Requiem. The Terrible Years of Yezhovshchina Terror in Gulag Camps and Special Purpose Prisons

On the creative style of the writer. About birth. Averchenko undergoes surgery to remove an eye. Satyricon. King of laughter. Irony. Rich. General history. Mixing. Averchenko's books. Writer humor. Perky "red-cheeked" humor. Averchenko is a teenager. Emigration. The story "Features from the life of Pantelei Grymzin". Reminder. Dates and titles. Adjutant. Encyclopedia of wit. Write a quote from the text. The beginning of literary activity.

"Alighieri" - Took an active part in the political life of Florence; from June 15 to August 15, 1300, he was a member of the government (he was elected to the post of prior), trying, while acting, to prevent the aggravation of the struggle between the parties of the White and Black Guelphs (see Guelphs and Ghibellines). Greed is artificial poverty. Dante Alighieri Biography. The Dante family belonged to the urban nobility of Florence. The first years of Dante's exile - among the leaders of the White Guelphs, takes part in the armed and diplomatic struggle with the winning party.

"Biography and work of Anna Akhmatova" - Personality. Statements about Anna Akhmatova. The queen is a tramp. The funeral of A. Blok. Friends. God. Akhmatova. Sayings of famous people. "Royal Word" by Anna Akhmatova. The only name. Deadly mercy. A dark-skinned youth wandered along the alleys. The main features of the lyrics. Family. Poets of the Silver Age. Rusting gold. Tsvetaeva. O. Mandelstam. The name of Anna Akhmatova. Portrait of Akhmatova. Half-nun. This is interesting.

"Writer Aksakov" - Valery Ganichev. A lesson on the work of Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov. Mikhail Chvanov. "Notes on fishing fish." "A few words about early spring and late autumn harvest." Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov was born on September 20. Memorial House - Museum of S. T. Aksakov. Sofia alley. Creative task. Anatoly Genatulin. Aksakov street. Autobiographical trilogy "Family Chronicle". Memorial Aksakov sign.

"Aitmatov "Stormy Station"" - Legend. Space history. The problem of caring. Creativity of Aitmatov. Communication problem. Boranly. Entry into literature. Buran station. Chingiz Torekulovich Aitmatov. Edigei Buranny. The problem of the novel. Poetry of the native hearth. The theme of the novel. Introduction to literature. Titles and awards. Socio-historical problem. Memory problem. The problem of humanity and mercy.

"Innokenty Annensky" - Collection of poems. Print of fragile subtlety. Biography. Annensky died on November 30, 1909. Natalya Petrovna Annenskaya. Critic. Artistic images. Poet of the Silver Age. Translations of French poets. First publications. Features of the poetic gift. Publications. Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky.

