Still love me Because I...
Essay

Reflection on a poem by Marina Tsvetaeva
"How many of them have fallen into this abyss..."

How many have fallen into this abyss,
I'll spread it away!
The day will come when I will disappear
From the surface of the earth.

Everything that sang and fought will freeze,
It shone and burst:
And the green of my eyes, and a gentle voice,
And gold hair.

And there will be life with its daily bread,
With forgetfulness of the day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And there was no me!

Changeable, like children, in every mine
And so not for long evil,
Who loved the hour when the firewood in the fireplace
become ash,

Cello and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village...
- Me, so alive and real
On sweet earth!

To all of you - to me, who did not know the measure in anything,
Aliens and yours?!
I make a claim of faith
And asking for love.


For the truth yes and no

And only twenty years


Forgiveness of insults

And too proud


For the truth, for the game...

For me to die.

1.
"How many of them fell into this abyss ..." These poems by Marina Tsvetaeva are widely known. On the Internet you can find enough blogs, diaries, where it is placed. They think about it, re-read it, address it to friends. Composer Mark Minkov wrote sublime, in structure, music to these words. Actually, each reader sees in this painfully researched self, against the background of life and death, the monologue of the lyrical heroine and something of his own, as if trying on each line for himself.
In fact, every hour of the life lived by Marina Tsvetaeva seemed to be preparing these verses.

On May 5, 1911, eighteen-year-old Marina Tsvetaeva met the love of her life - Sergei Efron. In September, their daughter Ariadne was born. On January 27, 1912, they got married. Life, it would seem, developed happily, but death, as a common occurrence, was inseparably nearby and followed on the heels. In August 1913, Marina's father died (her mother died 4 years before Marina met Efron, at the age of 37), a professor at Moscow University. And shortly before this sad event (her father was only 52 years old), Marina’s already sickly husband (at the age of seventeen he got married, and at the age of sixteen he developed tuberculosis) underwent an appendicitis operation, which ended successfully, but made Marina pretty worried. A year later, in July 1914, Sergei's older brother, Pyotr, who had lost his little daughter and separated from his wife, died of consumption. Marina will be inseparable at his bedside until his last breath, as seven years before at the bedside of her mother.

2.
The list of all these troubles in Marina's inner circle will be incomplete if you do not recall much earlier, the first losses in the girl's life. Henri Troyat writes about this in the book "Marina Tsvetaeva" in the very first chapter "Childhood, a blessed and mournful childhood ..." When the mother of the sisters, Marusya (she was 10 years old) and Asya (she was Italy, in Nervi, near Genoa, in the "Russian Boarding House", their circle of contacts expanded: relatives of their father's first wife, who died in childbirth, came for treatment. Seryozha Ilovaisky, already a student, and his sister Nadya Ilovaiskaya, aged 19, were both ill with tuberculosis, as was the mother of the Tsvetaev sisters. Ten-year-old Marina could not help but fall in love with Seryozha, since he alone was interested in her poems, asked her to read her poetic, still children's, notebooks and rewrite his poems for him. She made friends and is very close to Nadia. Two years later, both Seryozha and Nadia will die one after the other, leaving in the heart of a twelve-year-old girl double mourning for the first friendship that ended in death with Nadya Ilovaiskaya, for the first love that ended in death for Seryozha Ilovaisky.

This whole martyrology should be noted also then that there are the most ridiculous statements, sucked from the finger, as if the verses "How many of them fell into this abyss ...", and a number of other poems with the theme of death, Marina Tsvetaeva created, as if because that she had an "unhealthy" interest in death and even loved it. So much pain had accumulated in the heart of the young poetess by the age of twenty that it would have been impossible not to get rid of it in a piercing, philosophical and poetic way, and, be that as it may, three months after the death of her father, the last economic and psychological support the lives of the Tsvetaev sisters, the first line summarizing "How many of them fell into this abyss" was ready for recording. And it is not at all surprising that the girl wondered about her disappearance "from the surface of the earth."

Actually, thinking about the inevitability of death, since the emergence of poetry on earth, is an integral part of literary heritage each of the poets of the past, wherever he lived, being a well-established world poetic tradition. But Marina Tsvetaeva performed this play with a unique, mind-boggling, deafening power - freshness and artistry - an all-encompassing insight into the essence of, it would seem, the most famous things, that is, it was performed both unbridled-deeply and filigree-honed, in- Tsvetaevsky.

3.
It is known that Marina Tsvetaeva was not religious, therefore, obviously, she did not perceive death in the spirit of the church as a way to move to a happier, more righteous world. For her, "to disappear from the surface of the earth" is to be carried away into the "abyss", and this abyss is "opened in the distance."
The abyss is that which is without a bottom, the universe itself. "Away" does not mean "above". According to Tsvetaeva, the deceased does not ascend to heaven, but last way him to another world - the path is swift, lightning-fast and at the same time, limp (as an instrument of not one's own, but someone else's will, directing you into the "openness" that is beyond thought) directed into the void, like a falling stone, but not with a downward trajectory, because the Universe - she is everywhere.

