Analysis of Severyanin's poem “Classic roses. Ivan Myatlev: careless jester

When I was little, still a very young restorer, I often worked on the installation of exhibitions - I glued "paws" on graphics and documents. And she was friends with the caretakers - they were bored and they came to talk to me. Elderly ladies, and in my young opinion, they are simply ancient, they didn’t tell me anything! I should have recorded it, sorry. One, for example, fought in the same partisan detachment with Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya. And the other one collected... mourning wreaths. Those that were assigned to the Eternal Flame.
No, not the wreaths themselves, of course! But every day she passed by the Eternal Flame, examined, memorized, and then told me: what ribbons and flowers, from whom ...

And I remembered this today, while I was typing the protocol of the restoration council on mourning wreaths, stored in the former museum of V.I. Lenin, and now - in the stock department of the Historical Museum. Some kind of exhibition is conceived about the leaders, and there - wreaths.

Such descriptions! For example:

The composition of the wreath - all kinds of details and parts of rapid-fire, automatic guns, steam control valves, cartridges, trihedral bayonets, ramrods. All these details are attached to stylized palm leaves carved from roofing iron...

Or this one:

But I especially like this one:

Above the star is a metal ribbon painted red with an inscription made in black paint: “To the immortal leader comrade I.V. Stalin."

A wreath on the coffin - immortal!
Amazing

Igor Severyanin

CLASSIC ROSES

In my garden! How they deceived my eyes!
How I prayed for spring frosts
Do not touch them with a cold hand!
1843 Myatlev

In those days when dreams swarmed
In the hearts of people, transparent and clear,
How good, how fresh were the roses
My love, and glory, and spring!

Summers have passed, and tears are pouring everywhere ...
There is neither a country nor those who lived in the country...
How good, how fresh were the roses
Memories of the past day!

But the days go by - thunderstorms are already subsiding

Last week, special forces veterans buried Berkut, their comrade in Chelyabinsk, in Chelyabinsk. Former commander of the 154 "Muslim" special forces detachment of the Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff of the Moscow Region, lieutenant colonel Vladimir Portnyagin.

22 years of service in the Armed Forces, participation in special activities of reconnaissance and sabotage units of the GRU in different parts of the world. He was seriously wounded and shell-shocked in Afghanistan. Awarded with six state awards. Already in "citizenship" Vladimir Portnyagin on November 25, 2002 was accused of organizing and committing an attempt on head of the security company "Magnum" Anton Maslennikov and sentenced to eight and a half years in a strict regime colony. The attempt on Maslennikov's life was committed on October 18, 2001 at the entrance of his house. The organizer of the crime was called the investigation, and then the court Deputy Head of the Economic Security Service of APO "Makfa" Vladimir Portnyagin, and the executor of his subordinate - Sergei Chesnokov. The case of the former "Afghan" and veteran of the GRU special forces Vladimir Portnyagin unfolded against the backdrop of another confrontation between the first deputy governor of the region Andrey Kosilov and Deputy of the State Duma of the Russian Federation Mikhail Yurevich. Opponents of the deputy were clearly trying to give him a political coloring, especially since at one time the victim Maslennikov was the bodyguard of another political figure - external manager of "UralAZ" Valery Panov. The journalists who covered the process agreed that it was “hard for them to believe that a man who had served in the GRU special forces for many years and knew the tricks of a scout to the finer points could act so clumsily.” According to Portnyagin himself, he, being seriously ill, during the investigation was forced to incriminate himself. At the trial, Vladimir retracted his "confession". However, it was on it that the evidence base of the crime was based. The special forces veteran went to a colony for a long five years, leaving at large one, his minor daughter Svetlana.

On October 6, 2004, the Presidium of the Supreme Court of Russia, headed by its Chairman Vyacheslav Lebedev, recognized the illegality of the court verdict against Vladimir Portnyagin. "In accordance with Articles 75, 302 and 307 of the Code of Criminal Procedure of the Russian Federation, a guilty verdict cannot be based on assumptions," the Supreme Court's verdict given in this case hardly needs special comments. The chief judge of the country could not disregard Portnyagin's testimony "about the unbearable conditions of his detention in the temporary detention facility, the deterioration of his health in connection with this, the impossibility of obtaining the necessary medicines and receiving them only after writing a" frank confession. "Moreover, this was confirmed by objective data, including long-term (more than two months) stay Vladimir Portnyagin during the preliminary investigation on treatment in the surgical department of the facility YAV-48/3 with intestinal bleeding and other diseases.

