In the theater, Vakhtangov said, there should be no everyday life. After all, for the viewer, every entrance to the theater is a holiday. But there are special days in the theater for those who work there. These are premieres, anniversaries of artists and performances.
When a performance reaches its 100th performance, it is usually celebrated solemnly. They release a special poster, where the number "100" stands against the name of everyone who played all the performances without exception. A director, author is called on the stage; they are applauded by both the audience and the actors ...
... On one of the spring days at the Shchepkin Theater the hundredth performance of Dynyaev's play "Memorable Flight" was given. The author, who spent his student years in their city, came specially for this occasion.
There were many actors in the hall. The students from Talanova also came. When an elderly, elegantly dressed man appeared in the aisle, accompanied by Zotov, Anton guessed:
Is this Dynyaev? It seems like you can easily approach ... I have long wanted to talk to a real playwright.
Come and ask if there is anything, ”Galanova said calmly.
But this is impudence!
- Impudence is unjustified courage. If you need to, try to make an appointment. Demand, they say, does not matter.
The guys were sure that Anton would not dare. However, during the intermission, he seized the moment when the playwright was left alone, and resolutely approached.
Alexey Savelyevich, excuse me, I am a student of this theater ...
Are you going to become an actor?
No ... a playwright ...
Really ?! So what?
I wanted to consult ... to talk ...
About what?
From the clamp Anton suddenly replied with a line from Mayakovsky: - "About our craft!"
And since such a daring answer was not prepared, the famous interlocutor took these words quite seriously.
Well ... This is the case ... But what if you combine business with pleasure? For example, tomorrow afternoon ... I would like to wander around the city, remember my young years. What hour are you working up to?
Up to two.
So do I. We meet at two thirty at the theater. Is it good?
... At the appointed hour, Anton was approaching the theater. From the other side of the square, Dynyaev was walking slowly towards him. The conversation began somehow at once, without an approach and routine questions.
- And I, you know, think so too, - the playwright spoke up, as soon as they drew level and walked side by side. - Where do you mean it - at Pushkin? Well, of course,
"Guilty without guilt", remember, Neznamov says with a defiant air to Kruchinina: "Art do you consider your occupation or craft?" And for Pushkin - Salieri: "I have put the craft at the foot of the art." An amateur thinks that he is engaged in pure art, but a professional knows: until you sharpen the key on a craft machine, the gate to art cannot be unlocked. Where exactly would you like to start?
Most of all I want to know what is inspiration?
Oh colleague! - exclaimed Dynyaev without any irony. - That would be better to finish. For pass, literati, there is no question more mysterious.
I still cannot say that I know from experience ... But I also experienced: it happens, you sit and sit - nothing, otherwise it just happened. I looked about it in books too. One says: don't get up from the table until you get it. And the poet - I don’t remember who - assures: come on, don’t suffer, Apollo will remember you himself ...
Poets, you see, are a special people. They have. indeed. sometimes it all depends on inspiration. And then ... A real poet is always a hard worker ... And as for our brother ... However, you should not force yourself - except for aversion to work, you will get nothing. And at the same time, how does every professional work? Purposefully. Therefore, he is guided not only by inspiration, but also by will.
The playwright spoke in such a way that Anton felt complete emancipation. I just tried to ask questions that would not dampen the interlocutor.
How do you measure your work per day? Hours or pages?
Strictly speaking, our work is not measured by either one or the other. You can sit for five hours without writing a single line, and this does not mean that the time has passed in vain. And it is possible during this time to "roll" instead of the prescribed two - ten pages, but ruin the play. And at the same time, you have to measure it both in hours and in pages, if you add one more criterion - quality: "Today I did not write anything, but I understood something important for myself." This is enough. Or: "I wrote one good page in a day."
And you are always objective about yourself, you know unmistakably whether it turned out good or bad?
Unfortunately no. But from an empty writer - a graphomaniac - the writer differs only in one thing: criticality towards himself. In some case, I may be mistaken, but in principle I must have a literary ear: this is a useful page, and that is a waste one. How can I explain this? .. You always more or less feel: cold, warm or hot.
Do you work during certain hours?
- Basically. If I'm not mistaken, the theater tries not to schedule rehearsals from three to six. From what? During these hours, the actor's body is used to rest between rehearsal and performance.
Reflex! Although the grass doesn’t grow, but at ten in the morning I’m at my desk - my creative nature adapts and even requires it. One day in the midst of work circumstances
forced me to leave the house - I was such an internal storm that I wanted to tear the roofs off the houses.
- Does it happen that it doesn't work?
Still would! It would be easy bread! ..
And how - you said - not to force yourself?
There is a difference between violence and overcoming oneself, which is not very noticeable in appearance. Take sports. The runner's training norm has already been exhausted, and he forces himself - and tomorrow he is out of order. Or: he is in great shape and makes it difficult for himself, trying to set a new record. Is it easy for him? The breath is exhausted. What to do? Get off the track? But then he is not an athlete. He overcomes himself, and a second wind comes - the same inspiration. The man went through "I can't." This is where the professional begins.
And it is not for nothing that one of the writers said: "What is written without effort is read without interest."
How do you distinguish overcoming from violence?
Listen carefully to yourself.
And when it doesn't? What dope? Smoking, coffee?
I do not smoke. I'm not fond of coffee. It does nothing but harm. As in sports. Healthy art creates a healthy psyche.
But shouldn't work be joyful?
I think work should bring joy as a result. Makarenko well noted: what woman likes to do the cleaning, wash the dishes, the floors? But a good housewife wants her house to be clean. The dream of the result makes her work willingly, because without the process, the result is unattainable. No job, no cake, no blancmange. From the root "labor" comes the word "difficult". And certainly at some moments he seems bleak, heavy. Why be afraid of that? On the contrary: a young man should be ready to overcome these painful moments of any work, get used to work. Then the comparison of labor with a cake will seem offensive to him in the opposite sense: if you have achieved inspiration, even through exhausting labor, you will never trade it for any pleasure. You just have to work with meaning, not monotonously, not stupidly. Inspiration is a bird, and if you want her to sing, entice her, and do not choke her in your fist, repeating: "Sing, bird, sing!" And it's easy to scare her off too.
Than?
Anything. Creativity and everyday vanity are incompatible. When you sit down at the table, you need to be able to hide in its farthest drawer an inappropriate thought, an unpleasant letter or call. For those who work alone, self-discipline is paramount!
I understood: I am not able to lure the bird yet! - Anton admitted sadly.
- Cheer up! To learn this is to become a professional. Be creative and it will come sooner or later. Connect side inspirers of music, art; put in front of you an album of your favorite artist or a monograph of one of the great architects. Eat apples, - suddenly the playwright naively advised and laughed. - Gnaw sunflower seeds - whatever you want! .. Have you heard such a name - Bidstrup? This is a wonderful Danish cartoonist. He has a study in cartoons on this topic, called "The Satirist": gloomy
a man with his head tied up first sits down at the table, then jumps up, runs around the room, soars his legs, and in the last picture he reads to the public, and they roar with laughter. Do you understand where I'm going? Our kitchen does not concern anyone. Do not rush to write down until it works out in your head! Bury yourself in books. You can't be arrogant! Before writing War and Peace, Tolstoy had to master an entire library - don't forget about it! Make notes, sketches, wander through exhibitions, communicate with nature - you look, and something starts to emerge. If you are in Moscow, spend a day or two at the Tretyakov Gallery, in the Alexander Ivanov hall. There you can clearly see how through sketches, each of which has the value of a picture, the artist went to his great canvas - "The Appearance of Christ to the People." And how much did you write it? From thirty to fifty years old. Will you forget my advice?
I won't forget!
In the end, the quantity of your labor is converted into quality. By the way, the ratio of quantity and quality must be felt constantly. If your daily energy is depleted, don't add a third average to two good pages. Stop! Save yourself for tomorrow. Then the imagination will sooner work, the bird will fly again. Inspiration from feeling, inspiration from thought, from external impression ... from a precisely found word ...
... But only the divine verb Touches the sensitive ear, The soul of the poet will stir, Like an awakened eagle ... -
the writer said in thoughtfulness. - In essence, art is born by both geniuses and talents according to the same laws.
What about mediocrity?
Mediocrity is sterile. As a matter of fact, it is necessary to establish one thing: is there in you this grain of giftedness that can be developed through labor? And do you know who can most accurately answer a person to this question? Himself! Just do not lead yourself by the nose - persistently repeat "yes" when a distant, distant inner voice prompts: "No, nothing will come of it anyway." And vice versa, it is rude to trample on this tiny precious sprout in yourself, or to allow others to do it! The enduring long-term passion for art is most often fueled by hidden talent. And then - it remains to identify and grow it, paving its way into art with stones of labor.
Alexey Savelich, I have come across the following thought in books: a gifted person is talented in everything. Others say: capable in one thing and incapable in another. Who is right?
As far as I can see, the gifts of people sometimes spread in breadth. Griboyedov, you know, composed music, Lermontov owned a brush, Chaliapin painted and sculpted, and so on. But I think, with rare exceptions, this is all additional, private and does not define the main one. Still, I am a supporter of the view that truly a person finds himself in only one thing. That's why you can't go wrong here. It is very important to find not only your type of activity - your own path, but also your personal path along it. Here, at least in our literature, it occurs: a good novelist and no novelist. Or - he writes beautiful essays, but how he takes up the story - failure.
- Are journalist and writer closely related professions?
I would say they are fundamentally different. No more in common than between river and sea fleets. This does not mean at all that it is easy to be a river operator. But the specificity is completely different. Flights are not so long and the coast is always visible. Journalism is also a great art. Another newspaper or magazine article can be safely called a work of real literature. But the journalist should not forget that he is engaged not only in creativity, but also in public activities. A journalist cannot live on the hope that recognition will come to him someday, as a result of all his activities. His essay must intervene in everyday life immediately, today. Both the writer and the journalist serve the truth. But the journalist is the truth of the fact, the writer is the truth of the idea. Am I clear?
Not really ...
Which example to take? Well, at least the most common now is environmental protection. Somewhere, through the fault of a chemical plant, the adjacent collective farm fields have been poisoned. I, a journalist, immediately go to the scene, find out who is to blame, and promptly create a biting essay - to punish the guilty and edify the rest. You, the writer, will know the same. You also go to the place of what happened, or maybe not. Many more examples of a similar order come to mind in your memory, with specifically guilty and without those, with people who are shameless and deeply conscientious. Your thoughts move from facts to reflections about the land, about the past and the future, rise to generalizations - you want to fit everything into this ... story? No, perhaps a novel. The characters of the heroes are gradually drawn, their fates are intertwined, the circumstances are clarified. How to give everything harmony and clarity, remove the unnecessary so that the novel does not swell, because, they say, brevity is the sister of talent? This takes time. And life continues to throw in new facts, thought and imagination are working hourly, the months are flashing faster and faster ...