4.
The poetess is only 20 years old, but in this verse, covering vast spaces, so little yet lived, it would seem, a person, as if encrypted, invisibly, and interline thoughts written as if with milk - run over them with your hot, searching look, and they appear visibly and clearly. Indeed, in lines 3 and 4 of the first quatrain, we are talking about the disappearance of a person only from the "surface of the earth", and not about disappearing irrevocably, in general and forever. This means that someone stops seeing someone who is no longer there, just on " surface of the earth", but a meeting with him is possible in other dimensions - in the imagination, in dreams ...

Describing how “Everything that sang and fought, shone and torn,” Tsvetaeva still draws herself “alive and real.” And, surprisingly, it is in no way possible, while reading these lines, to imagine all this luminous, impetuous, golden-haired and soft-voiced, green-eyed in any other way than in dynamics. And everything that "sang and fought" (how can "singing and wrestling" freeze?) will remain in the sound and flexible muscularity of her verse, until, as Anna Akhmatova brilliantly says, "the royal word is the most durable on earth."

That is - a self-portrait? And is it not a portrait of every living person and is it not a portrait of life itself that so insistently, peculiarly, vividly comes to the fore, pushing aside the image of the frozen and obsolete.

Yes, I emphasize, in no case is narcissism (here I am or what I was bright and unique), as it may seem, but, I repeat, a portrait of myself lively life, in colors, sounds, in their modulations.

5.
In the third stanza, along with a unique metaphor - "with the forgetfulness of the day" again "interline milk".

And everything will be - as if under the sky
And I wasn't there!"

Interesting: "I will disappear from the surface of the earth", but it was - "under the sky" ...

For whom "there was no me"? - for the forgetful? for those who care about their daily bread?

But after all, "as if ... it was not", that is, that something is not there - this is a human invention, the brainchild of those who do not see and do not hear. "I was, I am, I will be! - no matter what you think about it.

And again a portrait of herself (but also of everyone!) and life itself: "changeable, like children in every mine..."
Yes, there was already a daughter, there was already close observation, with diary entries, of her every gesture and childish word, the variability of the feelings and moods of her firstborn.
But this is also the biblical "Be like children" (biblical mythology, unlike church services, nourished the poetry of Marina Tsvetaeva throughout her life). The child is trustingly open to the world, natural in its manifestations, pure in soul and heart: joyfully - rejoices, sadly - cries - as opposed to the hypocritically secretive adult world.

6.
The line "She loved the hour when the firewood in the fireplace Turns to ash" is presented by some lovers of the black perception of something, almost as an initiation of the poetess to the Order of Sorceresses - they say, she even liked to watch how "the firewood is dying." Yes, and such, in my opinion, primitively perverted understanding met me in odious attempts to explore the inner world of Marina Tsvetaeva through her poetry.

Who among us has not been fascinated by the magic of a light flame, fire, bonfire, suddenly flashing sparks in a fireplace, in a stove, crackling of dry branches! and the scent of burning wood. How not to love such an hour for any mortal.

And if for us, ordinary townspeople of our time, this is possible only in rare cases of dressage in nature, in the memories of either pioneer camp childhood or guitar-camping youth, then a kindled fireplace in pre-revolutionary Russia was both a luxury and an urgent need for noble life.

7.
And yet, "to love the hour when the firewood in the fireplace becomes ash" - isn't this a thought, again, about the essence of life itself, in the vent of which everything burns to ashes and is melted down, "becomes ash", which no, no, and will flare up hidden hot embers, still giving warmth, until it finally crumbles to dust.

This life process is the norm and law of life, which can be loved, followed sweetly, without being horrified by the natural need to "freeze".
And again, life itself breaks into the video sequence with new sounds: a thoughtful image of a girl-poet by a burning fireplace - crackling of the stove - someone playing the cello - a cavalcade in the thicket - a village - a church - the sounds of a bell.

The movement of people and sounds are conveyed by the author without the use of action verbs, but only by nouns in accusative. Loving what? - "Hour" burning fireplace, "cavalcade in the thicket", "bell in the village." But isn’t such an expression of an idea overflowing with bell-like overflows, doesn’t it sound like the clatter of galloping horses, the trumpet sounds of a hunting horn, the laughter and exclamations of riders and riders, the gentle harmony of the cello ...

When listing these nouns, in addition, we see how space moves apart under the hand of the writing poet, his will, space: someone is playing the cello close, in the next room of the noble estate, otherwise the instrument cannot be heard - then the flight of imagination towards the forest, where a cavalcade returning from a walk announces itself - and already behind the forest a view of the village, a bell tower, and from there the bells come from (evening service, if the fireplace is lit and even already burned out?)