Freed Vladimir Portnyagin, was immediately re-hospitalized in a surgical hospital. On the third day, unexpectedly, among complete prosperity, his daughter died, who managed to graduate from the institute without a father and find a job. The girl's death occurred in an ambulance, but for some reason she was not examined, as required by law, by members of the investigative team. For some reason, her body was sent to the pathoanatomical department of the emergency hospital, where she was not treated. Thus, there was also no forensic examination of the body of Portnyagin's daughter.

Vladimir Pavlovich courageously endured all the many blows of fate. Actively participated in the public life of the country and the region. He traveled a lot around the cities and garrisons of Russia. But the heart of the old soldier could not stand it. On April 1, Vladimir Pavlovich Portnyagin died. Most of all, he wanted the Motherland to love him just as he loved her himself. The memory of the "Berkut" will forever remain in the memory of friends and associates. Eternal memory to the hero of special forces.

In 1918, after the October Revolution, the poet-writer Igor Severyanin moved to live from St. Petersburg to Estonia, to Est-Toila, where he always spent spring and summer. Historical upheavals have changed the life not only of the whole country, but of every single person in it. The poet found himself in a strange atmosphere for him. Everything that was dear and sweet to him is in the past. And life offered new options for political discord, fierce struggle. Values ​​previously recognized by humanity were called into question. Time contributed little to poetry, but nevertheless the poet published 9 books, made many translations.

The poet expressed the search for the true path, the path to himself, to the past in his poem "Classic Roses", written in 1925. Homesickness is the main background of this work, and the theme of unfulfilled patriotic hopes is the main element of its content. The minor pathos of the poem conveys the tragedy of the events of that time and the experiences of the author.

The poem is divided into three semantic parts. The first tells about the past, emphasizing it with the phrase "How good, how fresh were the roses". At that time people's dreams were "transparent and clear", and the poet himself had both love and fame. In the second, the author describes the present: "How good, how fresh roses are now". Despite the fact that "tears are shedding everywhere", and the whole country ceased to exist, there are no those people who lived in it. And the third part tells about what will happen: the thunderstorms subside, Russia is looking for its own paths. Roses are still beautiful, but someday they will have to fall on the poet's coffin. There is a clear contrast between all three parts, except for one similarity - how good roses are in the past, present and future.

Poets have always responded with pain to dramatic events in the political life of their homeland. True patriots dreamed of seeing her happy, and, therefore, free. The artists of the word bear their destiny in the service of their people, the Fatherland.

In the work "Classic Roses" there is an alarm for Russia, for its people. The author expresses the hope that his homeland will still find a way out.

Understanding and accepting the inevitable, in his mind's eye the lyrical hero followed his departure from life.

concept "the Rose", which the author put in the title of the work, expresses a symbol of beauty, solemnity, but at the same time, the danger contained in the thorns of a flower. It is so accepted that flowers symbolize the joy of life, its victory over death. However, flowers are also placed on the grave, they are planted, hence the association with mourning. So in the poem "Classic Roses" this majestic flower is used in a double meaning: first it is a symbol of love and positive memories, and then a symbol of mourning - roses thrown into a coffin.

The lyric work "Classic Roses" is a poem, genre which the author himself defined as "a poem without rhyme or meter". Three time layers - past, present and future, are clearly divided into stanzas. Each stanza ends with an exclamation mark, which emphasizes the emotional coloring of the speech.

Half the lines of the verse are metaphors and epithets - "How Fresh the Roses", "dreams swarm", roses of love, the summers are gone, "Russia is looking for paths".

Intertext plays an important role: the line from I. Myatlev's elegy "Roses" is repeated three times in the poem unchanged.

After reading the poem "Classic Roses" it becomes clear - behind the mask of the lyricist and dreamer Igor Severyanin, the suffering face of the poet was hidden. His compatriots were not allowed to throw roses into the poet's coffin, but their descendants were destined to read and comprehend the works of a man who waited too long for understanding.