The sailor leaves on a long voyage for six months. A writer, sometimes for years and decades. Often he works in the name of a higher goal, not counting on early, sometimes even lifetime recognition. Do you think it's so romantic? If only for a graphomaniac who lives with illusions. And for a real writer it is not so easy, you need to gradually develop a certain character structure in yourself, psychologically prepare yourself for the rejection of life's blessings and not be afraid of hardship, need, even misunderstanding of loved ones.
- I've read about it in books. This does not scare me, but I would like to know: why such difficulties cannot be avoided?
Literature gives a comfortable life to those who make earnings their first goal. But this is a completely different path - this is what must be realized once and for all life. One has been struggling for years with the riddles of the shape and color of the flower, bringing out its outlandish species, the other landscaping greenhouses, growing flowers for sale. There is nothing in common between literature and the literary business, except that both are woven from words ... Scriptures for the market are cooked like food from a cookbook. And the result? You will earn carpets and crystal, but as a writer at the end of your journey you will understand that you are a beggar and will secretly despise yourself together with those around you. We talked about Alexander Ivanov. Did you know that this artist, already recognized in Europe, had no means of subsistence, because he was not able to do anything specifically to earn money? On occasion, read Gogol's letter to a state dignitary about this great artist. By the way, in it Gogol expresses valuable thoughts about the laws of writing. - Dynyaev took out a notebook. - Gogol says that Ivanov's life is a lesson for artists, here, listen: “This lesson is needed so that everyone else can see how to love art, that you need, like Ivanov, to die for all the lures of life, like Ivanov, to study and consider yourself a student for a century, like Ivanov, to deny yourself everything, even an extra meal on a holiday, like Ivanov, to endure everything ... "
I'll read it today, I have a complete Gogol ... Alexey Savelyevich, you say, a writer is a sailor. Who, then, is the poet?
Aviator! His voyages are not as long as those of a long-distance sailor, but altitude is a must! Moreover, when we think about aviation, we imagine the risk, but we do not imagine the technical challenges. But poetic technique should be ahead of the century! When I flew the first models ...
Have you been a pilot?
Of course! .. How else I would write about their lives! The pilots, by the way, have a partly poetic character ...
And actors, directors - with whom to compare?
In my view, the actor is an anti-aircraft gunner. He needs to hit the target exactly - the heart of the viewer in the last row of the balcony. And the director, perhaps, I would liken an aircraft designer ... Here is who has no rest! When I worked in the theater ...
How did you work in the theater?
Statist! He was both a watchman and an illuminator. Without this, how could I write for the theater?
Am I delaying you already? ..
Let's paddle slowly to the shore. What else interests you?
Now, you did so much ... Did you consciously look for yourself or did it happen by itself? And one more thing: some say that a writer does not need a literary education, others - it is obligatory ... And what is it - literary studies? - Anton hurriedly.
No matter how trite, but for a writer the main teacher is life. We must climb into the very thick of life, and then step back and see it from the outside. Always have a notebook with you, do not miss anything that seems to you worthy of attention. And write down your fantasies too. Practice your story often, both orally and in writing. Education, I think, is necessary. Higher education is better - in any profession. Moreover, if you become a writer, only the future can tell. Sometimes it seems that a person is scattered. But in fact he is looking for himself. Only in bad books do people's fates develop according to a given pattern.
Is drama more difficult than fiction?
In my opinion, yes. And not only mine. The sculptural technique is considered more complex than the painting. One sculptor told me: "How I want to sometimes throw a chisel and take a brush." And I myself, in the same way, sometimes want to escape from this stuffy stage box into the forest, into the field, to be transported by fantasy into transcendental worlds. But all this is just for a minute. To become a playwright means to learn to fit everything into a single stage action, into the collisions of characters. If you have comprehended this once, you will not exchange your difficulties for anything else. If you visited the hot shops of Magnitogorsk, you would see how people love the difficulties they have overcome: each blast furnace operator will convince you that there is nothing more beautiful than a domain, just like an open-hearth furnace, a leaf distributor to express patriotism in relation to their business ...
And you can ask another question: what quality do you consider the most important for a writer?
The feeling of the word is like hearing - for a musician. And memory is almost like that of a criminalist! Sorry - mode! I have the honor to bow!
Take care of your faces!
In one of the lessons, Xana asked a question:
- Vera Evgenievna, did you participate in the selection committee?
Sure.
Can you tell us what it looks like?
Yes, - Stas supported, - I want to know in advance what kind of situation there is.
You are welcome. The first round is preceded by consultations. You will see a sea of \u200b\u200bpeople waiting in line. In an ordinary room, like this one, one teacher sits. Usually students help him. They call ten people. The teacher listens to everyone, advises or does not advise to participate in the competition in this educational institution. Sometimes she expresses a desire to replace something in the repertoire of the applicant. But a wish is a wish. If, for example, you are convinced that it is too late to cook something again for you, or it is worse to read the same things in a different order, you have the right to remain unconvinced - the winner is not judged. In essence, consultation is a preliminary selection.
Yes? - Lyuba was surprised. - And at the consultation they can cut?
As a rule, the teacher recommends or does not recommend the applicant to go to the first round. He has the right to disagree and insist that the commission listen to him. But this rarely leads to anything: only those who have practically no chance of admission are discouraged at consultations. The first round is the same audition, this time by a commission of two or three teachers, with a competitive selection. The second and third are the same with ever increasing demands.
After the second or third round in some schools an additional test is arranged - etudes. There is no need to be afraid of this. You know what an etude is. An impromptu scene played in your own words. The chairman of the commission suggests a simple situation. Well, for example, the office of the head of the station. Someone by appointment, and more often at will, takes on the role of the boss. But I emphasize again: this is not some Ivan Ivanovich Sidorov, but you personally - Stas or Denis - in the proposed circumstances, at your age and with your own character somehow ended up in such a job. Visitors come to you in turn, each with his own business.
And what is the main thing here, in this exam? - asked Lyuba.
What is the core, the fabric of performing arts? - answered the question with a question from Galanova.
Act! - several voices responded confidently.
Right. Which one?
The guys did not understand what Vera Evgenievna asked about.
If you act on your own behalf in the office of the chief of the station, can it happen that you have to fight in this office or dance "Yablochko"?
Hardly.
I think so too. After all, this would have to reincarnate in the image of a bully or a madman. This means that the action on your own behalf, mainly verbal. Impact in a word. What is the main thing here, you know: the truth of your behavior, purposefulness, interest in what you came for. And yet - the truth of communication, that is, you must not only accurately influence your partner, but see and hear, otherwise - experience the impact, and behave accordingly.
And besides verbal action, there should be no other?
- A simple physical action never interfered with a verbal one. You know what! - Galanova exclaimed. - Let's make the experiment better. And then we will arrange a "guessing game" - what other qualities are tested in such an exam. Let's play this plot. Who will be the head of the station?
- May I? - said Stas and Vadim almost at once, and, since Stas was a split second earlier, the role went to him.
Can I negotiate? - the guys asked.
If there are preliminary circumstances. For example, the visit is not the first, or you are not a visitor, but a personal acquaintance of the chief, it is necessary to agree, otherwise there will be "some in the forest, some for wood." But there is no need to agree on the outcome of the etude, as well as to reveal the plot of visits that have no prehistory.
Can you specify more? - Stas asked. - You said: from "I am in the proposed circumstances!" do not retreat. I'm not saying that the station master is older than me and I don't really know how he works - all this can be imagined for a sketch. But I have different concepts, I will not dismiss the person, and the head of the station will dismiss him. So it's an image after all?
- No. Firstly, not every boss dismisses visitors, and secondly, you know that through “if” you can justify a lot, remaining yourself. If hundreds of people came to you like this, all day long, but could you send only a few? Would you turn into a good wizard? No, you would have to refuse (the question is - how?), And, probably, you would be rather tired of such an unpleasant duty, and then there's the phone ... That's it! Who needs it, during the break, discuss the conditions with Stas, and - let's try!
... Stas sat down at the table and took hold of his head. Nadia gave phone calls, Stas did not hear them. The atmosphere at the end of the working day was so successful. Lyuba was the first to enter. She said that she had forgotten the code of the automatic locker. Stas came to his senses and began to answer the calls of two phones. Lyuba managed to use a short pause and explain what the matter was.
- This is not for me, - said Stas. - There is a duty officer, tell him what you have there, and everything will be all right.
Lyuba left. Dasha showed up. She said that she needed to leave for Kiev by the evening train, because in the morning she had an exam for a theater institute.
- Show the challenge.
There was no call. Dasha continued to persuade.
- Understand! - said Stas. - I have no right to believe you.
You cannot imagine how many people have to be sent urgently by telegram.
They argued for a long time, finally Stas said:
You know what? Do you have someone who knows where and why you are going?
Sure.
Give me a phone, I'll call myself.
You are welcome! - and Dasha dictated Geli's phone number. Stas looked at her carefully and wrote something on a piece of paper.
To the cashier! - he said.
Not believing her happiness, Dasha thanked her and left. Denis appeared. He explained that his things had gone to Kharkov, but he stayed.
- How so? - Stas asked wearily.
And Denis began to tell in their faces how a boy was capricious at a neighbor in a compartment - he wanted to drink, he volunteered to buy a bottle of lemonade, and his watch lagged behind, because he hadn't been repaired well in the workshop ...
Enough! - Stas stopped him and began to dial to Kharkov. Meanwhile Inga entered. She waited until Denis left, and began to beg to increase her salary, because she has been working as a train station attendant for many years. Stas invited her to write a statement, but warned that this was hardly possible. Inga made a scene for him, threw a folder of papers from the table to the floor. And at that time Vadim entered the office with a briefcase.
It's true they say about you, - Inga did not calm down: you look polite, but ... just for your place you tremble!
I repeat - get out! - shouted Stas.
Well, wait! - Inga threatened at the door. - Not long for you to reign here! - And, slamming the door, she left.
Who is this woman? - asked Vadim, sitting down.
It's none of your business, - answered Stas. - Say what you have.
Still, I would like to know who she is - the cashier, the dispatcher?
Stas was silent, looking expectantly at Vadim, who finally said:
- You see, I'm uncomfortable ... but it just so happened ... I ask you to hand over the cases. I was sent to your place.
There was an eerie pause. In order not to prolong it, Vadim laid out a paper in front of Stas. Stas looked at her for a while, then said:
- Well then. Let me collect my thoughts ... - And he began to improvise the transfer of affairs to his successor. But, feeling that it was dragging on, he apologized and went to the medical center.
room for medicine. After which Vadim sat down in his original position, holding his head, and thus everyone understood that after the arrival of the new boss, little would change.
