Владимир Набоков: Поиск по текстам произведений автора и критике. Cлово "FAME". Классическая русская литература.

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Часть текста: of my amusements, insomnias, light inspirations, unripe and withered years, 16 the intellect's cold observations, and the heart's sorrowful remarks. CHAPTER ONE To live it hurries and to feel it hastes. Prince Vyazemski I “My uncle has most honest principles: when he was taken gravely ill, he forced one to respect him 4 and nothing better could invent. To others his example is a lesson; but, good God, what a bore to sit by a sick person day and night, not stirring 8 a step away! What base perfidiousness to entertain one half-alive, adjust for him his pillows, 12 sadly serve him his medicine, sigh — and think inwardly when will the devil take you?” II Thus a young scapegrace thought as with post horses in the dust he flew, by the most lofty will of Zeus 4 the heir of all his kin. Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan! The hero of my novel, without...

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Часть текста: liked by her, and thus more surely we undo her 4 among bewitching toils. Time was when cool debauch was lauded as the art of love, trumpeting everywhere about itself, 8 taking its pleasure without loving. But that grand game is worthy of old sapajous of our forefathers' vaunted times; 12 the fame of Lovelaces has faded with the fame of red heels and of majestic periwigs. VIII Who does not find it tedious to dissemble; diversely to repeat the same; try gravely to convince one 4 of what all have been long convinced; to hear the same objections, annihilate the prejudices which never had and hasn't 8 a little girl of thirteen years! Who will not grow weary of threats, entreaties, vows, feigned fear, notes running to six pages, 12 betrayals, gossiping, rings, tears, surveillances of aunts, of mothers, and the onerous friendship of husbands! IX Exactly thus my Eugene thought. In his first youth he had been...

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Часть текста: do not give a damn for public morals, in America or elsewhere. And, anyway, cases of men in their forties marrying girls in their teens or early twenties have no bearing on Lolita whatever. Humbert was fond of "little girls"-- not simply "young girls." Nymphets are girl-children, not starlets and "sex kittens." Lolita was twelve, not eighteen, when Humbert met her. You may remember that by the time she is fourteen, he refers to her as his "aging mistress." One critic has said about you that "his feelings are like no one else's. " Does this make sense to you? Or does it mean that you know your feelings better than others know theirs? Or that you have discovered yourself at other levels? Or simply that your history is unique? I do not recall that article; but if a critic makes such a statement, it must surely mean that he has explored the feelings of literally millions of people, in at least three countries, before reaching his conclusion. If so, lama rare fowl indeed. If, on the other hand, he has merely limited himself to quizzing members of his family or club, his statement cannot be discussed seriously. Another critic has written that your "worlds are static. They may become tense with obsession, but they do not break apart like the worlds of...

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Часть текста: знакомстве с гностической литературой читатель будет поражен некоторыми повторяющимися формулами, которые сами по себе, даже без обращения к более широкому контексту, вызывают некое глубинное переживание и особое чувство, они заставляют увидеть действительность так, как это свойственно гностическому сознанию. Эти формулы могут включать в себя как отдельные слова с символическими значениями, так и развитые метафоры. Они значимы не столько в силу их повторяемости, сколько благодаря их красноречивости и зачастую — неожиданной новизне. {186} Мандейские тексты, например, это по преимуществу стихотворные гимны и литургии; они необыкновенно богаты аллегориями и другими средствами художественной выразительности. Традиционные категории иудаизма и христианства (например, категории добра и зла) в силу инверсивной, а иногда даже извращающей первоначальный смысл переоценки наполняются в гностических мифах новым, неожиданным содержанием. В кощунственном учении гностиков, презирающих теологическую традицию и ее кумиров, отчетливо сказывается определенная провокативная тенденция, желание ошеломить, шокировать сторонников традиционных религий необыкновенными выходками. Гностик Василид, например, утверждает, что распят был не Иисус Христос, а Симон Киринеянин, несший его крест. {187} Иисус дал ему свой...

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Часть текста: что собеседник украдкой вытирает то щеку, то бровь (когда слишком стремительно говорю что-нибудь) и перемигивает”. Здесь и далее письма Гринбергу цитируются по изданию: Рашит Янгиров “Друзья, бабочки и монстры: из переписки Владимира и Веры Набоковых с Романом Гринбергом. 1943-1967” // Диаспора: новые материалы. Альманах. 2001, №1. Париж, Atheneum - Спб., Феникс. 5 Pitzer, с. 173-174. Первый французский концлагерь для евреев, Дранси, появился в 1941 г. Рейс, которым уехали Набоковы, стал для “Шамплена” последним: по возвращении во Францию пароход подорвался на мине и затонул на рейде. 6 Bakh, письмо Веры Гольденвейзер, 26 июля 1941 г. 7 DBDV, c.52. 8 Даже в романе “Дар”, повествующем о трудной жизни эмигранта во враждебном немецком городе, слышны отголоски восхищения Набокова горами. Всякий раз, как заходит речь о радости, которую испытывает первооткрыватель, герой представляет себе покойного отца, исследователя Средней Азии, в горах, которые, кстати, несильно отличались от гор северной и центральной части штата Юта: тот же гранит и талые воды. Словно предвидя то, что ему только предстояло пережить в Америке, Набоков писал (в 1938 г.; первое американское издание “Дара” вышло в 1963 г.) о “настоящих крымских редкостях”, которые водились “гораздо выше, в горах, между скал”, о днях, проведенных в горах и пустынях, о “постоянном чувстве, что наши здешние дни только карманные деньги, гроши, звякающие в темноте, а что где-то есть капитал, с коего надо уметь при жизни получать проценты в виде снов, слез счастья, далеких гор”. В. Набоков, “Дар”. 9 NB, с. 52-53. 10 В. Набоков, “Под знаком незаконнорожденных”. Здесь и далее книга цитируется в переводе С. Ильина. Набоков озаглавил вымышленную книгу “Когда...