8.
And now to all this human community - to those who create cellos, write music for them and play them, and to those who are fascinated by these sounds, to riders and riders of graceful cavalcades, to manufacturers of hunting horns and skillful, perky trumpeters, to those who breed hot horses and care for them, preparing them for races and horse rides in the thickets, for those who build rural bell towers and call to the evening service with the ringing of a bell, for those who dream by the fireplace and write poetry - "what me ... strangers and my own ... " - Tsvetaeva addresses to all earthly humanity, as to "his" generalized dear single being, through space, "with a demand for faith and a request for love."

The poet humbly "asks" people (after all, one cannot "demand" love) to love this "gentle land" that has sheltered everyone, to love each other, but first, as it seems, imperiously "requires faith." "To you all" - and right there - "who knew no measure" - not only the present, but also the boundless future, the ingenious seer gathers into the focus of her vision, "immeasurably" referring to "everyone" with a "requirement of faith and a request about love", passionately involving both the present and the future reader in his poetic cosmogony.

With the "demand" of what "faith" does Tsvetaeva appeal to the world and why does she "demand" it? As an answer to this question, I will cite an extract from reflections on Marina Tsvetaeva by Protodeacon Andrei Kuraev, our contemporary (the source of the quote is in the Appendix): “I value the incomparable confession, the openness of her soul... alone, but in front of the whole world ... In her lines is the constant memory of God.

And look in the Dictionary of Synonyms. I leave a number of words that will help to understand what Tsvetaeva had in mind:

"Demand - to request, to ask, to call, to invite, to urge, to need, to be in need, to seek, to exact, (to desire, to want) from whom, to insist, to raise demands, to feel a need, to experience a shortage, to have a need, to ask."
And the word "requirement" is synonymous with "lack".

9.
The request for love is so urgent and great that it hyperbolically and innovatively translates into a whole series of antitheses and opposite concepts ("day-night, written-oral, yes-no, sad-twenty years, forgiveness of insults-proud look, truth-game") , it is by them that they thoroughly reveal (as well as the seven times repeated preposition "for", of which three times with demonstrative pronoun"that"), how and for what it is necessary to love her, twenty-year-old Marina Tsvetaeva, and a person in general:

And day and night, and in writing and orally:
For the truth yes and no
For the fact that I so often - too sad
And only twenty years

For the fact that to me - a direct inevitability -
Forgiveness of insults
For all my unbridled tenderness
And too proud

For the speed of swift events,
For the truth, for the game...

The poetess does not hide the contradictions of her soul and actions, as the embodiment and expression of the inconsistency of the human spirit in general, showing, in the swiftness of the chain of slander, as if inadvertently, how each phenomenon of reality can have its opposite, often bizarrely coexisting in one.

I would like to highlight the line "Both day and night, both in writing and orally ..." From childhood, when Marina learned to write with a fountain pen, she wrote herself and received letters from everyone she wrote to, several letters a day, in desired envelopes that were kissed before they were opened, and, throughout their lives, they then kept in albums and caskets, rereading (both silently and aloud), reviewing, sorting through - such was the epistolary culture. "Written" is, and, of course, and, perhaps, first of all, Marina's poems, in her invariable creative notebooks, where drafts of letters to correspondents were also preserved, forming a single pulsating literary text of the entire book of her life.

10.
The most mysterious thought in the text for me are the last two lines:

Listen! - still love me
For me to die.

Marina herself, it seems, assumed some kind of opposition from her reader to this thought, and, probably, that is why she used an exclamatory appeal in plural in the form of the imperative verb "- Listen! -" as a way of attracting to the most important. Do not pity me, do not remember, but love for death, which will come for me sooner or later?.. Or love until I die, disappear?.. No, precisely because I am mortal.

The thought of loving a person, in my opinion, overpowers here the thought of death; more precisely, the process of dying of loved ones, observed many times by young Marina, forces her to open an understanding not so much of a person’s frailty, but of why he stays on this earth - he comes here only for love and takes it with him, painfully trying to find and open it, pour and feed on her. Why is it necessary - this mystery is great ...

11.
Protodeacon Kuraev, whom I mentioned, said: “I think there is no need to talk about the “attitude of the Orthodox towards Marina Tsvetaeva”: the majority of the Orthodox do not know about her, they do not read. She is an elitist poet.”

However, I observe great interest both in the personality of Marina Tsvetaeva and in her work at the present time, of course, first of all, among educated and enlightened readers. So many thoughts, poems, disputes are devoted to her on literary portals, so much admiration for her poetry and sympathy for her fate is expressed, so many discussions and interpretations of how her poems should be understood.