Discussing, the guys and Galanova agreed that Lyuba's episode was too short. In truth, this is how it should have been, but Lyuba did not think of something. It was enough, for example, to say that the person on duty did not believe her, because she listed her things inaccurately, how drama would appear in the sketch and it would take place. Everyone praised Dasha's visit, only noted the lack of stage freedom at the beginning. Denis got hit for comics. Anton emphasized that although the situation when the suitcase left without the owner is reliable, and there is a reason for a comedic study, but the story in faces about the neighbor and the watchmaker was superfluous, because under such circumstances, even in a comedic solution, Denis should have take it seriously. Inga was criticized for the pitiful tone in which she asked to increase her salary, since, acting on her own behalf), she should not have lost human dignity, and for | hysterics, in which the performer wanted to show her temperament, but showed, as Kirill said, “cultural backwardness”.
Stas was praised for the episode with Dasha, for a sincere and deep assessment of the news of the withdrawal, but they noted that it would be better for him not to fall into Inga's tone, but to be above the scandal arranged by her. Stas and Vadim were noticed that they delayed the episode in time, but still Stas got out with the help of taking care of the medicine, after which Vadim successfully put an end to it.
- So, let's deduce morality from the fable, - said Galanova.
If there are etudes on the exam, it will test your ability to act authentically and freely on stage, to be able to communicate in a human way. In parallel, this will be an exam for your
general culture, sense of proportion, sense of time. But at the moment of entering the sketch, you do not burden yourself with so many problems. Remember that you should always enter the stage confidently and easily, firmly clinging to the stage task.
You need to know that studies for entrance exams are given primarily in order to see what kind of person you are. In reading, behind a well-rehearsed excellent literary material, there is still something to hide. The study shows you as you are. If you know little, think little about life, you cannot connect two words in a sketch. If you managed to understand something, read a lot, kept a diary, exercising in expressing your thoughts, if you had to defend your views on things, mature or immature, you will be able to confidently conduct a dialogue in your own words in front of the commission. A person who has his own thoughts and his own face must have his own words.
We often get the feeling that life is flying with acceleration. It seems that quite recently there was about a year left before the entrance exams, but now it smells of spring and the time can be measured in weeks ...
By the end of April, the majority had finalized their plans. Almost all of them had summons from institutes and schools.
By this point, Nadia made the decision to abandon the thought of the stage. She did it with courage and thoughtfulness; that is why, without any "complexing", she continued to participate in studio classes and performances of "Romeo and Juliet". She outlined for herself a difficult, "male" engineering and physics faculty. And I studied mathematics with Victor, because he was to be examined in this subject at the Faculty of Economics of the State Institute of Theater Arts (GITIS). Ilya also had to combine art disciplines, such as general art history, theater history, with physics and mathematics. He chose for himself the production department of the Moscow Art Theater School.
Lera and Nina decided to enter the Moscow Theater, Art and Technical School (TCTU), which trains radio and electrical engineers, props, make-up artists, and costume designers. But we learned with alarm that this is an educational institution of local importance: it recruits and distributes graduates only within Moscow. Ilya found out and informed the girls that there is a similar TCTU in Odessa, and this is the only school that recruits and distributes graduates throughout the country. Soon both Lera and Nina received calls from Odessa. As well as Lyuba, who still hesitated between acting and make-up departments.
Gela learned that in the same Odessa school there is also a faculty of costume designers. But by this time she had already decided to take exams at the Moscow Textile Institute, at the faculty of fashion designers of outerwear. She understood that she would get less in a purely theatrical sense, but practice in the theater had already given her some foundation, and she wanted to get a higher education.
Kirill was still at the crossroads of three roads: either to go to Moscow to the Surikov Art Institute to the theatrical and decorative department, or together with Ilya to the Moscow Art Theater Studio to the staging one, from where, as he knew, not only zavposts come out with higher education but also set designers; or to Leningrad, to LGITMiK, where at the art-production faculty he was attracted by the traditions of the founder of this faculty Nikolai Pavlovich Akimov. The latter perspective seemed to him more and more attractive.
Vadim learned in the winter that this year in Moscow at GITIS there will be a recruitment specifically for the acting and directing department, and this interested him most of all.
Shortly before the final exam, Lida also made a choice: - GITIS, theater studies.
And only Vadim knew how hard it was for her to get this final decision.
Anton sent his works to the Gorky Moscow Literary Institute in order to at least check whether they would send a challenge.
The rest were going to the acting departments of Moscow universities: GITIS, the Moscow Art Theater Studio, Shchukinsky, Schepkinsky schools.
On Tuesday, June 28, the studio "Purpose" gathered for the last time.
Vera Evgenievna entered without any solemnity, as always, calm and cheerful.
- Remember the game "cold-hot"?
Remember!
Let's play!
The studio did not mind, although no one understood why it was.
- Here's a pencil. I will ask Lyuba to leave, and we will hide him.
When Lyuba left, Ksana took from Vera Evgenievna's hands
pencil and hid it under the radiator.
- Prompt only after my signal.
When Lyuba appeared, everyone was silent with a conspiratorial air. After hesitating, Lyuba began to look, but went the other way.
Help little by little, ”Galanova suggested.
Cool.
Very cold! Pole!
A little warmer.
More!
Hot!!
Finding a pencil under the battery - Lyuba, and along with her and other guys for some reason, were delighted.
So what was that? Galanova asked.
The simplest sketch.
Any other opinions?
Child Game! - Kirill objected.
Yes, the game! And the conclusion?
You must love children's games! - said Boba at random.
What does it mean?
As children, actors should be able to indulge in children's games, - said Vadim.
Vadim put it exactly! - Galanova was delighted. - Precisely - indulge in games! For whom the Christmas tree is just a source of garbage in the apartment, the artist died. Now let's think about how to transform an ordinary children's game into a sketch.
Add some "if", - guessed Anton.
Well, let's try! Here's a suggested circumstance for you, Dasha: you know where the pencil lies. But as a performer of the etude - no. And we don't know if Dasha will find a pencil.
As before, Lyuba, Dasha went out the door, Ksana went to Galanova, who, instead of a real pencil, handed her an imaginary one. Ksana took nothing, as if it were a pencil, and the guys with the same sincerity began to suggest where to hide it.
Like Lyuba, Dasha set about looking for a pencil for real, depicting nothing. As before, having received permission, the guys began to give a little hint: “cold-hot”. When Dasha did not find what she was looking for under the radiator, she was momentarily confused, but immediately hid it, triumphantly took out an imaginary pencil from under the radiator and gave it to Galanova, who quite seriously put it on the table in front of her.
Now I agree that it was a sketch. Further. Who can tell how to turn it into a mini show?
Move everything to the stage, - Victor guessed.
Yes! Who should be on stage?
Dasha.
No one else?
And those who suggest "cold-hot".
So, our play: Dasha is looking for a pencil. Inga, Nina, Tima, Ksana, Lida, Lera help. I ask everyone to the stage.
And can I be - a pencil? - Denis suddenly blurted out.
You and so we have a clown Pencil! - said Gela, but Galanova jumped at the idea.
This is a joke! - Denis began to deny.
The word is not a sparrow. Denis - on stage! You will be a pencil, only with a small letter.
How to play a pencil? - Lera asked.
How - I don't know. But you can even play a punctuation mark, and an ink blot, and a day of the week. Tyuz often contains such characters and artists create serious works.
Denis went to the stage. He straightened up and stood aside, silent and faceless.
- Dasha, not for long, - asked Lida. - Tim, please hide the pencil under the battery.
The onlookers laughed, but no one on the stage seemed to notice.
Timofey went up to Denis, put his hand on his shoulder and he obediently trotted to the opposite wings. With a strong-willed movement, Tim put Denis on the floor, and he hid his head behind the curtain, as kids do in a game, saying: "I'm not here!" The search began, clues. And when the pencil was found, Dasha took Denis by the shoulder and led him to Lida, she opened the bag, put an imaginary pencil there, and Denis-pencil instantly turned into just Denis and returned to his place.
- Let's repeat the sketch. I'll ask another group to come onstage. Now I ask you to put the pencil in the pocket of one of the participants and guess by the eyes whose pocket it is. In the role of a pencil - Stas. Vadim will search, but I will add a circumstance: he did not sleep all night.
Vadim relaxed, believed that there was lethargy throughout his body, but, overcoming himself, began to carefully peer into everyone's eyes. Meanwhile, Star, not hiding, stood behind Geli. The condition about a sleepless night made not only Vadim, but also everyone who was on the stage, check themselves to see if there were any excess tension in the muscles. Vadim stopped in front of Gela and looked at her intently. Gelia "on the blue eye" shook her head. Vadim did not concede. He patted his pocket with a hint and froze. Gela hesitated, but after Vadim smiled and even winked, Gela had no choice but to touch her jacket pocket with her hand, after which Stas openly left her chair.
So, let's check ourselves. What elements of acting school and stage language did we apply in these exercises? The first quality we identified in the game: human immediacy. Take care of it in yourself! Who will continue?
Belief in magical "if only," Xana responded immediately.
That's right: the stage miracle is not created by pyrotechnics, but by the artists' faith in fiction, even the most naive one. More?
Our attention, - Ilya entered. - The guys were attentive to both real objects and imaginary ones.
Right. Don't forget that too. On stage, on the stage, or in front of the selection committee, a pass will always help out trained attention. As in life - composure.
Assessment! - Inga continued. - Those who were looking for a pencil each time sincerely appreciated the find.
Well done. More?
- Muscle freedom. Nobody was squeezed or loose, - said Nadia.
Yes. This is also a lifesaver. Always release unnecessary stress when speaking to an audience and in life! But don't relax too much. Let your muscles train themselves to find the norm.
Another - action! - reminded Vadim.
This, as you know, is the most important element of the school. Remember this: as soon as the action ceases, the theater ceases to exist.
Communication! - added Nina.
Yes. You didn’t act alone, but interacting with each other. Remember the moment when Vadim tried to guess by his eyes who had a pencil. What element was still connected during his communication with Gela?
A device! - Victor guessed.
Vitin's favorite element! - Denis did not fail to sneer.
Remember, - Galanova smiled, - that the devices are not fixed. They are always new. You were convinced of this on the examples of the best actors of our theater, when you played "Romeo and Juliet" with them ...
Seventy-two performances! - Timofey noted, and there was a sad pause, which Galanova quickly removed;
No one has yet remembered the rhythm, the magical power of which you have felt in recent years both on stage and in life. There is one more basic element, not a school, but a theater, which is useful to us now. What do you think it would be if, in the eighth grade, on the first day of class in a sketch, I suggested to some of you to play a pencil, and to the other - to hide it in his pocket?
There would be laughter, that's all, - said Anton.
You see! And now you have solved this problem not only competently, but even artistically. Well?
Not wishing to further test the students with questions, Galanova answered herself:
- All three years we have been taking care of the stage truth. And this is actually the most important component of art - "half an apple". The other half of all aesthetics is convention. The sense of truth and the ability to trace the logic of convention make up an understanding of the language of art as a whole. Trust one another. Cherish your sense of truth and develop a taste for convention - the ability to distinguish empty, fictional forms from the witty symbol on stage.