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Часть текста: to film an interview for the Bayeriscber Rundfunk. Of its many topics and themes I have selected a few for reproduction in this volume. The bit about my West European ancestors comes from a carefully executed and beautifully bound Ahnentafel, given me on my seventieth birthday by my German publisher Heinrich Maria Ledig-RowohIt. ON TIME AND ITS TEXTURE We can imagine all kinds of time, such as for example "applied time"-- time applied to events, which we measure by means of clocks and calendars; but those types of time are inevitably tainted by our notion of space, spatial succession, stretches and sections of space. When we speak of the "passage of time," we visualize an abstract river flowing through a generalized landscape. Applied time, measurable illusions of time, are useful for the purposes of historians or physicists, they do not interest me, and they did not interest my creature Van Veen in Part Four of my Ada. He and I in that book attempt to examine the essence of Time, not its lapse. Van mentions the possibility of being...

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Часть текста: enthusiasm that he keeps forgetting to reread what he has already written but so attuned to a particular frequency of inspiration that revision and successive drafts are superfluous: the tale can be extruded in a single, extremely long, growing ever longer, parti-colored stream, like the endless rope of silk handkerchiefs a conjuror extracts with mock amazement from his black satin sleeve, or, for that matter, from the mouth of a compliant, if somewhat sheepish, volunteer. But Nabokov's death still comes as an unpleasant shock, an absurdly anomalous element at the end of the series, as if the final section of the streamer were not one last, particularly colorful piece of silk, but a live worm, a rotting plum, or some other equally strange bit of inexplicable detritus. Thank you, Madam, you may return to your seat. That Nabokov did not die of natural causes is only now beginning to be publicly acknowledged. His "mysterious" death, variously attributed to a fall, a viral infection, pneumonia, or mundane cardiac arrest, is now known to have been caused, or at least hastened along, by a special, nearly untraceable poison whose unpronounceable name I will not reveal here for fear that some unbalanced individual bearing a grudge against a family member, former love, noisy neighbor, or Department Head 1 might seek it out. The substance is readily available. It is odorless, flavorless, and difficult to detect unless a thorough autopsy is performed by an experienced medical examiner soon after the victim's death. Nabokov, who had been in and out of hospitals for the two years preceding his passing, was known to be in ill health. No foul play was suspected and so no autopsy was performed. The body, I learned...

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Часть текста: декабря 1942 г., когда Набоков ехал в поезде из Нью-Йорка в Вашингтон. Считается, что стихотворение повторяет ритм движущегося железнодорожного вагона. Впервые оно было опубликовано в популярном американском еженедельнике «Нью-Йоркер» 15 мая 1943 г. Приведем полный текст стихотворения [7, c. 273-274]: A Discovery I found it in a legendary land all rocks and lavender and tufted grass, where it was settled on some sodden sand hard by the torrent of a mountain pass. The features it combines mark it as new to science: shape and shade - the special tinge, akin to moonlight, tempering its blue, the dingy underside, the chequered fringe. My needles have teased out its sculptured sex; corroded tissues could no longer hide that priceless mote now dimpling the convex and limpid teardrop on a lighted slide. Smoothly a screw is turned; out of the mist two ambered hooks symmetrically slope, or scales like battledores of amethyst cross the charmed circle of the microscope. I found it and I named it, being versed in taxonomic Latin; thus became godfather to an insect and its first describer - and I want no other fame. Wide open on its pin (though fast asleep), and safe from creeping relatives and rust, in the secluded stronghold where we keep type specimens it will transcend its dust. Dark pictures, thrones, the stones that pilgrims kiss, poems that take a thousand years to die but ape the immortality of this red label on a little butterfly. В стихотворении речь идет о бабочке, относящейся к семейству Lycaenidae (Голубянки). В первой же строке автор называет ее «it». К сожалению, в английском языке нельзя определить, относится ли местоимение «it» к женскому или мужскому роду....

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Часть текста: out. The far side of our steep little street presented a peculiar sight. A big black glossy Packard had climbed Miss Opposite’s sloping lawn at an angle from the sidewalk (where a tartan laprobe had dropped in a heap), and stood there, shining in the sun, its doors open like wings, its front wheels deep in evergreen shrubbery. To the anatomical right of this car, on the trim turn of the lawn-slope, an old gentleman with a white mustache, well-dresseddouble-breasted gray suit, polka-dotted bow-tielay supine, his long legs together, like a death-size wax figure. I have to put the impact of an instantaneous vision into a sequence of words; their physical accumulation in the page impairs the actual flash, the sharp unity of impression: Rug-heap, car, old man-doll, Miss O.’s nurse running with a rustle, a half-empty tumbler in her hand, back to the screened porchwhere the propped-up, imprisoned, decrepit lady herself may be imagined screeching, but not loud enough to drown the rhythmical yaps of the Junk setter walking from group to groupfrom a bunch of neighbors already collected on the sidewalk, near the bit of checked stuff, and back to the car which he had finally run to earth, and...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "FAME"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "FAME"