The mighty and bright spirit of Marina, as the embodiment of the spirit of Russia itself, hovers over our homeland, helping her straighten her shoulders, calling to love, appreciate, spare, give, and not hate, lovingly embraces the whole world.

12.
- What about suicide? - the caustic ill-wisher will remind me.
Andrei Kuraev, an amazing clergyman, read, surrenders, the whole of Tsvetaeva, from cover to cover, and everything that can be found on the issue of researching her fate.
"I collected evidence about Tsvetaeva's exile in Yelabuga, about the conditions of her non-life there - it was, rather, driving her to suicide."

Reference:
Article 110. Driving to suicide

[Criminal Code of the Russian Federation] [Chapter 16] [Article 110]
Bringing a person to suicide or attempted suicide by means of threats, cruel treatment or systematic humiliation of the human dignity of the victim, is punishable by restraint of liberty for a term of up to three years, or by compulsory labor for a term of up to five years, or by deprivation of liberty for the same term.

This is the punishment for Marina Tsvetaeva's unfinished life stolen from us, for her unwritten poems (and she was only 48 years old!).

Application:

1.
Protodeacon Andrey Kuraev about Marina Tsvetaeva
Interview
Orthodox orthodox news
http://pravnovosti.ru/blog/2014/09/17/-----/
(Following the link, click on the calendar on the right of the page itself, for September 17, 2014. But since the interview is of great interest, I quote its entire text)

Marina Tsvetaeva is buried at the Peter and Paul Cemetery in Yelabuga. No one came to see her off, the exact location of the grave is unknown. Marina Tsvetaeva committed suicide, so she was not buried in the church. It is impossible to submit notes about it in temples. Protodeacon Andrei Kuraev believes that not everyone who commits suicide is a suicide, and explains his point of view, recalling the poetess.

As is known, according to the canonical rules Orthodox Church, suicides are buried without a church funeral service, memorial services are not served for them. But few people know that in 1991, on the day of the fiftieth anniversary of the death of Marina Tsvetaeva, in the Moscow Church of the Ascension of the Lord at the Nikitsky Gates, a memorial service was performed for the servant of God Marina - with the blessing of the late Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus' Alexy II and at the request of the then deacon , and now Protodeacon Andrei Kuraev. Famous writer and the theologian highly appreciates the work of Marina Tsvetaeva and categorically disagrees with the condemning attitude towards her personality and fate.

FISHING AND ARBITRARY FIGHTED
- Father Andrey, how did you come to the idea that a memorial service for Marina Tsvetaeva is necessary?

Then, in connection with the approaching date, the question arose about the church's attitude towards her personality. Marina Tsvetaeva is my favorite Russian poet, she had an amazing command of the word, she could remove the wear and tear from the most hackneyed word and expose its meaning: “The distance is miles, miles, / We were placed, planted ...” I care about nothing incomparable confession, the openness of her sick soul. She does not promote sin, she simply talks about what happened to her: “And you will understand how passionately day and night / Providence and Arbitrariness fought / In the chest turning millstones.”

Unlike us, Tsvetaeva confessed not in private, but before the whole world. In her lines there is a constant memory of God, of God's truth, and this was very important for me during my own search.

Was it difficult to get a blessing His Holiness Patriarch Alexy II for a memorial service?

I collected evidence about Tsvetaeva's exile in Yelabuga, about the conditions of her non-life there - it was more like driving to suicide. When I stated all this to the late Patriarch Alexy II, I was surprised by the ease of his decision: without detailed inquiries, weighing - his decision was cordially intuitive. It is important to note that the fact of the memorial service for Marina Tsvetaeva did not become a reason for scandals, no one “complained”.

SO FAR TO THE SKY...
- Nevertheless, Tsvetaeva's lines are often almost God-fighting. For example: “with a gentle hand, taking away an unkissed cross.” Why unkissed? Or: in a poem written on the death of Erich Maria Rilke, she speaks with disdain of the expression "in a place of evil" ...

This cannot be called theomachism, it is a living faith, communion with God. The same can be said about many other poets and writers: their personal experience faith, including struggle with oneself, and doubt, is very important for the reader.

Biographies of writers and poets are usually not the lives of saints, and Marina Tsvetaeva is no exception. During the period of "mass churching" in the 1990s, many neophytes began to condemn Tsvetaeva - both for suicide and for some other biography facts ...
- I think there is no need to talk about the “attitude of the Orthodox towards Marina Tsvetaeva”: the majority of the Orthodox do not know about her, they do not read. She is an elite poet. But, unfortunately, it must be noted that the Orthodox are always ready to condemn everyone. On occasion, we like to quote the Gospel: “Judge not, lest you be judged,” but when it comes down to it, for some reason we immediately forget about it.