... After a break, which was a little quieter than usual, Vera Evgenievna turned to the guys:
“Well,” she began, “since we’ve practically worked out, I’d like to say something.
First of all, I congratulate you on your complete secondary education. During the three years of our studies, you did not waste time. I am confident that you now know how to work - together and independently. You tested yourself for maturity in a group of adults, and such a difficult one as theater. Defined your life goals. This is not so small. But not too much.
Perhaps some of you are destined to do a lot in life. In any case, do not forget the behest of Academician Pavlov: always have the courage to say about yourself: "I am an ignoramus." This is a guarantee of maintaining modesty, a guarantee of your spiritual growth.
You are entering the adult world. How will he meet you?
- If you hear that none of the people can be trusted, know that it is not. But don't be simple. The ability to understand people is your immediate goal.
Where does it start?
With a close look in the face. The face is not only a screen of our momentary experiences, but also a book of past years. What envious person wants to have “envious” written on his face? Whatever the rogue would give so that his appearance did not give him away? But neither one nor the other will hide from the penetrating gaze of the physiognomist.
As much as I could, I tried to draw your attention to the meaning of the words, their roots. Face, personality.
The art of human studies consists in the ability to discern the person behind the face.
But from the same root, the word mask comes from. This is not a transparent mask of a good person on an evil person, but a special gift of some people to inspire others that they are not at all what they really are. That is probably why the proverb was born that you can really recognize a person only by eating a pound of salt with him.
Let us now turn to ourselves.
I am pleased with the friendly atmosphere in our studio. I don’t remember now a single unworthy act on anyone’s side that would poison the memories of the three years we spent together. But this is not a guarantee for the future for each of you. You must come up with a formula for decency - the sooner the better. And always, like a compass, be guided by it.
I have never understood people for whom, first of all, their own peace, especially in their younger years. Much richer is the one who, on the way to his goal, passes through life's storms, through trials.
And the last thing. Do not grumble about life if it does not give you something right away. For those who know how to wait, everything comes on time!
Tests
A week passed, and the first group left for Moscow: Ksana, Inga, Lyuba, Dasha, Bob, Tim, Stas and Denis, who christened everyone together as a magnificent eight.
We will return not salty - that will be "magnificent" for you! - grumbled Timofey.
Keep away from me, mind you! - Denis exclaimed with shamanic movements.
There was no way to blame the eight travelers for the tourist mood. Perhaps the opposite. Only Denis and Boba made jokes out of habit. To some extent, this relieved internal tension, but most of their jokes hung in the air. He was especially keen on Tim's solitude. As luck would have it, a reckless company rode with him in the compartment, every now and then deafeningly laughing. The guys strongly suggested Tim to change places, but he did not agree. Then Boba and Denis "as a preparatory practice" played out a sketch, assuring the cheerful neighbors that their friend was nervous, with seizures and was going to Moscow for treatment. They began to laugh more quietly, glancing warily at the top shelf.
... The situation in the hostels where the children were accommodated left much to be desired. The tone among the applicants was set by those who were looking for an easy and fun life in the theater, but in fact hoped to do less than others. They had nothing to lose, and they celebrated with equal vigor both the passage of each to the next round, and the failure, and the departure. The Galanovites were not shocked by this, as they knew in advance what awaited them. Tim, however, immediately ran away from such bedlam to the apartment of some grandmother, who, as he said, was "although bad, but quiet." The rest firmly decided not to pay attention to anything, to sleep at night, no matter what these, as Stas put it, "casual fellow travelers of life." They went for the exam as needed - two, three, but more one at a time, so that they could prepare and concentrate on the way.
No matter how Vera Evgenievna anticipated them, everyone was initially stunned by the number of applicants. It was more difficult than others for those who could not pass quickly. Dasha, for example, who showed up for the first round by ten in the morning, appeared before the commission only at about nine in the evening.
I didn’t understand anything from fatigue, ”she told her roommate.
And the teachers?
It seems to me that they were in a fog.
Nevertheless, the whole eight passed the first round.
- To pass the first and second round does not mean anything, - Inga instructed her neighbors in the hostel.
From the second round, Ksana in Shchepkinsky and Lyuba in Shchukinsky flew in one day. Both proudly did not allow themselves to express any sympathy.
Whatever is done, everything is for the best! - Lyuba cheered up. - Girls are already waiting for me in Odessa! Why should I be an actress? All my life I would suffer that roles are not given. And so - I'll become a good make-up artist, everyone will need it. Scarcity! Exactly right?
And I also just wanted to try the strength. I'll be a teacher! - Ksana echoed her. - Of course, all this still needs to be recovered ...
The girls did not want to be seen off, but the guys assured that they would not leave without their help. As Denis assumed, it was necessary "to act out the sketches in the office of the chief of the station." And indeed, with considerable difficulties, Boba and Denis managed to send Lyuba to Odessa, and Ksana home.
- I did it there, - Denis boasted, - and rolled his eyes, and fainted ...
The next day, Inga in Shchukinsky was cut off on sketches and disappeared from the hostel, without saying a word to anyone. The second round did not pass, also Boba and Denis.
- Eh! I'll wave for a week in Pitsunda - lick my wounds! -
said Boba, counting the money. - Enough for a common carriage.
Bro I got there. He won't let you die of hunger!
Tim, seeing off Denis, assured:
You will enter in a year! Just think again what to read.
I already thought of Ushinsky. Today I bought it in a second-hand book. '' Denis showed the book.
Timofey looked at him in surprise.
For a pedagogical purpose. With Ksanka at the same time!
What are you! After all, you and Kuliskaya are the friendliest of all!
Do you want a secret? It was he who gave me this idea.
Jokes?
The jokes are over, Tim. Adult life has gone. Okay! With Ksanka we will spin such a teacher's theater there - you will collapse! Well, go ahead, Timofey! ..
... And then he came - the third round. Each university for twenty-five places out of two thousand applicants left about fifty people. Now the applicant faced a duel with only one opponent. Tim and Stas were in the top ten. They treated each other not as competitors, on the contrary, they sincerely cheered one for the other. Tim was sure that Stas read better than anyone else, and Stas had no doubt that Timofey took the palm: listening to him, the members of the commission did not hide their pleasure ...
Indeed, three of the magnificent eight: Stas, Tima and Dasha triumphantly passed the third round. But suddenly Tim was cut off on the essay, even though he had fives in his certificate in Russian and literature. Apparently, all his strength went to the competition.
Stas and Dasha caught the head of the course in the corridor, he immediately remembered Timofey Blokhin:
- I may be even more annoyed than you! - And spread
hands.
The rest of the guys had their exams in August, and they continued to work hard. Victor was preparing for a colloquium at the Faculty of Economics of GITIS, where, as he knew, there could be all kinds of questions about the history of the theater, and about its practice and economics, and about mathematics.
Ilya and Kirill studied together: they had to enter different institutes and with an eye to different specialties, but to the same production department. However, the programs of the Moscow Art Theater Studio and the Leningrad Institute did not coincide in many ways, interestingly complementing each other, and the guys decided to prepare, taking into account the requirements of both institutes.
Vadim and Lida had a lot in common in the theoretical part of the program, and since they had already read a lot, they also made their task more difficult: Lida studied books on directing, Vadim often looked into the list of literature for applicants to theater studies. Something they still did not have time and, in order not to overexert themselves, turned to the Theater Encyclopedia, receiving condensed information from it.
Denis really submitted documents to the pedagogical, where, as he assured, there was a shortage of men, especially the comedians' plan. Boba made a sharp turn to the engineering path and asked Nadia to take over his patronage.
Inga, apparently, was very wounded and completely disappeared from sight. The guys were sure that in a year she would go to acting again.
The days rushed by with incredible speed. And now Kirill flew to Leningrad, and after him Lida, Gela, Ilya, Anton, Victor, Vadim left for Moscow. A day before their departure, a joyful telegram came from Odessa: all three girls - Nina, Lyuba and Lera entered the Theater School of Art and Technology.
The six who came to Moscow also stayed in different hostels and hardly met. Vadim had to establish good relations with those on duty in Lida's hostel, so that she would be called to the phone as an exception. They both had a few more days left before the exams, and, meeting in the morning, they walked around the theater museums one after the other: Stanislavsky, Alexander Nikolaevich Ostrovsky, Nemirovich-Danchenko, Ermolova, Creativity of serfs in Ostankino, and most importantly - the Bakhrushin Theater Museum and the Museum Moscow Art Theater. The evenings were spent in the Central Theater Library. We went to theaters twice.
These were troubling and joyful days. The future was intriguing. But Vera Evgenievna's parting words inspired confidence that in the end everyone will achieve their own in life ...
... The tests for the acting and directing department began with an interview.
At the table were the head of the course, two teachers, in the second row - several students. Called one at a time. When Vadim entered, it seemed that he was being X-rayed. “Nothing,” he decided, “the main thing is not to get lost and not get into a pose. Everyone does their job. "
The chairman of the commission, after reading Vadim's autobiography, stared at him.
Do you want to become a director ... and an actor too?
An actor for directing.
- And the director, in your opinion, should play on stage?
Yes, but not in their productions.
Why?
Because ... it's impossible to be here and there at once.
Clear. Well, Stanislavsky?
It's a mystery to me.
So. Thank you. Invite the next one.
Vadim came out with a feeling of terrible dissatisfaction, as if he, like Khoja Nasreddin, had only been given the smell of food. "Is it possible to decide the fate of a person in two minutes ?!" Vadim had no doubts that he "did not appear" to the master of the course. And just in case, I forced myself to wait for the result.
He was admitted to further exams.
Lida was expecting a similar interview the next day. Desperate to get through, Vadim went to the hostel in the evening. Having found out that Lida was not yet there, he asked at random one of the incoming girls:
Are you not an applicant?
Student.
Theater studies?
Let's say yes. Any more questions?
Vadim had enough questions. He found out that the girl helps in the selection committee and remembers Lida Dedova very well, She was among the latter. She was asked about everything: about the poetics of Aristotle and Schiller, and about views on the art of Zola, and about Brecht's aesthetics, about the history of Meyerhold's productions, about Juve, Mei-Lanfan and Tovstonogov. Lida answered most of the questions and made a very good impression. Having found Lida's article in the local newspaper in the documents, she was asked why she wrote specifically about “Romeo and Juliet”. Lida spoke briefly, without undue enthusiasm, about the elective and the practice in the theater. Naturally, questions began about the history of the performances of Romeo and Juliet, which gave Lida another reason to shine. When Lida was released, the professor who was taking the course noticed to someone:
- Here. And you say - a weak stream!
Vadim wanted to warmly thank the student, but at that moment Lida appeared from around the corner. Vadim rushed to meet her, the girl glanced at them proudly and disappeared.
Lida was extremely exhausted. Vadim, however, convinced her that it would be better to go for a walk after all.