Between 1935 and 1940, the Requiem was created, published only half a century later, in 1987, and reflecting the personal tragedy of Anna Akhmatova - the fate of her and her son Lev Nikolaevich Gumilyov, who was illegally repressed and sentenced to death, later replaced by camps.
"Requiem" became a memorial to all the victims of Stalin's tyranny. “During the terrible years of the Yezhovshchina,” Akhmatova wrote, “I spent seventeen months in prison queues.” Hence - “I have been screaming for seventeen months, calling you home ...”
And the stone word fell
On my still living chest.
Nothing, because I was ready
I'll deal with it somehow.
I have a lot to do today:
We must kill the memory to the end,
It is necessary that the soul turned to stone,
We must learn to live again.
Lines of such tragic intensity, exposing and denouncing the despotism of Stalinism, at the time when they were created, it was dangerous to write down, it was simply impossible. Both the author himself and several close friends memorized the text, from time to time testing the strength of their memory. So the human memory for a long time turned into "paper", on which the "Requiem" was imprinted. Without "Requiem" it is impossible to fully understand either the life, or creativity, or the personality of Anna Andreevna Akhmatova. Moreover, without the "Requiem" it is impossible to comprehend the literature of the modern world and the processes that have taken place and are taking place in society.
In 1987, the literary and art magazine "October" printed "Requiem" in its entirety on its pages. So the outstanding work of Akhmatova became "public". This is a stunning document of the era based on the facts of his own biography, evidence of the trials our compatriots went through.
... Again, the funeral hour approached.
I see, I hear, I feel you...
... I would like to call everyone by name,
Yes, the list was taken away, and there is nowhere to find out ...
... I remember them always and everywhere,
I will not forget about them even in a new trouble ...
Anna Andreevna deservedly enjoys the grateful recognition of her readers, and the high significance of her poetry is well known. In strict proportion to the depth and breadth of her ideas, her voice never descends to a whisper and never rises to a scream - neither in hours of national grief, nor in hours of national triumph. Restrainedly, without screaming and anguish, in an epic dispassionate manner, it is said about the grief experienced: "Mountains bend before this grief." Anna Akhmatova defines the biographical meaning of this grief as follows: “Husband in the grave, son in prison, pray for me.” This is expressed with directness and simplicity, found only in high folklore. But it is not only a matter of personal suffering, although this alone is enough for a tragedy. It, suffering, is expanded within the framework: “No, it’s not me, it’s someone else suffering,” “And I pray not for myself alone, but for everyone who stood there with me.”
With the publication of the "Requiem" and the poems adjoining it, the work of Anna Akhmatova acquires a new historical, literary and social meaning. It is in the "Requiem" that the poet's laconism is especially noticeable. Except for the prose "Instead of a Preface", there are only about two hundred lines. And Requiem sounds like an epic.
The text consists of ten poems, a prose preface called by Akhmatova "Instead of Preface", "Dedication", "Introduction" and a two-part "Epilogue". The "Crucifixion" included in the "Requiem" also consists of two parts. The poem "So it was not in vain that we had troubles together ...", written later, is also related to the "Requiem". From it, Anna Andreevna took the words: “No, and not under an alien sky ...” as an epigraph, since, according to the poetess, they set the tone for the entire poem, being its musical and semantic key.
The "Requiem" has a vital basis, which is extremely clearly stated in the small prose part "Instead of a Preface". Already here, the inner goal of the whole work is clearly felt - to show the terrible years of Yezhov's reign. And this is the story. Together with other suffering Akhmatova stood in the prison queue.
She says: “Someone 'identified' me once. Then a woman with blue lips standing behind me, who, of course, had never heard my name in her life, woke up from the stupor characteristic of all of us and asked me in my ear (everyone there spoke in a whisper):
- Can you describe it?
And I said
- Can.
Then something like a smile flickered across what had once been her face.
Here is how Akhmatova describes the depth of this grief:
Mountains bend before this grief,
The great river does not flow...
We only hear the hateful rattle of the keys ...
Yes, the steps are heavy soldiers ...
They walked wild through the capital ..
And innocent Rus writhed.
The words “Rus writhed” and “wild capital” with the utmost accuracy convey the suffering of the people, carry a great ideological load. The work also contains specific images. Here is one of the doomed, whom the “black marusi” take away at night, she also means her son:
Icons on your lips are cold,
Death sweat on the brow.
He was taken away at dawn. Dawn is the beginning of the day, and here dawn is the beginning of uncertainty and deep suffering. Suffering not only of the outgoing, but also of those who followed him "as if to take away." And even the folklore principle does not smooth out, but emphasizes the acuteness of the experiences of the innocently doomed. In the Requiem, a melody suddenly and sadly appears, vaguely reminiscent of a lullaby:
The Quiet Don flows quietly,
The yellow moon enters the house,
Enters in a cap on one side,
Sees the yellow moon shadow.
This woman is sick.
This woman is alone.
Husband in the grave, son in prison,
Pray for me.
The motif of the lullaby with an unexpected and semi-delusional image of the quiet Don prepares another, even more terrible motif - the motif of madness, delirium and complete readiness for death or suicide:
Already madness wing
Soul covered half
And drink fiery wine
And beckons to the black valley.
The "Epilogue", which consists of two parts, first returns the reader to the melody and the general meaning of the "Preface" and "Dedication". Here we again see the image of the prison queue, but already, as it were, generalized, symbolic, not as specific as at the beginning of the poem:
I learned how faces fall,
How fear peeks out from under the eyelids,
Like cuneiform hard pages
Suffering is brought out on the cheeks ..
And then there are these lines:
I would like to name everyone
Yes, the list was taken away, and there is nowhere to find out.
For them I wove a wide veil.
Of the poor, they have overheard words
"Requiem" by Akhmatova is a truly folk work. And not only in the sense that he reflected and expressed the great folk tragedy, but also in his poetic form, close to a folk parable. Woven from simple, "overheard", as Akhmatova writes, words, he expressed his time and the suffering soul of the people with great poetic and civic power. "Requiem" was not known either in the 1930s or in subsequent years, but it captured its time forever and showed that poetry continued to exist even when, according to Akhmatova, "the poet lived with his mouth shut." The strangled cry of a hundred million people was heard - this is the great merit of Anna Akhmatova.

Not! and not under an alien sky

And not under the protection of alien wings, -

I was then with my people,

Where my people, unfortunately, were.

INSTEAD OF FOREWORD

During the terrible years of the Yezhovshchina, I spent seventeen months in prison queues in Leningrad. Somehow, someone "recognized" me. Then the woman with blue lips standing behind me, who, of course, had never heard my name in her life, woke up from the stupor characteristic of all of us and asked in my ear (everyone there spoke in a whisper):

- Can you describe this?

And I said

Then something like a smile flickered across what had once been her face.

DEDICATION

Mountains bend before this grief,

The great river does not flow

But the prison gates are strong,

And behind them "convict holes"

And deadly sadness.

For someone the fresh wind blows,

For someone, the sunset basks -

We don't know, we're the same everywhere

We hear only the hateful rattle of the keys

Yes, steps are heavy soldiers.

We got up as if for an early mass,

We walked through the wild capital,

They met there, the dead lifeless,

The sun is lower and the Neva is foggy,

And hope sings in the distance.