What can you advise the reader who is confused by this or that fact in the biography of the writer? Treat like a Christian: do not identify a person's act with his personality, that's all.

IT'S TIME TO TURN OFF THE DOOR LIGHT…
- Why do you think the cult of suicide spread so widely in the artistic and literary environment, starting from the romantic tradition?

I think the artistic environment has nothing to do with it. This common law: the more civilized the society, the greater the percentage of suicides.

It is well known that suicides are not buried. However, there are exceptions: when the actual suicide is not considered as such. What are they?

Mental imbalance, affective behavior (this is exactly the point under which the suicide of Marina Tsvetaeva falls). But even the decision to take one's own life, made in a sound mind and firm memory, is not always condemned by the Church - such a person can even be canonized as a saint. There are cases when Christian virgins threw themselves from the fortress walls so as not to become victims of the violence of the barbarians, and became holy martyrs. In the conditions of war, the attitude towards suicide is being revised: the exploits of Matrosov and Gastello are formally suicide, but no one considers them suicides. But not every deprivation of one's life in a war is a feat. General Alexander Rutskoi, the former vice-president of Russia, told Patriarch Alexy II in my presence how he was surrounded by the Mujahideen in Afghanistan and wanted to spend the last bullet on himself. At that moment, he appeared Mother of God and told me not to do it.

Can lay people pray for suicides?

They can pray without inviting the Church, that is, without submitting a note, without ordering a service. You can pray both at home and in the temple: "Lord, forgive them this sin."

Tsvetaeva devoted a whole cycle of poems to the suicide Mayakovsky and actually condemned his act: "I destroyed many temples, but this one is the most valuable." Why do you think both faith and rejection of suicide did not stop her?

While the person himself does not hurt, it seems to him that everything is simple. And so it seemed to her too ... To those who are now condemning Tsvetaeva, I want to say: from the state of their own spiritual peace, one should not condemn anyone. One day, a person who condemns may himself find himself in the same situation - and precisely for what he condemned.

2.
Marina Tsvetaeva was born on September 26 (October 8), 1892 in Moscow. In 1910, she published her first collection of poems with her own money. Two years later - the second. In January 1912, she married Sergei Efron, gave birth to a daughter, Ariadne. In 1913, the third collection, "From Two Books," was published. In 1917, a daughter, Irina, was born. years civil war turned out to be very difficult for Tsvetaeva: Sergei Efron served in the White Army, died at the age of three youngest daughter. During these years, a cycle of poems "The Swan Camp" appeared, imbued with sympathy for the white movement.

In May 1922, Tsvetaeva and her daughter Ariadna were allowed to go abroad - to her husband. The famous "Poem of the Mountain" and "Poem of the End" were written in the Czech Republic. In 1925, after the birth of their son George, the family moved to Paris. From the 1930s, Tsvetaeva and her family lived in near poverty. Most of the works created by the poetess in exile remained unpublished. In 1937, Ariadne left for Moscow, later Efron fled from France, who was involved in a contract political assassination. In 1939, Tsvetaeva returned to the USSR after her husband and daughter.

The first blow that awaited Marina Tsvetaeva at home was the news that her sister Anastasia had been arrested - her husband and daughter hid this fact from her. Soon both Sergei Efron and Ariadna were arrested on charges of "espionage".

Tsvetaeva had no hope of publishing her works; the only way to earn money upon her return was translations. But the war put an end to this source of existence. On August 8, 1941, Marina Tsvetaeva and her son left together with several writers to be evacuated to the town of Yelabuga on the Kama.

If in Moscow Tsvetaeva could make inquiries, bring parcels to the prison, then in the evacuation the connection with her husband and daughter was completely lost. Poverty, complete disorder, besides - constant conflicts with his son, the cause of which was not only the transitional age of George, but also the fact that he could not "forgive his parents for deceit" - he was promised a heavenly life in the USSR ...

In Chistopol, where most of the evacuated writers lived, Marina Tsvetaeva received permission to register and left a statement: “To the Literary Fund Council. I ask you to take me to work as a dishwasher in the opening canteen of the Litfond. August 26, 1941". This was not bravado: Tsvetaeva's rations were not supposed to, she and her son lived from hand to mouth.
On August 28, she returned to Yelabuga from Chistopol, on August 31, 1941, the landlady Tsvetaeva found her hanged.

Before her death, Marina Ivanovna wrote three notes: to those who would bury her, acquaintances Aseev with a request to take her son George (they were evacuated in Chistopol) and to her son: “Purlyga! Forgive me, but it could get worse. I'm seriously ill, it's not me anymore. I love you madly. Understand that I could no longer live. Tell dad and Alya - if you see - that you loved them until the last minute and explain that you got into a dead end "...