The young people went to the Lenin Hills. They walked along the embankment, full of anticipation and hope. From the other side of the Moskva River, from the stadium, music was heard. After listening, Vadim and Lida simultaneously stopped and looked at each other. It was a melody from Prokofiev's ballet Romeo and Juliet, and they saw it as a good omen.
A day later, Vadim was waiting for the next exam. It was carried out in two stages: in the morning - acting sketches, in the evening - director's sketches.
At the morning exam, Vadim was given a solo sketch for a fantasy - to link three concepts on stage: “luck”, “fear”, “knock”. A minute was given to prepare. In my head flashed: "If only not to start playing feelings - neither fear, nor joy associated with luck!" And the second thought was: "It would be better not to use a minute."
And Vadim started almost at random. He went to the closed door and stood in doubt. He raised his hand to knock, but did not dare. “They are watching carefully,” Vadim felt and realized that he had the right to repeat his hesitant attempt once again. Finally, he knocked. Then, opening the door slightly, he turned to the corridor with a question:
- Sorry, for some reason there are no lists. Can you find out if I made it to the next round?
There was no answer from the corridor, but Vadim managed to imagine what it would be like if he heard “Yes” and it was true. He almost staggered with imaginary joy. Closing the door tightly behind him, he turned to the commission not only without impudence, but with sincere confusion:
- Luck...
Subtle approving reactions followed. "It seems, indeed, luck, - flashed in Vadim's head. - However, the last battle is yet to come."
At the evening exam, the group that Vadim joined got the topic "Suspicion". Each of the five (and the rest as actors) was asked to make a director's sketch on this topic. All together were given an hour to prepare.
At first, Vadim felt a sense of panic: "I can't handle it." Then he began to quickly figure out how to overcome it.
- Choosing a props! he called. Everybody went out to another
a room where, apparently especially for applicants, a wide variety of items were prepared ...
Whether the sketch turned out well, Vadim could not determine. There was something in him, but he built it hastily, with unfamiliar guys who did not do everything the way he would have liked ... It remained to wait.
On the same day, Lida had a written work.
At eight in the evening, as agreed, Vadim approached the hostel. Lida spotted him through the window, and they went to wander the alleys of old Moscow.
Lida spoke about the exam. Written work in the specialty was carried out simultaneously as an essay. Lida was attracted by a free theme, which, as she understood, was given to test human maturity and the consciousness of her life goal: "The place of a theater expert in theatrical art." Lida wrote about all the types of theater studies she knew about: a theater historian, a journalist-reviewer, a radio and television editor, head of the theater's literary section. Lida wrote about the latter specialty with particular enthusiasm, proving how much the state of its literary part means in the fate of each theater. Practice in the theater gave her the opportunity to describe her work specifically, to give interesting examples.
As it turned out the next day, Lida was given a four for the composition. On the one hand, it was a high mark. On the other hand, a five would not hurt. But Lida knew literature and history well, and Vadim's task was to prevent her from getting upset or too worried.
Finally, the exams entered their final stages. And Vadim understood for himself why they are called tests: indeed, it was difficult to withstand such stress. True, they were encouraged by the good news from the guys. Through Gela it became known that Kirill had already been enrolled in the Leningrad Theater Institute. And soon she herself found herself in the lists admitted to the Moscow Textile. Ilya and Viktor's results were still unknown, but both gained the maximum number of points.
The colloquium was another test for Vadim. Unlike the first interview, he was not allowed to go for about twenty minutes, asking the most unexpected, sometimes tricky questions, starting with why the theater needs a director and ending with the aesthetic principles and technological methods of almost all outstanding directors of the past and present.
After the colloquium eighteen people remained from the initial eight hundred applicants for five directorial places, including Vadim.
As in the theater department, work in the specialty was at the same time an essay.
It was expected that the next morning, along with the grade for the essay, the list of those accepted would be announced. But there was a rumor that the results would be announced late in the evening - after the final meeting of the commissions. Some, including Vadim, remained to wait until the victorious in the front garden near the institute.
At the beginning of the first night, one by one, tired teachers began to appear. Mysteriously glancing at the applicants, they passed by. Someone wanted to rush after, but then a student came out with a sheet of paper. The waiting crowd gathered around him in silence. Vadim heard his last name fourth.
... Vadim could not sleep for a long time. His thoughts were hot, his imagination was hovering under the clouds ...
And at this time at the Yaroslavl station Lida was crying inconsolably. Her nerves were strained to the limit. And when someone touched her hand, she recoiled abruptly, almost screaming. It was Anton, who also did not find himself in the lists of those admitted to the Literary Institute.
Lida felt a little better. At least in this difficult situation, she was not alone. And together they began to make efforts to go home as soon as possible.
... Meanwhile, Vadim still could not descend from the clouds. From afar, like a lullaby, came the familiar, old song:
My childhood, wait
Don't rush, wait;
Give me a simple answer:
What's ahead? ..
The blessed dream began to overwhelm Vadim little by little. He fell asleep with the thought: "I wonder why we are not being gathered on the first of September, but on the eve of the thirty-first? .."
He dreamed of a giant double door. He knocked on it for a long time, but in vain. And when he had already lost hope and decided to leave, the doors opened abruptly, so that Vadim almost fell there. He barely kept his balance and saw before him a small, vaguely outlined, smoky gray figure. She shook her finger at him cheerfully. And then suddenly, making a theatrical gesture, she exclaimed:
- Come in bolder! ..
At the same time, the mysterious "someone" did not give way. And as if through a column of dust in a sunbeam, Vadim passed through this strange creature.
Ahead was an endlessly long corridor with a similar door in the distance. From behind her he peeped out - Kuliska - and with the same mysteriously mischievous look pointed with his paw to the next door. And from everywhere repeated echoes repeated after him:
- Go ahead! Go ahead! Dare-eee !!!
Epilogue
Memorable dates, deeply personal for us, themselves revive and bring the past closer. On the day of the tenth anniversary of graduation, Lida and Vadim had something to remember. But in the morning Vadim had a rehearsal, Lida had the usual business in the theater.
In the evening Vadim watched the introduction of a new performer into the performance. Lida was at home alone. She also had some work to do. Of course, in the morning it is easier to write, but from everyone who serves in the theater, he takes the best part of the day. Lida remembered Galanova's behest: creative work does not know the weekend.
Now she was finishing an article about the premiere at the Youth Theater - a play for preschoolers "The Scarlet Flower". Lida didn't want it to be just a review. Through the evaluation of one performance, she decided to address the problems of theater for the little ones. Gathering her thoughts, Lida leafed through the wonderful illustrations of the artist Bilibin for Russian folk tales. This evening it was more difficult for her to tune in than usual. Every now and then Lida was distracted by memories ...
... Was she lucky in life? Today she could answer this question definitely: yes! Although much was not achieved immediately, through overcoming difficult circumstances, and most importantly - myself.
Not enrolling then at the institute, Lida made an attempt to break with the theater. But she couldn't. Working in the library, she prepared again and a year later again did not qualify for the competition. After consulting with Vera Evgenievna, Lida got a job as a property manager and continued to prepare. And a year later she became a student of the correspondence department of the theater department. And when Vadim's fate was decided, he summoned Lida to him, and they became husband and wife, as if it had long been decided between them. They were a good couple, they were united by a lot, and above all - a common life goal. From the first days of family life, Lida realized that such a difficult job, which Vadim had, can go on successfully only when the atmosphere at home is subordinated to the main thing: creativity. And that she herself should not only help Vadim, but also not lose herself, also grow creatively ...
... Lida finally managed to concentrate. She wrote that the feeling of theater is laid in a person from the first performances he sees in life; therefore, the theater for preschoolers should be real - modern, wise and simple as the truth. And yet - unexpected ... Fortunately, in the new performance there were moments that Lida could cite in support of her thought.
Three hours later, Lida finished the article. Now she belonged to herself and could indulge in memories. Before her lay letters and telegrams from former students.
They were well informed about each other, but each news was received with great interest.
None of the destinies was lost, no one got lost in life.
They often saw Cyril: he came from Leningrad to design performances and soon had to move to their city, take on the position of chief artist of the theater. Sometimes, at the invitation of Vadim, Gela also flew in - to make costumes for classical productions.
Over time, Vadim hoped to strengthen the leadership of the theater with two more strong specialists: Ilya and Viktor, who now worked in different cities, one as a postman, the other as a deputy director of the theater.
Stas and Dasha became actors of the first position and worked in one of the largest theaters in the Urals.
Three girls who graduated from the Odessa School were enrolled in the staff of their favorite theater: Lera became the leading lighting regulator; Not so long ago, Lyuba took over the make-up shop from the retired Zoya Ivanovna, and even folk artists reckoned with her, as with a master. Nina worked as a prop, producing small masterpieces for the stage. All three felt needed and welcomed in the theater.
Have celebrities come out of the former Galanists?
Is that the point?
The purpose of creativity is self-giving,
And not hype, not success ... - said the poet.
However, Timofey Blokhin became a popular reader, master of the artistic word. In the city where Vadim and Lida worked, his tour was soon expected.
In a word, everyone, whom art did not let go, sooner or later found himself in it. Those who realized that the theater in their life is a concomitant hobby found themselves in other types of activity. The studio years were not in vain for anyone.
Lida constantly corresponded with Ksana. Just like Denis, she graduated from the Pedagogical Institute, and they made good teachers. Both coped with the most difficult classes with ease, were always armed with humor, knew how to captivate the imagination of the children. Denis and Ksana really organized a folk teacher's theater, which flourished in their city.
Of those who chose a business far from the theater, the once quiet, inconspicuous Nadya became a famous person. She was already the deputy director of a large plant, a deputy of the city council. However, she still did not miss a single premiere at the theater and said that it was very helpful in her work. “Without theater and studio,” she confessed to Ksane at the meeting, “I would not have learned to work with people, to understand them.”
Boba also worked at the same plant. When Ksana asked how he was working under Nadezhda's supervision, Boba said one word: "fair." And this was an exhaustive description of Galanova's student. Boba changed, became more thoughtful, less noisy and also remembered the studio with gratitude. He said that it was then that he learned to live in a team, to be obligatory, punctual.
Anton, who did not enter the literary institute, actually graduated from a sailor and became a "sea wolf". But he never gave up the thought of drama. He became convinced in practice that you cannot write for the theater without knowing him, and you will not say anything new about the sea if you are not a sailor. On long, sometimes half-year flights, he always had the world of his imagination and a sheet of paper with him. He sent Vadim one by one versions of his play "Evening on the Road", until finally Vadim recognized it as completed and considered it possible to include it in the theater's repertoire plan.
Little did the guys know only about Inga. According to rumors, she worked as a lecturer at the Knowledge Society in some city and they were satisfied with her ...
And Vera Evgenievna still played in her theater and released two more groups of students. All of her former students continued to live under her watchful gaze.
Lida leafed through the telegrams, letters ... Before her eyes stood pictures of the past, faces ...