The verdict ... And immediately the tears will gush,

Already separated from everyone

As if life is taken out of the heart with pain,

As if rudely overturned,

But it goes... It staggers... Alone.

Where are the unwitting girlfriends now

My two crazy years?

What does it seem to them in the Siberian blizzard,

What does it seem to them in the lunar circle?

To them I send my farewell greetings.

INTRODUCTION

It was when I smiled

Only the dead, happy with peace.

And swayed with an unnecessary pendant

Near the prisons of their Leningrad.

And when, mad with torment,

There were already condemned regiments,

And a short parting song

Locomotive whistles sang,

The death stars were above us

And innocent Russia writhed

Under the bloody boots

And under the tires of black marus.

They took you away at dawn

Behind you, as if on a takeaway, I walked,

Children were crying in the dark room,

At the goddess, the candle swam.

Icons on your lips are cold,

Death sweat on the brow... Don't forget!

I will be like archery wives,

Howl under the Kremlin towers.

Autumn 1935, Moscow

The quiet Don flows quietly,

The yellow moon enters the house.

He enters with a cap on one side.

Sees the yellow moon shadow.

This woman is sick

This woman is alone.

Husband in the grave, son in prison,

Pray for me.

No, it's not me, it's someone else suffering

I couldn't do that, but what happened

Let the black cloth cover

And let them carry the lanterns ...

I would show you, mocker

And the favorite of all friends,

Tsarskoye Selo merry sinner,

What will happen to your life

Like a three hundredth, with a transmission,

Under the Crosses you will stand

And with my hot tear

New Year's ice to burn.

There the prison poplar sways,

And not a sound - but how much is there

Innocent lives are ending...

I've been screaming for seventeen months

I'm calling you home

I threw myself at the feet of the executioner,

You are my son and my horror.

Everything is messed up,

And I can't make out

Now who is the beast, who is the man,

And how long to wait for the execution.

And only lush flowers,

And the ringing of the censer, and traces

Somewhere to nowhere

And looks straight into my eyes

And threatened with imminent death

Huge star.

Easy flying weeks.

What happened, I don't understand

How do you, son, go to jail

White nights looked

How do they look again?

With a hawk's hot eye,

About your high cross

And they talk about death.

Spring 1939

SENTENCE

And the stone word fell

On my still living chest.

Nothing, because I was ready

I'll deal with it somehow.

I have a lot to do today:

We must kill the memory to the end,

It is necessary that the soul turned to stone,

We must learn to live again.

But not that ... Hot rustle of summer

Like a holiday outside my window.

I've been anticipating this for a long time.

Bright day and empty house.

You will come anyway - why not now?

I'm waiting for you - it's very difficult for me.

I turned off the light and opened the door

You, so simple and wonderful.

Take any form for this,

Break in with a poisoned projectile

Or sneak up with a weight like an experienced bandit,

Or poison with a typhoid child.

Or a fairy tale invented by you

And everyone is sickeningly familiar, -

So that I can see the top of the blue hat

And the house manager, pale with fear.

I don't care now. The Yenisei swirls

The polar star is shining.

And the blue sparkle of beloved eyes

The last horror covers.

Already madness wing

Soul covered half

And drink fiery wine

And beckons to the black valley.

And I realized that he

I must give up the victory

Listening to your

Already as if someone else's delirium.

And won't let anything

I take it with me

(No matter how you ask him

And no matter how you bother with a prayer)!

Not a son of terrible eyes -

petrified suffering,

Not the day when the storm came

Not an hour of prison rendezvous,

Not the sweet coolness of hands,

Not linden agitated shadows,

Not a distant light sound -

Words of last consolation.

CRUCIFICATION

“Do not cry for Me, Mati, you are sighted in the coffin”

1

The choir of angels glorified the great hour,

And the heavens went up in flames.

He said to his father: “Almost left me!”

And Mother: “Oh, don’t cry for Me…”

2

She said: "I come here as if I were home."

I would like to name everyone

Yes, the list was taken away, and there is nowhere to find out.

For them I wove a wide cover

Of the poor, they have overheard words.

I remember them always and everywhere,

I will not forget about them even in a new trouble,

And if my exhausted mouth is clamped,

To which a hundred million people shout,

May they also remember me

On the eve of my memorial day.

And if ever in this country

They will erect a monument to me,

I give my consent to this triumph,

But only with the condition - do not put it

Not near the sea where I was born:

The last connection with the sea is broken,

Not in the royal garden at the treasured stump,

Where the inconsolable shadow is looking for me,

And here, where I stood for three hundred hours

And where the bolt was not opened for me.

Then, as in blissful death I fear

Forget the rumble of black marus,

Forget how hateful the door slammed

And the old woman howled like a wounded animal.

And let from motionless and bronze eyelids,

Like tears, melted snow flows,

And let the prison dove roam in the distance,

And the ships are quietly moving along the Neva.

March 1940, Fountain House