Marina Tsvetaeva is buried at the Peter and Paul Cemetery in Yelabuga. No one came to see her off, no cemetery books were kept at that time, so the exact location of the grave is unknown. On the side of the cemetery where her lost grave is located, in 1960 the sister of the poetess Anastasia Tsvetaeva erected a cross, and in 1970 a granite tombstone was erected.

How many have fallen into this abyss,
I'll open it away!
The day will come when I will disappear
From the surface of the earth.

Everything that sang and fought will freeze,
It shone and burst.
And the green of my eyes, and a gentle voice,
And gold hair.

And there will be life with its daily bread,
With forgetfulness of the day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And there was no me!

Changeable, like children, in every mine,
And so not for long evil,
Who loved the hour when the firewood in the fireplace
They become ash.

Cello, and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village...
- Me, so alive and real
On sweet earth!

To all of you - to me, who did not know the measure in anything,
Strangers and yours? -
I make a claim of faith
And asking for love.

And day and night, and in writing and orally:
For the truth yes and no
For the fact that I am so often - too sad
And only twenty years

For the fact that I am a direct inevitability -
Forgiveness of insults
For all my unbridled tenderness
And too proud

For the speed of swift events,
For the truth, for the game...
- Listen! - Still love me
For me to die.

Analysis of the poem "How many of them fell into this abyss" Tsvetaeva

The work of M. Tsvetaeva is a striking phenomenon in Russian poetry. The poetess began to write poems in early age, at the age of 18 she publishes her first collection. Already the first works of Tsvetaeva carry a deep philosophical content. The poetess lost her mother early, which is probably why the theme of death occupies an important place in her work. The poem “How many of them fell into this abyss ...” (1913) is devoted to this topic.

The reflection of the lyrical heroine begins with the recognition of the inevitability of death. The first part describes the cessation of physical existence, the disappearance "from the surface of the earth." Tsvetaeva first presents her death in a detached way with the help of impersonal verbs, then her reflection takes on a deeply personal character. Death is the disappearance of "green eyes" and "tender voice".

The lyrical heroine notes that her death will not affect the rest of the world in any way, everything will remain as before. This is the deep horror of the experience. As long as a person exists in his physical incarnation, he is able to influence other people. Tsvetaeva does not mention any variant of life after death. For her, this is not important, because no one has yet established contact with the world of the dead. The important thing is that with the death of a person all his wealth disappears. inner world with their feelings, emotions, experiences.

Tsvetaeva always acutely felt her individuality. She can hardly accept that her unique and inimitable personality will disappear forever. From physical properties she proceeds to describe her habits and tendencies. Variability, love for evenings by the fireplace, a penchant for music and forest walks are the infinitely sweet and dear qualities of her soul to the poetess, making her, ultimately, a living person "on the gentle earth." It can be concluded that Tsvetaeva does not want any other form of existence associated with the loss of physical sensations.

In the final part of the poem, the poetess addresses all her contemporaries "with the demand of faith and with a request for love." She asks to love her for the totality of positive and negative qualities, for youth, which can suddenly end, for pride. In a word, Tsvetaeva asks to love her only because she is a living person who, unfortunately, is mortal. The last argument of the poetess is very effective - "for the fact that I will die."

The deeply intimate nature of the poem does not exclude universal human meaning. The devaluation of the individual makes it relevant in our time.


I'll spread it away!

From the surface of the earth.

It shone and burst.

And gold hair.


With forgetfulness of the day.

And there was no me!


And so not for long evil,

They become ash.


And the bell in the village...

On sweet earth!


Aliens and yours?! -

And asking for love.


For the truth yes and no

And only twenty years


Forgiveness of insults

And too proud


For the truth, for the game...

For me to die.

December 1913 How many have fallen into this abyss,
I'll spread it away!
The day will come when I will disappear
From the surface of the earth.
Everything that sang and fought will freeze,
It shone and burst.
And the green of my eyes, and a gentle voice,
And gold hair.

And there will be life with its daily bread,
With forgetfulness of the day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And there was no me!

Changeable, like children, in every mine,
And so not for long evil,
Who loved the hour when the firewood in the fireplace
They become ash.

Cello and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village...
- Me, so alive and real
On sweet earth!

To all of you - to me, who did not know the measure in anything,
Aliens and yours?! -
I make a claim of faith
And asking for love.

And day and night, and in writing and orally:
For the truth yes and no
For the fact that I so often - too sad
And only twenty years

For the fact that to me - a direct inevitability -
Forgiveness of insults
For all my unbridled tenderness
And too proud

For the speed of swift events,
For the truth, for the game...
- Listen! - Still love me
For me to die.

December 1913

How many have fallen into this abyss,
I'll spread it away!
The day will come when I will disappear
From the surface of the earth.

Everything that sang and fought will freeze,
It shone and burst:
And the green of my eyes, and a gentle voice,
And gold hair

And there will be life with its daily bread,
With forgetfulness of the day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And there was no me!