And at this time, in the auditorium, Vadim in a whisper dictated to his assistant remarks to the artists, technical workshops, and above all to the newly introduced one. The debutant worked well. His role, in essence, ended in the first act, however, there was still a small exit near the finale. Vadim was not in the habit of leaving the auditorium during the performance, but this time he allowed himself an exception. He dismissed the assistant and entered his office. There was about an hour ahead. He muted the internal broadcast and sat down at the table. My mind's eye ran through the events that had passed since graduation ...
... Student years are once in a lifetime. They were intense and intense. By the third year, Vadim began to look for a theater for himself, where he could carry out his graduation performance. He wrote tirelessly to the most remote corners of the country. Finally, one of the Siberian theaters became interested in the opportunity to get a young specialist.
Of course, it was not easy at first: directors-novices in any theater will face considerable challenges. But Vadim had enough character,
Chapter 4.Three poems
Doesn't require a poet yet
To the sacred sacrifice of Apollo,
Into the worries of vain light
He is cowardly immersed;
His holy lyre is silent;
The soul tastes a cold dream
And among the children of the insignificant world,
Perhaps he is the most insignificant of all.
But only a divine verb
He touches the hearing sensitive,
The poet's soul will stir
Like an awakened eagle.
He yearns in the fun of the world,
People shun rumor
At the feet of the national idol
Doesn't bow a proud head;
He runs, wild and stern,
And sounds and confusion is full,
To the shores of desert waves
Into the noisy Dubrovy ...
A.S. Pushkin (1827)
The cab yard and rising from the waters
In the ledges - the criminal and cloudy Tower,
And the ringing of horseshoes, and the chill ringing
Westminster, a lump wrapped in mourning.
And narrow streets; walls like hops
Accumulating dampness in overgrown logs
Sullen as soot, and mash as ale,
Like London, cold as tread, uneven.
In spirals, snow is falling sluggishly,
They were already locked when he, flabby,
Like a slipped belly, went half asleep
To bring down, falling asleep wasteland.
Window and grains of purple mica
In lead rims - “Depends on the weather.
But by the way ... But by the way, we are free to pine.
But by the way - on the barrel! Barber, water! "
And shaving, cackling, holding his sides
In the words of a wit, not tired of the feast
Strain through the grown-in mouthpiece of the shank
Murderous nonsense.
Meanwhile, Shakespeare
The hunt disappears to joke. Sonnet,
Written at night with fire, without blots,
At that table yonder where the acidified wound
Dives with a lobster claw
The sonnet tells him:
"I admit
Your abilities, but, genius and master,
For rent, like you, and the one on the edge
Keg, with a soapy muzzle that suit
I am all in lightning, that is, higher in the caste,
Than people - in short, what I give
By fire, as in my scent, by the stench of your knaster?
Forgive my father for my skepticism
Filial, but sir, but my lord, we are in the inn.
What's in your circle? What are your chicks
Before the splashing blackness? I want width!
Read this one. Sir, why?
In the name of all guilds and bills! Five yards
- And you are with him in the billiard room, and there - I don't understand,
Why is popularity in the billiard room not successful for you?
- Him?! Are you mad? - And calls the servant,
And nervously playing with a malaga branch,
Counts: half a pint, French stew -
And at the door, running a napkin at the ghost.
B.L. Pasternak (1919)
The third verse will be a little lower, but for now, conduct an experiment: read a poem by Pushkin, then - Pasternak.
If Pasternak's verse is incomprehensible, then reread Pushkin's verse, but with the knowledge that Pushkin will explain Pasternak for us, for with classical clarity he says the same thing.
More than once I have been able to help those for whom poetry is an important part of life, using Pushkin's transparent verse, to understand Pasternak's incredibly complex verse.
And every time a miracle happens: Parsnip's verse suddenly acquires transparency and absolutely classical clarity. And the more we read into Parsnip's verse, the more we will feel the style of not only this particular verse, but also Parsnip's poetry, and modern poetry in general.
Moreover, I want to express a thought, which may seem strange at the beginning:
parsnip's verse is Pushkin's verse a hundred years later. And it was written as a reminiscence of Pushkin's. The only thing that I dare not define is the conscious or subconscious reminiscence in Pasternak.
i will commit
one terrible
experiment:
i will convey the content of both verses prosaically in a simultaneous story.
Why is this awful?
Because I myself violate my convinced agreement with Osip Mandelstam's brilliant assertion that true poetry is incompatible with retelling. And where it is compatible, "there the sheets are not crumpled, there poetry did not spend the night." The only thing that can justify me is that my exercise is not a retelling, but an even more unusual experiment.
What if Osip Emilievich would have liked him?
Seven troubles - one answer
(But maybe ... is there something in this?)
So, closing my eyes, I throw myself into the abyss.
Episode from the life of W. Shakespeare.
(Here highlight phrases and images borrowed from the verse of Pasternak, and in italics the same - from a poem by Pushkin.)
Shakespeare sat at a table in a filthy tavern in a slum district of London, where tight streets,where even sullen sooty walls smelled hops, among the mash vagrants,drank drunken beer and told them filthy anecdotes.
The tramps laughed loudly, and most of all alone with a soapy face, who, having heard wit-Shakespeare, could not get there and at the same time decide where he and the rest of the bums will sleep tonight. Suck on the street (or, as they usually call it, "Free").
Or maybe on a bench in a pub.
Depending on the weather.
If this baggy, flabby snow falls, you will have to neglect freedom and stay in this smoky pub.
And Shakespeare smokes incessantly, so much so that it seems that the mouthpiece is attached to his mouthforever and ever.
But what is Shakespeare doing here, in this pub, among people who have no idea that this is the greatest creator that ever existed?
Why is he talking about this nonsense?
The fact is that his contact with Apollo ended. The result was a sonnet written at night with fire without blots at a distant table.
And then his holy lyre fell silent.
In addition, after contact with the sky, Shakespeare was immensely tired (after all, God demands a poet to sacrifice ).
And Shakespeare wanted to relax in the circle of vagrants.
And here is our genius lost heart , he not only approached the tramps, but for some reason he suddenly needed to be in the center of their attention.
After all his lyre was silent, and he felt himself in a state of cold sleep , that is, the same condition in which London tramps often find themselves.
They do not care about the problems of the universe, and they are happy about it.
They should have a drink, gag, have a good night's sleep, and then have enough of a hangover.
And Shakespeare seemed to be one of them. It might even seem to an outsider that among the children of the insignificant of the world, he may be the most insignificant of all .
And suddenly, in the midst of a cackle keen hearing Shakespeare caught the sound that came from the corner on the side of the far table, where he was away from everyone, just a few hours ago he was creating his sonnet.
Then he did not hear any cackle or dirty curses, but, only the divine verb that touched his ears .
And now Shakespeare hears this sound again!
Poet yearned for fun - he felt uneasy.
And Shakespeare immediately lost the desire to joke.
In the next instant, he rushed to the far table.
And I was dumbfounded!
Sonnet tells him !!! You wrote me at night, with fire,
without blots, but, Genius and master!
Why are you here?
What are you doing here?
What's in your circle?
Shakespeare woke up from a dream.
What does he, the Poet, do here and this whether a vagrant on the edge of a keg, with a soapy face,his friend?
How can he, Shakespeare, communicate with those to whom he does not dare to read his sonnet?
How can his lips spew words that are as filthy and smelly as this sour wound in an embrace with the claw of a half-eaten lobster.
Yes, on top of that, and - smelly knaster (that nasty cheap tobacco!)
But the sonnet has an unusual and very strange proposal. Maybe Shakespeare should take a chance go along with this, who has a soapy face, into the billiard room and try to read him a sonnet?
Perhaps this one will understand the heavenly origin of poetry? (after all, the sonnet is covered in lightning, that is, higher in caste than people)
- Him?
Madness!!!
Sheer madness !!!
Shakespeare suddenly felt instantly how he yearns in the fun of the world , as this is alien to him primitive rumor ... He feverishly calculates how much he must pay, and like a madman jumps out the door.
He runs, wild and stern,
And sounds, and full of confusion.
For the divine verb has touched the sensitive ear .
ANDalong the way launched stuck to your hands napkin into some drunkenness ghost –
the last obstacle in the form of one of the paltry children of this paltry world standing in his way to the shores of desert waves, into the wide-noisy oak forests ...
Now, such a strange experiment.
But the time has come for the third poem.
It will greatly complicate our already seemingly clear picture. Although it is on the same topic as the previous two.
This poem Alexander Blok, as well as Pasternak's "Shakespeare",also grew out of Pushkin's “Doesn't require a poet yet”.
And from several of his lines.
But it was precisely this, written eleven years before Parsnip's verse, that in turn influenced him.
We have to understand that Pasternak's verse is a reminiscence of both Pushkin’s and Blok’s poems, that all three verses are vitally related to each other.
So, Blok's poem
A deserted quarter has grown outside the city
On the soil is swampy and unsteady.
Poets lived there - and everyone met
Another haughty smile.
In vain and the bright day rose
Over this sad swamp:
Its inhabitant dedicated his day
Wine and hard work.
When they got drunk, they swore of friendship,
They chatted cynically and spicy.
In the morning they vomited. Then they locked themselves
They worked stupidly and zealously.
Then they climbed out of the booths like dogs,
We watched the sea burn
And the gold of every passerby scythe
They were captivated competently.
Spinning up, dreamed of the golden age,
They scolded the publishers together,
And wept bitterly over the little flower,
Over a small cloud of pearl ...
This is how poets lived. Reader and friend!
You think maybe worse
Your daily powerless attempts
Your philistine puddle?
No, dear reader, my critic is blind!
At the extreme, the poet has
And braids, and clouds, and the golden age,
All this is beyond your reach! ..
You will be pleased with yourself and your wife,
Its constitution is scanty,
But the poet has a worldwide binge,
And constitutions are not enough for him!
Let me die under the fence like a dog
Let life trample me into the ground, -
I believe: then God brought me with snow,
That blizzard kissed me!
A. Block (1908)
After reading this verse, we can conclude that its author, the poet Alexander Blok (or his lyrical hero), is a homeless drunkard, who also believes that real life is not with someone who is “satisfied with himself and his wife”, but with a person free from all the conventions of the world and therefore lonely.
That he lives in a booth like a dog.
That he swears friendship only when he gets drunk.
Instead of food - wine.
In the morning, instead of joyfully going to work, as for a feat, he locks himself in his booth!
Vomits him in the morning!
Great life!
And the perspective in its ending is “to die under the fence like a dog”.
Isn't it a terrible poem? And this drunkard, man-hater, hypocrite is read as a great sovereign poet? An excellent role model and education.
And connoisseurs and lovers of Blok's poetry, with good reason, will be angry with me: after all, I could choose completely different motives from hundreds of his poems. The textbook "The girl sang in the church choir" alone is worth a lot.
"Oh, I want to live madly."
Or remember that while dying, Blok did not crawl to the fence like a dog, but went to say goodbye to the Pushkin House:
“That's why, at sunset hours,
Leaving into the darkness of the night
From the white square of the Senate ...
