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

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Часть текста: спорного вопроса о примате формы или чувства, выдумки или реальности в творческом процессе писателя. Строгие рамки и несвобода, которыми обусловлена работа переводчика, стали для Набокова способом взаимодействия с другими писателями. Воспринимая жизненный опыт одних, он соотносил его изложение с тем, что читал у других. Темы, образность, стилистические обороты, которые он встречал у писателя, он вновь использовал в собственных ранних стихах и привносил в работу над переводом других поэтов. Учитывая, что впоследствии Набоков любил подчеркивать свою независимость и что современная критика пытается поместить его на пересечении модернизма и постмодернизма, заслуживает внимания тот факт, что первыми, кого он почтил, были романтики и неоромантики, то есть художники, чьи чувства часто оказывались на виду у всех и чьи необычные судьбы выбивались из ряда других, наравне с их творчеством. Таким писателем был Мюссе. Он был первой «маской», которой воспользовался Набоков, чтобы рассказать о своих самых глубоких чувствах и опыте, так и оставшихся главным источником для его творчества: о воспоминаниях первой любви, о смерти отца, об утрате России. Остается только добавить сюда невозможность пользоваться родным языком...

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Часть текста: How sad your apparition is to me, spring, spring, season of love! What a dark stir there is 4 in my soul, in my blood! With what oppressive tenderness I revel in the whiff of spring fanning my face 8 in the lap of the rural stillness! Or is enjoyment strange to me, and all that gladdens, animates, all that exults and gleams, 12 casts spleen and languishment upon a soul long dead and all looks dark to it? III Or gladdened not by the return of leaves that perished in the autumn, a bitter loss we recollect, 4 harking to the new murmur of the woods; or with reanimated nature we compare in troubled thought the withering of our years, 8 for which there is no renovation? Perhaps there comes into our thoughts, midst a poetical reverie, some other ancient spring, 12 which sets our heart aquiver with the dream of a distant clime, a marvelous night, a moon.... IV Now is the time: good lazybones, epicurean sages; you, equanimous fortunates; 4 you, fledglings of the Lyóvshin 41 school; you,...

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Часть текста: by Olga's side sank into meditation, 4 pleased with his vengeance. After him Ólinka yawned too, sought Lenski with her eyes, and the endless cotillion 8 irked her like an oppressive dream. But it has ended. They go in to supper. The beds are made. Guests are assigned night lodgings — from the entrance hall 12 even to the maids' quarters. Restful sleep by all is needed. My Onegin alone has driven home to sleep. II All has grown quiet. In the drawing room the heavy Pustyakov snores with his heavy better half. 4 Gvozdin, Buyanov, Petushkov, and Flyanov (who is not quite well) have bedded in the dining room on chairs, with, on the floor, Monsieur Triquet 8 in underwaistcoat and old nightcap. All the young ladies, in Tatiana's and Olga's rooms, are wrapped in sleep. Alone, sadly by Dian's beam 12 illumined at the window, poor Tatiana is not asleep and gazes out on the dark field. III With his unlooked-for apparition, the momentary softness of his eyes, and odd conduct with Olga, 4 to the depth of her soul she's penetrated. She is quite unable to understand him. Jealous anguish perturbs her, 8 as if a cold hand pressed her heart; as if beneath her an abyss yawned black and dinned.... “I shall perish,” says Tanya, 12 “but perishing from him is sweet. I murmur not: why murmur? He cannot give me happiness.” ...