Changeable, like children, in every mine
And so not for long evil,
Who loved the hour when firewood in the fireplace
become ash,

Cello and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village...
- Me, so alive and real
On sweet earth!

To all of you - what to me, in nothing
not knowing the measure
Aliens and yours?!
I make a claim of faith
And asking for love.

And day and night, and in writing and orally:
For the truth yes and no
For the fact that I so often - too sad
And only twenty years

For the fact that to me - a direct inevitability -
Forgiveness of insults
For all my unbridled tenderness,
And too proud

For the speed of swift events,
For the truth, for the game...
- Listen! - still love me
For me to die.

December 8, 1913 How many of them fell into the abyss,
Yawning away!
There will come a day when I'm gone
On the surface of the earth.

Freezes all that singing and fought,
Shining and torn:
And my green eyes and a soft voice,
And gold hair

And life will be with her daily bread,
With forgetfulness day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And it wasn't me!

Changeable , as children, in each mine
And so long angry
Who loved the hour, when the wood in a fireplace
Become ash

Cello and cavalcade in a thicket
The bell in the village...
- Me, so alive and present
On gentle earth!

To all of you - that me anything
never known measures
Aliens and theirs?
I appeal to the requirements of the faith
And asking for love.

Both day and night, and written and oral:
For the truth is yes and no,
For what I so often - too sad
Only twenty years

For what I - direct invitability -
Forgiveness of injury,
For all my unbridled affection,
And too proud look

For the speed of rapid events
For the truth, for the game...
- Look! - More love me
For that I will die.

December 8, 1913

The history of songs on the verses of M. Tsvetaeva ... “How many of them fell into this abyss” and “To the generals of the twelfth year”
Marina Tsvetaeva lost her mother very early, whose death she experienced very painfully. Over time, this feeling dulled, and the spiritual wound healed, however, the aspiring poetess in her work very often turned to the theme of death, as if trying to look into a world that was still inaccessible to her.

Maria Alexandrovna Tsvetaeva (born Maria Alexandrovna Main; 1868-1906) - the second wife of Ivan Vladimirovich Tsvetaeva, mother of Marina Tsvetaeva and Anastasia Tsvetaeva
Tsvetaeva admitted that she really hopes in that other life to meet her mother, whom she loved very much, and even mentally rushed time, trying to live her life as soon as possible.


How many have fallen into this abyss,
I'll open it away!
The day will come when I will disappear
From the surface of the earth.
Everything that sang and fought will freeze,
It shone and burst.
And the green of my eyes, and a gentle voice,
And gold hair.
And there will be life with its daily bread,
With forgetfulness of the day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And there was no me!
Changeable, like children, in every mine,
And so not for long evil,
Who loved the hour when the firewood in the fireplace
They become ash.
Cello, and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village...
- Me, so alive and real
On sweet earth!
To all of you - to me, who did not know the measure in anything,
Strangers and yours? -
I make a claim of faith
And asking for love.
And day and night, and in writing and orally:
For the truth yes and no
For the fact that I so often - too sad
And only twenty years
For the fact that I have a direct inevitability -
Forgiveness of insults
For all my unbridled tenderness
And too proud
For the speed of swift events,
For the truth, for the game...
- Listen! - Still love me
For me to die.
In 1913, the poetess wrote a poem “How many of them fell into the abyss ...”, in which she again tried to determine for herself what life is and what to expect from death. Tsvetaeva perceives the other world as a kind of dark abyss, bottomless and frightening, in which people simply disappear. Speaking about death, she notes: "The day will come when I will disappear from the surface of the earth." However, the poetess realizes that after her departure, nothing in this mortal world will change. “And everything will be - as if under the sky and there was no me!”, - the poetess notes.


Death itself does not frighten 20-year-old Tsvetaeva, who has already had a chance to face this uninvited guest. The poetess only worries about the fact that people close and dear to her are leaving this life, and over time, the memory of them is erased. Those who died, Tsvetaeva compares with firewood in the fireplace, which "becomes ash." The wind carries it along the earth, and now it mixes with the earth, turning into dust, which, perhaps, will become the basis for a new life.

However, Marina Tsvetaeva is not ready to put up with this state of affairs, she wants the memory of people to be eternal, even if they are not worthy of it. She considers herself to be precisely in that category of future dead who did not deserve the right to go down in history because they have "too proud appearance." But the poetess contrasts this character trait with “unbridled tenderness”, hoping that, thereby, she can prolong her life. earthly life at least in the memories of loved ones. “I make a demand of faith and a request for love,” notes Tsvetaeva. Such an unusual interpretation of the gospel truths still has the right to exist. The poetess does not believe in life after death in the biblical sense, but she hopes that she will be able to leave a bright mark on the earth, otherwise her very existence loses all meaning. The poetess does not suspect that poems that reveal the rich inner world of this amazing woman, filled with rebellious and very contradictory feelings, will become a kind of pass to eternity for her.

Requiem (Monologue) "How many of them fell into this abyss ..." The song, which was based on this Tsvetaeva text, was first performed by Alla Pugacheva in 1988. The music was written by the famous Soviet and Russian composer Mark Minkov.
Many musicologists and admirers of Alla Borisovna's work consider "Requiem" a masterpiece in the artist's repertoire. It's hard to disagree with this! The poem “How many of them have fallen into this abyss ...”, imbued with a tragic sense of fate and an ardent thirst for life, the desire to leave their mark on the world, was written in 1913 by a young author on the rise of poetic fame. Accordingly, the lines "... For the fact that I am so often too sad and only 20 years old" in the interpretation of Alla Pugacheva, who at that time was much older than the lyrical heroine, had to be removed. So the "Monologue" became more universal than the author's text. This is a passionate, not limited by age or any other framework, an appeal to the world "with a demand for faith and a request for love."

"To the Generals of the Twelfth Year" a song known as "Nastenka's Romance" sounds in the cult film "Say a word about the poor hussar."
The action of the lyrical comedy takes place in “that wonderful time when men wielded a sword better than literacy, and fearlessly went not only into battle, but also down the aisle; when women knew how to appreciate unselfish love and rewarded it with a dowry; when the outfits were so beautiful, and the figures were so slender, that the first was not ashamed to put on the second.
You, whose wide overcoats
Reminds me of sails
Whose spurs jangled merrily
And voices.
And whose eyes are like diamonds
A trace was carved on the heart -
Charming dandies
Of past years.
With one fierce will
You took the heart and the rock, -
Kings on every battlefield
And at the ball.
The hand of the Lord guarded you
And a mother's heart. Yesterday -
Little boys, today -
Officer.
All the peaks were small for you
And soft - the most stale bread,
Oh young generals
Your destinies!
=====
Ah, on the half-erased engraving,
In one glorious moment
I met, Tuchkov-fourth,
Your tender face
And your fragile figure
And gold medals...
And I, kissing the engraving,
Didn't know sleep.
Oh how - I think - could you
With a hand full of rings
And caress the curls of the maidens - and the mane
Your horses.
In one incredible leap
You have lived your short life...
And your curls, your sideburns
It snowed.
Three hundred won - three!
Only the dead did not get up from the ground.
You were children and heroes
You all could.
What is so touchingly young,
How is your mad army?..
You golden-haired Fortune
Led like a mother.
You have conquered and loved
Love and sabers point -
And merrily passed
Into non-existence.
Feodosia, December 26, 1913


The atmosphere of romance and adventure in the film is quite consistent with the spirit of Tsvetaeva's stanzas. The poem "To the Generals of the Twelfth Year", written in 1913, Tsvetaeva dedicated to her husband Sergei Efron, an officer of the White Guard.

In the text, which reflected the image of the heroic era in the perception of a young girl, there is an appeal directly to one of those very brilliant "generals of the twelfth year" - Alexander Tuchkov.
Tuchkov Alexander Alekseevich (1777 - 1812) participated with honors in the war of 1807 against the French and in 1808 against the Swedes. During World War II, commanding a brigade, he fought near Vitebsk and Smolensk; was killed near Borodino.
“Ah, on a half-erased engraving / / In one magnificent moment / / I met, Tuchkov-fourth / / Your gentle face ...”. It's about about a fairly well-known engraving. The work that Tsvetaeva admired was made by the artist Alexander Ukhtomsky after the death of Tuchkov the fourth - according to the drawing of the artist Varnek, who, in turn, in 1813 had before his eyes a medallion with a miniature lifetime image of Alexander Tuchkov.

The Tuchkovs are a noble family descended from the Novgorod boyars evicted under John III to the interior regions of Russia. IN Patriotic War In 1812, three Tuchkov brothers became famous: 1) Nikolai Alekseevich (1761 - 1812) participated in hostilities against the Swedes and Poles; in 1799, commanding the Sevsk musketeer regiment, he was in the unfortunate battle for us at Zurich and with bayonets made his way to Schaffhausen; in the battle of Preussisch-Eylau commanded the right wing of the army; in 1808, commanding the 5th infantry division, participated in hostilities in Finland. In 1812 he was appointed commander of the 3rd infantry corps and was mortally wounded in the battle of Borodino. 2) Pavel Alekseevich was born in 1776; in 1808, commanding a brigade, he participated in the war with Sweden; in 1812 he distinguished himself in the battle at Valutina Gora, but immediately, seriously wounded, was taken prisoner; upon his return to Russia, he was appointed head of the division; later was a member state council and Chairman of the Commission of Petitions.