I bow quietly to him. "
I chose a very special and completely uncharacteristic verse for Blok. Moreover, I invite all readers of this book to pay special attention to it.
Is he worth this attention?
So, firstly, you could not help noticing that the theme of Blok's poem echoes Pushkin's poem and, of course, influenced Pasternak's poem. And here, in this verse, the principles of what Mandelstam calls instrumentality are perfected.
To such perfection that the verse hides the exact opposite meaning.
Already his first line leads directly to Pushkin.
"A deserted quarter has grown outside the city."
What is Pushkin's here?
Everything! But not directly.
For example, the word "desert" is a very common word in Pushkin. And it means "lonely".
Do you remember this - "freedom sower of the desert"?
Or a "desert star"?
Or “on the shore of desert waves”?
After Pushkin, no one used this word in poetry. And suddenly Blok does it, and even a hundred years after Pushkin.
Why, it's clear why!
This is nothing more than a secret dedication to Pushkin, a hint of continuity not only in poetry in general, but also in a specific poem.
After all, Blok writes in his dying address to Pushkin:
"Pushkin, secret freedom
We sang after you!
Give us your hand in bad weather
Help the silent fight! "
That is why the dedication to Pushkin in the poem "Poets" is hidden in one word! For we are talking about "secret freedom", and the struggle is "dumb".
But why is the block in Blok's poem lonely, and, moreover, “grew up outside the city”? After all, poets did not live outside the city, but in the city. In addition, from the second line it becomes clear which city we are talking about.
“The quarter has grown
On the soil of swampy and unstable ”.
It is clear that we are talking about Petersburg. And here again - a secret connection with Pushkin, and specifically - with his poem (or, as Pushkin himself calls it, "Petersburg story") "The Bronze Horseman".
And the first line of this story, as you know, sounds like this:
"On the shore of desert (!!!) waves ..." (and then Peter's thought about the creation of the city).
“A hundred years have passed, and the young city, (Petersburg was built)
Full-night countries beauty and wonder
From the darkness of the woods from swamp blat
Ascended magnificently, proudly ... "
blok has “the soil, swampy and unsteady,
for Pushkin - "mossy, swampy shores" and "swamp blat".
Pushkin has "desert waves"
and Blok has a “deserted quarter”.
But again the same question: why did the quarter grow “outside the city”?
And here again - a metaphor,
for “outside the city” is not a geographical location where the poets lived, but a spiritual one.
Poets did not live where everyone is, not in the city, but in their own world, “outside the city”.
“Poets lived there, - and everyone met
Another haughty smile. "
This is completely incomprehensible: why do poets, brothers in spirit, treat each other so strangely?
In the line about the “haughty smile,” Blok encrypted one of the most interesting phenomena of art: a poet, artist, composer, writer creates his own world so deep that he is often unable to perceive other worlds, other possible forms of genius.
Thus, Tchaikovsky did not like the music of Brahms, Mussorgsky laughed at Debussy, and called Tchaikovsky's music "dough," "saccharin," "molasses." Leo Tolstoy believed that Shakespeare was a nonentity.
In turn, the greatest violin professor and one of the world's greatest violinists, Leopold Auer, did not understand Tchaikovsky's violin concerto dedicated to him and never played it. (It’s hard to believe, because after a short time and to this day this concert is the most performed of all violin concertos.)
Two of Russia's greatest poets, Blok and Bely, hated each other, and it almost came to a duel.
When the premiere of Georges Bizet's opera Carmen, which turned out to be the worst failure in the history of music, brought its creator to the grave (Bizet died three months after the fiasco) and the newspapers attacked its author, neither Camille Saint-Saens nor Charles Gounod stood up for their colleague, did not write a single word in the newspapers to support their friend.
In all of these (and many others) cases, what Blok calls a “haughty smile” is behavior not the result of envy or hostility from one creator to another. Here, rather, simply - the elementary impossibility of one to go beyond the unprecedented depth that he created, and to realize the equally great depth of the other.
I tend to call this behavior a PROTECTIVE FIELD OF A GENIUS.
After all, the most important condition for the existence of a genius is, first of all, his deep faith in his righteousness.
And further in the poem - an amazing provocation: a description of the poet's life from the point of view of the layman - an incredible poetic device, the purpose of which is to present rumors as truth, shock the bourgeoisie, oppose the creator to him. But there is another dimension here, which can be formulated as follows:
LET'S ASSUME THAT ALL THIS IS TRUTH: drunkenness, and vagrancy, and the absurdity of the life of poets, BUT EVEN IN THIS CASE THE POET IS RIGHT,
FOR HIS PURPOSE - TO SAVE MANKIND FROM THE CONSTITUTION OF LIE, FALSE, PRESENTATION, FROM THE MESCHAN'S PLEASURE, FROM AWOL.
Because instead of being organized and comfortable, the poet has “braids, clouds, and the golden age”, the poet has contact with the world (“world drinking”),
with clouds,
By the way, you know what is WORLD POINT? I think I will be the first to reveal this Blok secret.
The phrase "world binge" has two meanings.
The first is what is deducted at the everyday level of the bourgeoisie: an alcoholic on a worldwide scale.
But the second (and actually the main one) - comes from the phrase poet-singer.
The poet sings to the whole world. And in this case, ZAPOY is a phenomenal product of Blok's poetry. (As well as the ingenious Blok's - "to the lake - to the beauty", where the lake suddenly loses its neuter gender, by which this word is designated in Russian, and becomes a woman).
And if you go back to the first meaning of the verse, not from the point of view of the layman, then in the verse you can very clearly trace the appeal to another poet.
To the great Persian Hafiz, in whose poetry love and wine are glorified. This is where, in a small poem, there is twice a conversation about the scythe.
“And with the gold of every passing scythe
Captured with knowledge of the matter "
“At the extreme, the poet has
And braids, and clouds, and the golden age ”.
But what are these clouds? Remember at Lermontov's?
“The clouds of heaven are eternal wanderers
You rush as if I were outcasts. "
“A golden cloud spent the night
On the chest of a giant cliff ”.
See what happens: |
blok's poem is not about abstract poets only, but about very specific ones, including Lermontov, Hafiz, Pushkin.
This is Lermontov crying over a cloud.
This is Hafiz, chanting and drinking wine.
This is Pushkin, “captivated with knowledge of the matter” “by the gold of every passing braid”.
And finally,
blok's entire verse is a paraphrase on the first eight lines from Pushkin's poem.
The poet differs from the rest of the world “only” in one thing:
He has contact with God.
This text is an introductory fragment. From the book of Literature, a crafty face, or Images of a seductive deception author Mironov AlexanderAn exhaustive semantic and logical analysis of the poem "The Prophet" by A.S.
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Doesn't require a poet yet
To a sacred sacrificeApollo,
Into the worries of vain light
He is cowardly immersed.
His holy lyre is silent,
The soul tastes a cold dream
And among the children of the insignificant world,
Perhaps he is the most insignificant of all.
Pushkin
Pushkin, when he read Derzhavin's poems "Let him gnaw me for words, honor me for my deeds," he said: "Derzhavin is not quite right: the poet's words are already his deeds." Gogol tells this, adding: "Pushkin is right." At the time of Derzhavin, the poet's "words", his work seemed chanting affairs, something accompanying life, decorating it. "You glory, I will live by your echo," Derzhavin says to Felice. he put the poet's "words" not only on a par with the "deed", but even higher: the poet must reverently offer his "sacred sacrifice", and at other hours he can be "all insignificant" without humiliating his high calling. It is only one step from this statement to the recognition of art as something more important and more real than life, to a theory formulated with crude directness by Théophile Gaultier:
Tout passe. - L "Art robuste
Seul a l "eternite.
[Everything is transient. Only powerful art
Forever (fr.)].
In Pushkin's poems, the cry of one of the suicide letters of gr. Alexei Tolstoy: "There is no other thing worth living for, except for art!"
Pushkin, who so often with a sensitive ear foresaw the future tremor of our modern soul, has few works that would be so alien, strange to us, as these poems about the poet!
Exalting the poet's "words", as Derzhavin humiliated them, Pushkin agrees with him in the belief that these are two separate areas. Art is not life, but something else. The poet is a dual creature, an amphibian. Either "among the children of the insignificant of the world" he "manages the affairs of vanity" - whether he plays at the bank like "an eternally idle rake", Pushkin, whether he serves as a minister, like a confidant of tsars, Derzhavin, then suddenly, according to a divine verb, he transforms, the soul he was alarmed, "like an awakened eagle," and he stands, like a priest, before the altar. In Pushkin's life, this division reached the level of external delimitation of the ways of life. "Sensing the rhymes," he "fled to the village" (the expressions of Pushkin himself from the letter), literally "to the banks of the desert waves, to the wide-noisy oak forests." And the entire Pushkin school looked at poetry with the same eyes, as something different from life. The duality went even up to convictions, to the world outlook. It seemed quite natural that the poet in his poetry adheres to some views of the world, and in life others. It is safe to say that Lermontov, who wrote a poem about a demon, did not believe in the real existence of demons: the demon for him was a fairy tale, a symbol, an image. Only a very few of the poets of that time managed to preserve the integrity of their personality both in life and in art. Such was Tyutchev: that world outlook, which others recognized only for creativity, was in fact his faith. Such was Baratynsky: he dared to transfer his everyday, everyday understanding of the world into poetry.
The path along which the artist, who separated creativity from life, goes straight to the barren peaks of Parnassus. The "Parnassians" are precisely those who boldly proclaimed the extreme conclusions of the Pushkin poet, who agreed to be "insignificant" until he was "required" by the verb of Apollo - conclusions that, of course, would horrify Pushkin. The same Théophile Gaultier, who laid down the formula for the immortality of art, this last romantic in France and the first parnassian, also left his definition of a poet.
"A poet, he writes, is above all a worker. Trying to put him on an ideal pedestal is completely pointless. He must have just as much intelligence as any worker, and must know his work. Otherwise, he is a bad day laborer." And the poet's work is grinding words and inserting them into the frame of poems, like the work of a jeweler is the processing of precious stones ... And, faithful to this covenant, the Parnassians worked on their poems, like mathematicians on their tasks, perhaps not without inspiration ("inspiration it is necessary in geometry, as in poetry "- the words of Pushkin), but first of all with attention and already at least without excitement. Young Verlaine, who was initially entirely under the influence of Parnassus, with his characteristic unbridledness, said bluntly: "We hone words like cups, and write passionate poetry completely coldly. Art does not consist in wasting your soul. Is not Venus de Milo made of marble. ? "
Nous, qui ciselons les mots comme des coupes
Et qui faisons des vers emus tres froidement ...
Pauvres gens! L "Art n" est pas d "eparpiller son ame:
Est-elle en marbre, ou non, la Venus de Milo?