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Часть текста: or a numeral; but to avoid ambiguity he decided it would be better to mark as number eight, instead of nine, the last chapter of Eugene Onegin, and to sacrifice one of its closing stanzas [Eight: XLVIIIa]: 'Tis time: the pen for peace is asking nine cantos I have written; my boat upon the joyful shore 4 by the ninth billow is brought out. Praise be to you, O nine Camenae, etc. “P[avel] A[leksandrovich] Katenin (whom a fine poetic talent does not prevent from being also a subtle critic) observed to us that this exclusion, though perhaps advantageous to readers, is, however, detrimental to the plan of the entire work since, through this, the transition from Tatiana the provincial miss to Tatiana the grande dame becomes too unexpected and unexplained: an observation revealing the experienced artist. The author himself felt the justice of this but decided to leave out the chapter for reasons important to him but not to the public. Some fragments [XVI–XIX, l–10] have been published [Jan. 1, 1830, Lit. Gaz. ] ; we insert them here, subjoining to them several other stanzas.” E. [sic] Onegin drives from Moscow to Nizhni Novgorod: [IX] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . before him Makariev bustlingly bestirs itself, 4 with its abundance seethes. Here the Hindu brought pearls, the European, spurious wines, the breeder from the steppes 8 drove a herd of cast steeds, the gamester brought his decks, fistful of complaisant dice, the landowner ripe daughters, 12 and daughterlings, the fashions of last year; ...

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Часть текста: Rosen, and Mona Dahl (save one, all these names are approximations, of course). Opal was a bashful, formless, bespectacled, bepimpled creature who doted on Dolly who bullied her. With Linda Hall the school tennis champion, Dolly played singles at least twice a week: I suspect Linda was a true nymphet, but for some unknown reason she did not comewas perhaps not allowed to cometo our house; so I recall her only as a flash of natural sunshine on an indoor court. Of the rest, none had any claims to nymphetry except Eva Rosen. Avis ws a plump lateral child with hairy legs, while Mona, though handsome in a coarse sensual way and only a year older than my aging mistress, had obviously long ceased to be a nymphet, if she ever had been one. Eva Rosen, a displaced little person from France, was on the other hand a good example of a not strikingly beautiful child revealing to the perspicacious amateur some of the basic elements of nymphet charm, such as a perfect pubescent figure and lingering eyes and high cheekbones. Her glossy copper hair had Lolita’s silkiness, and the features of her delicate milky-white face with pink lips and silverfish eyelashes were less foxy than those of her likesthe great clan of intra-racial redheads; nor did she sport their...

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Часть текста: my panic away. I remember evolving even an explanation of the “Birdsley” telephone call… But if I could dismiss Trapp, as I had dismissed my convulsions on the lawn at Champion, I could do nothing with the anguish of knowing Lolita to be so tantalizingly, so miserably unattainable and beloved on the very even of a new era, when my alembics told me she should stop being a nymphet, stop torturing me. An additional, abominable, and perfectly gratuitous worry was lovingly prepared for me in Elphinstone. Lo had been dull and silent during the last laptwo hundred mountainous miles uncontaminated by smoke-gray sleuths or zigzagging zanies. She hardly glanced at the famous, oddly shaped, splendidly flushed rock which jutted above the mountains and had been the take-off for nirvana on the part of a temperamental show girl. The town was newly built, or rebuilt, on the flat floor of a seven-thousand-foot-high valley; it would soon bore Lo, I hoped, and we would spin on to California, to the Mexican border, to mythical bays, saguaro desserts, fatamorganas. Jos Lizzarrabengoa, as you remember, planned to take his Carmen to the Etats Unis. I conjured up a Central American tennis competition in which Dolores Haze and various Californian schoolgirl champions would dazzlingly participate. Good-will tours on that smiling level eliminate the distinction between passport and sport. Why did I hope we would be happy abroad? A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely. Mrs. Hays, the brisk, briskly rouged, blue-eyed widow who ran the motor court, asked me if I were Swiss perchance, because her...

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Часть текста: Plowing up fluffy furrows, a bold kibitka flies: the driver sits upon his box 8 in sheepskin coat, red-sashed. Here runs about a household lad, upon a hand sled having seated “blackie,” having transformed himself into the steed; 12 the scamp already has frozen a finger. He finds it both painful and funny — while his mother, from the window, threatens him... III But, maybe, pictures of this kind will not attract you; all this is lowly nature; 4 there is not much refinement here. