them without regret, hardly remembering...

5. Чарльз Кинбот: Серебристый свет. Подлинная жизнь Владимира Набокова. Chapter Six. This Hovering Honeyed Mist

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Часть текста: scarf story and enthusiatically provided Madame Fat’s address. She had moved to Lincoln, whither I betook myself the following morning by car. (For those readers keen on fatidic dates, I note that this was the 2nd of July.) Nowadays I drive a powerful white Volvo station wagon, and the trip from Cedarn to Lincoln, pleasantly free from state troopers and jack-knifed semis, was effected beneath cloudless skies in under five hours. In keeping with her name, and contrary to the description I had received of her as frailly skeletal, Madame Fat was fat. When she answered her door, this fact created a burst of cognitive dissonance that momentarily struck me dumb: I would have had no problem referring to a bony Asian lady as Madame Fat to her face, but calling a fat woman Fat strayed well beyond the bounds of my personal sense of decorum. I quickly began considering a series of alternative pronunciations, Faht, Fate, Fuht, when she beamed at me and said: “You Doktah Keenbote! Come een, come een, welcome!” Her speech was a weird blend of lazy American vowels and razor-sharp “e’”s that made the skin of her ample amber-colored face assume a series of bizarre distortions. I guessed that this had to be she and settled, sounding like some inept grandee, for plain “Madame.” She ushered me unceremoniously into her parlor, identical to her Omaha one, to judge by the bamboo blinds and corny Oriental fixtures. “Seet, seet” she said, patting the back of a cane chair, beside the small round table, that looked much too weak to support my considerable bulk. I sat down hestitantly to a chorus of crackling. The sun had set an hour ago and the...

6. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Chapter six

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Часть текста: dream. But it has ended. They go in to supper. The beds are made. Guests are assigned night lodgings — from the entrance hall 12 even to the maids' quarters. Restful sleep by all is needed. My Onegin alone has driven home to sleep. II All has grown quiet. In the drawing room the heavy Pustyakov snores with 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 to the present time in philosophical reclusion Zarétski, formerly a brawler, 8 the hetman of a...

7. Lolita. Part One. Chapters 9 - 11

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Часть текста: York to complete my comparative history of French literature for English-speaking students. The first volume took me a couple of years during which I put in seldom less than fifteen hours of work daily. As I look back on those days, I see them divided tidily into ample light and narrow shade: the light pertaining to the solace of research in palatial libraries, the shade to my excruciating desires and insomnias of which enough has been said. Knowing me by now, the reader can easily imagine how dusty and hot I got, trying to catch a glimpse of nymphets (alas, always remote) playing in Central Park, and how repulsed I was by the glitter of deodorized career girls that a gay dog in one of the offices kept unloading upon me. Let us skip all that. A dreadful breakdown sent me to a sanatorium for more than a year; I went back to my workonly to be hospitalized again. Robust outdoor life seemed to promise me some relief. One of my favorite doctors, a charming cynical chap with a little brown beard, had a brother, and this brother was about to lead an expedition into arctic Canada. I was attached to it as a “recorder of psychic reactions.” With two young botanists and an old carpenter I shared now and then (never very successfully) the favors of one of our nutritionists, a Dr. Anita Johnsonwho was soon flown back, I am glad to say. I had little notion of what object the expedition was...

8. Eugene Onegin. A Novel in Verse by Aleksandr Pushkin. Fragments of Onegin's journey

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Часть текста: 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] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . before him Makariev bustlingly bestirs itself, 4 with its abundance seethes. Here the Hindu brought pearls, the European, spurious wines, ...

9. Урбан Томас: Набоков в Берлине. Глава V. Летописец русского Берлина

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Часть текста: и полсотни рассказов. Примерно в одной трети из них действие развивается на фоне Берлина. И, наконец, в набоковских стихах того времени тоже временами звучит Берлин, одно из них даже несет имя города в своем названии: «Берлинская весна». Литературные критики называли и называют писателя, который публиковался под псевдонимом Сирин, летописцем или даже певцом русского Берлина. Метеор по темному небу Псевдоним себе Набоков выбрал в начале берлинского периода прежде всего потому, что не хотел, чтобы его путали с отцом. Он остановился на имени Сирин, так как оно многозначно: «Сегодня Сирин это одно из русских народных названий снежной совы, наводящей страх на грызунов тундры, временами им называют нарядного филина, а в древнерусской мифологии так называлась красочная птица с женским лицом и грудью, имя ее несомненно идентично с греческой „сиреной“, божественной спутницей душ и соблазнительницей мореплавателей» [149] . Кроме того, это многозначное слово было одним из центральных понятий поэзии символистов [150] . В глазах молодого Набокова символисты Александр Блок и Андрей Белый были величайшими литераторами столетия. Со звуками слова он связывал...

10. Пнин (перевод С. Ильина)

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Часть текста: (в эту минуту обтянутыми фланелью и перекрещенными) с хрупкими на вид, почти что женскими ступнями. Алой шерсти обвислые носки были в сиреневых ромбах; приличные черные полуботинки "оксфорды", обошлись ему почти во столько же, во сколько вся остальная его одежда (включая и бандитский огненный галстук). До начала 40-х годов, в степенную европейскую пору его жизни, он всегда носил длинные кальсоны, окончанья которых заправлялись в опрятные шелковые носки умеренной расцветки и со стрелкой, державшихся на обтянутых бумазеей икрах при помощи подвязок. В те дни обнаружить хотя бы на миг белизну этих исподних, слишком высоко поддернув штанины, представлялось Пнину столь же постыдным, сколь появление перед дамами без воротничка и галстука; ибо даже когда увядшая мадам Ру - консьержка убогого доходного дома в шестнадцатом округе Парижа, где Пнин скоротал пятнадцать лет после бегства из ленинизированной России и завершения университетского образования в Праге, - поднималась к нему за платой, чопорный Пнин, если он еще был без faux col[1], прикрывал горловую запонку целомудренной дланью. Все изменилось в пьянительной атмосфере Нового Света. Ныне, в пятьдесят два года, он был помешан на солнечных ваннах, носил спортивные рубашки и просторные брюки, укладывая же ногу на ногу, прилежно, намеренно и бесстыдно обнаруживал огромный кусок оголенной голени. Таким мог увидеть его попутчик; впрочем, исключая солдата, спавшего в одном конце вагона, и двух женщин, поглощенных дитятей в другом, весь вагон принадлежал Пнину. Пора поделиться секретом. Профессор Пнин ошибся поездом. Он об этом не знал, как не знал и кондуктор, уже пролагавший по поезду путь к вагону Пнина. Собственно говоря, Пнин в эту минуту был весьма собою доволен. Приглашая его прочесть ежепятничную лекцию в Кремоне - это примерно в двухстах верстах к западу от Вайнделла, академического...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "PEN"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "PEN"