But contemporary art, which is called "symbolism" and "decadence", did not follow this devastated path. On the stem of romanticism, two flowers unfolded: next to parnassism - realism. The first of them, although, perhaps, to this day "burns with eternal gold in the song", but indisputably "withered and fell," the second gave seed and fresh sprouts. And everything new that arose in European art in the last quarter of the 19th century grew out of these seeds. Baudelaire and Rops, still alien to us in their form, but familiar in their impulses and experiences, the true predecessors of the "new art", appeared precisely in the era when realism reigned: and they would have been impossible without Balzac and Gavarnie. The Decadents began in the ranks of the Parnassians, but from them the decadents took only an understanding of form, its meaning. Leaving the Parnassians to collect their Trophees [ Trophies (fr.)], the "decadents" left them in all the riots, in all the greatness and meanness of life, they left the dreams of the magnificent India of the Raj and the eternally beautiful Pericles Hellas to the lights and hammers of factories, to the rumble of trains (Verharn, Arno Goltz), to the familiar environment modern rooms (Rodenbach, Rimbaud), to all the painful contradictions of the modern soul (Hoffmannsthal, Maeterlink), to the modernity that the realists hoped to embody. It is no coincidence that the City of our days, which first entered art in a realistic novel, found its best singers precisely among the decadents.
Romanticism tore from the poet's soul the ropes with which pseudo-classicalism entangled her, but did not completely free him. The romantic artist was still convinced that art should depict one beautiful and sublime, that there is much that is not subject to art, about which it should be silent ("Only a genius should be a fan of youth and beauty," wrote Pushkin). Only realism returned the whole world to art, in all its manifestations, great and small, beautiful and ugly. In realism, the liberation of art from closed, delineated limits was accomplished. After that, it was enough for the thought to penetrate deeply into the mind that the whole world in me- and our modern understanding of art was already emerging. Like the realists, we recognize the only thing to be embodied in art: life - but while they were looking for it outside themselves, we look inward. Each person can say about himself with the same right with which all methodological conventions are affirmed: "I am only". Expressing your experiences, which are the only reality available to our consciousness, is what the artist's task has become. And already this task determined the peculiarities of the form, which is so characteristic of the "new" art. When artists believed that their goal was to convey the external, they tried to imitate external, visible images, to repeat them. Realizing that the object of art is in the depths of feeling, in the spirit, the method of creativity had to be changed. This is the path that led art to symbol. New, symbolic creativity was a natural consequence of the realistic school, a new, further, inevitable step in the development of art.
Zola collected "human documents". He turned the writing of the novel into a complex system of study, similar to the work of a judicial investigator. Much earlier our Gogol diligently filled his notebooks with materials for his future works, wrote down conversations, successful words, "sketched" the types he saw. But in a fatal way the artist can only give what is in him. The poet is given to retell only his soul, all the same - in the form of lyrical direct recognition, or inhabiting the universe, like Shakespeare, with crowds of eternally living, visions created by him. The artist should not fill out his notebooks, but his soul. Instead of piling up piles of notes and clippings, he needs to throw himself into life, into all its whirlwinds. The chasm between the artist's "words" and "deeds" disappeared for us when it turned out that creativity is only a reflection of life, and nothing more. Paul Verlaine, who stands on the threshold of a new art, has already embodied the type of artist who does not know where life ends, where art begins. This penitential drunkard, who composed hymns to the body in taverns, and to the Virgin Mary in hospitals, did not deny himself, bringing his "sacred sacrifice", and did not despise himself - the past, having heard the "divine verb". Whoever accepts Verdun's poems must also accept his life; whoever rejects him as a person, let him also deny his poetry; she is inseparable from his personality.
Of course, Pushkin to a large extent only covered himself with the formula "does not yet demand a poet" ... He needed it as a response to his enemies, who spitefully passed on to each other in their ears about his "debauchery", about his passion for cards. Despite Pushkin's own admission that he is "the most insignificant of all", his image in life seems to us much higher than even Yazykov, who set the poet a completely opposite ideal ("Be majestic and holy in the world"). But it is indisputable that, as a romantic (in the broad sense of the term), Pushkin did not give all sides of his soul access to his work. In other moments of life he himself did not consider himself worthy to appear before the altar of his deity for a "sacred sacrifice." Like Baratynsky, Pushkin divided his experiences into "revelations of the underworld" and "heavenly dreams." Only in such accidental for Pushkin creations as "Anthem in honor of the Plague", "Egyptian nights", "At the beginning of my life I remember school," we have preserved hints of the night side of his soul. Those storms of passions that he experienced in Odessa or in the days that led him to a tragic duel - Pushkin hid from people, not only with the pride of a person who does not want to expose his sufferings "to the wonder of an innocent rabble", but also with the bashfulness of an artist who separates life from art. What revelations perished for us in this forced silence! It seemed to Pushkin that these confessions would humiliate his work, although they did not humiliate his life. He forcibly tore himself - a poet from himself - a man, forced himself to write "Angelo" and kept dreaming of an escape "to the abode of pure labor and peaceful neglect", thinking that there he would find a second Boldino. But in Boldino there was not a "abode of negligence and labor", but the days of painful separation from the bride, the nightmares of his "criminal youth" rising in loneliness, the threat of near death!
We, to whom Edgar Poe opened all the temptation of his "demon of perversity," we, for whom Nietzsche overestimated the old values, cannot follow Pushkin on this path of silence. We know only one testament to the artist: sincerity, extreme, last. There are no special moments when a poet becomes a poet: he is either always a poet, or never. And the soul does not have to wait for the Divine verb to be roused, "like an awakened eagle." This eagle must look at the world with eternally sleepless eyes. If the time has not come when for him this insight is bliss, we are ready to make him stay awake at any cost, at the cost of suffering. We demand from the poet that he tirelessly offered his "sacred sacrifices" not only in poetry, but in every hour of his life, every feeling - his love, his hatred, achievements and falls. Let the poet create not his books, but his life. Let him keep the altar flame unquenchable, like the fire of Vesta, let him kindle it into a great fire, not fearing that his life will also burn on it. We throw ourselves onto the altar of our deity. Only a priestly knife; dissecting the chest, gives the right to the name of the poet.
Bryusov Valery Yakovlevich (1873-1924) - Russian poet, prose writer, playwright, translator, literary critic, literary critic and historian. One of the founders of Russian symbolism.
Pushkin's priorities were not defined until about the age of thirty. Reading the verse "The Poet" by Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin means, together with him, immersed in reflections on the search for oneself and about one's destiny.
The poem was written in 1827. Researchers of Alexander Sergeevich's work believe that it is based on the facts of his biography. Pushkin spent the winter-spring period in Moscow, plunging headlong into the secular life of the capital. Holidays and receptions took up a lot of his time; he practically did not take up the pen. But already in June, Pushkin moved to his native Mikhailovskoye, where he again began to create. The work "The Poet", which is taught in the 5th grade in literature, appeared in the first letter he sent from the village. Soon it was published by Moskovsky Vestnik.
The main theme of the poem is the poet's historical destiny. A person endowed with a gift of poetry, according to Pushkin, has no right to live for himself. Being to some extent a prophet, a teacher, he must convey his point of view to people, bring them the light of truth. Poetry is a sacred sacrifice for him, literary gift is a holy lyre. The poet is not the master of thoughts, he is the servant of the patron of the art of Apollo. And a penny worth to a poet who does not use his gift. He, according to Pushkin, is more insignificant than all the "worthless children of the world." Later, N. Gumilev raised the topic of “sacred creativity” in his “Magic Violin”.
The text of Pushkin's poem "The Poet" can be called passionate. The second part of the work is dedicated to the euphoria caused by creativity. It completely transforms the hero, lifts him above worldly amusements and empty vanity.
Learning a poem is easy enough. You can download it in full or read it online on our website.
Doesn't require a poet yet
To the sacred sacrifice of Apollo,
In the worries of vain light
He is cowardly immersed;
His holy lyre is silent;
The soul tastes a cold dream
And among the children of the insignificant world,
Perhaps he is the most insignificant of all.
But only a divine verb
He touches the hearing sensitive,
The poet's soul will stir
Like an awakened eagle.
He yearns in the fun of the world,
People shun rumor
At the feet of the national idol
Doesn't bow a proud head;
He runs, wild and stern,
And sounds and confusion is full,
To the shores of desert waves
Into the noisy Dubrovy ...
Doesn't require a poet yet
To the sacred sacrifice of Apollo,
In the worries of vain light
He is cowardly immersed;
His holy lyre is silent;
The soul tastes a cold dream
And among the children of the insignificant world,
Perhaps he is the most insignificant of all.
But only a divine verb
He touches the hearing sensitive,
The poet's soul will stir
Like an awakened eagle.
He yearns in the fun of the world,
People shun rumor
At the feet of the national idol
Doesn't bow a proud head;
He runs, wild and stern,
And sounds and confusion is full,
To the shores of desert waves
To the noisy Dubrovy ...
Analysis of the poem "Poet" by Pushkin
AS Pushkin throughout his life was interested in the theme of the purpose and meaning of the poet's activities. He devoted more than one poem to this issue. In 1827 Pushkin again returned to this theme in the work "The Poet". Traditionally, it is believed that the immediate reason for writing was the poet's visit to Mikhailovskoye. Pushkin replaced the noisy social life in Moscow with rural solitude, immediately feeling a powerful surge of inspiration.
The work does not contain the traditional calls for Pushkin to perform civic duty and grandiloquent words about the poet's great mission. He simply reflects on the various states of the creative person. Accordingly, the poem is clearly divided into two parts.
The first part describes the poet in a state of peace of mind. Until he felt the divine touch of the Muse, secular laws rule over him. The poet is "faint-heartedly immersed" in the entertainment traditional for his society: balls and masquerades. Pushkin is quite self-critical in assessing this state. He believes that during this period the poet is “worthless of all”, since he was born for something completely different. Like the empty people around him, the poet goes against his nature.
The second part is devoted to the transformation of the poet under the influence of the heard "divine verb", symbolizing inspiration. It completely embraces the poet's soul, transforming it into an "awakened eagle". Secular entertainment instantly becomes useless fuss for him. He rises above the crowd, indifferently looking at the "people's idol" revered by all. Contempt for stupid society makes the poet seek solitude in wild and desolate places. In the bosom of virgin nature, he can calmly pick up his “holy lyre” and express in words and sounds the creative ideas that overwhelm him.
Despite criticism of the poet's calm state, Pushkin admits that inspiration cannot be evoked artificially. The "divine verb" visits a person arbitrarily, it can happen at any moment. The poet can only not miss this state of mind. Trying to stifle your inspiration will be a real crime.
It is worth noting that the poem "The Poet" very accurately conveys the peculiarity of Pushkin's creative activity. During periods when the poet was in a secular society, he was more interested in amusement and courtship of women. Pushkin's creative activity declined significantly. Moving to the village (suffice it to mention the famous Boldin Autumn), the great poet created his best works with incredible speed.