Her Majesty Queen Mary of Yugoslavia

respectfully with sincere admiration

I donate my book

Poems 1922–1930

Queen Mary

Once in our northern newspaper
I saw you with a fishing rod in your hands, -
And sympathy flared up in the poet
To the Monarch's Wife in sunny lands.

And since then, full of melody,
I am fascinated by all one dream.
Stands in the Queen's palace park,
Throwing a fishing rod from the bridge.

I cut this picture at the same time,
And he has been with me ever since.
I can't even imagine
How did he live without him in the past years.

I will never be convinced
In a dream, above the Finnish created wave,
That the southern fair queen
Possesses a poetic soul!

classic roses

In my garden! How they deceived my eyes!

How I prayed for spring frosts

Do not touch them with a cold hand!

In those days when dreams swarmed
In the hearts of people, transparent and clear,
How good, how fresh were the roses
My love, and glory, and spring!

Summers have passed, and tears are pouring everywhere ...
There is neither a country, nor those who lived in the country ...
How good, how fresh roses are now
Memories of the past day!

But the days go by - the thunderstorms are already subsiding.
Back to home Russia is looking for paths…
How good, how fresh the roses will be,
Thrown into my grave by my country!

cherished holiday

cherished holiday
(sing-along)

About Russia to sing - what to strive for in the temple
Over forest mountains, field carpets…

About Russia to sing - what to meet spring,
What to wait for the bride, what to console the mother ...

To sing about Russia - what to forget longing,
What Love to love, what to be immortal!

Who are you?

Goy you, the kingdom of the farce!
You are a complete carousel!
The evil will of a bully
You sip blood like jelly ...

The whole world marvels at you
Everything can't be figured out.
You are a walking girl
Or God's grace?

Sunday

To the east, there, to the mountains of the Urals,
A strange country scattered
That more than once seemed to die,
Like love, like the sun, like spring.

And when the people fell silent severely
And, orphaned, blind from tears,
Resurrected again by God's will, -
Like spring, like the sun, like Christ!

What you need to know

You have lost your Russia.
Did you resist the elements
Good elements of gloomy evil?
Not? So shut up: took away
Your fate is not without a reason
To the edge of an unkind foreign land.
What's the point of groaning and grieve -
Russia must be earned!

And it will be soon...

And the spring day will come soon
And we'll go home to Russia...
You put on a silk hat:
You are especially beautiful in it ...

And there will be a holiday ... big, big,
Which were not, perhaps,
Since the creation of the entire globe of the earth,
So funny and goofy...

And you whisper: “We are not in a dream?…”
I will pinch you with laughter
And sob, praying for spring
And kissing the Russian land!

Or is it weird?

Or is it weird?
Or is it so?
Quietly whispers: "It will come true:
To light this darkness.
Just don't tear it apart
Accumulated Rays.
Whose voice are you?
Whose eyes are you shining?

A gridiron appears.
You look - nothing.
Heard, not seen.
What sorcery!
A duck swims
To the calling call.
Or is it weird?
Or is it so?

That May

It was May. On a clipped Arrow
Already sold violets.
The kids played with burners
And basked horizontal.

And the tires of the strollers crunched,
Pressed down disturbed gravel.
It was May, and on the May pastel
Everything was in the Ostrov frame.

Beleso nochela capital
Beyond the Nevki and beyond the Neva.
And faces were covered
Lilac in that inanimate May ...

Swamp, consumptive, white
They were covered with lilacs.
Breathed mouth Isabella -
A little tart, a little decaying laziness ...

There was doom and demise
In the eyes, in the Islands, in the white horror.
And in every stone block
There was a story about the last minute.

Burners were extinguished
And chilly horizontal lines
That May, half dead on Strelka,
Where the violets became dead...

pregneve

Moscow did not understand yesterday
But tomorrow, believe, Moscow will understand:
To be born Russian is too little
For Russians to have rights...

And remembering the soul of the ancestors, he will rise,
Moving from word to deed,
And anger in the souls of the people will burst,
Like the thunder of living rain.

And break the oppression, as the oppression broke
More than once the rebel army ...
To be born Russian is too little:
They need to be, they need to be!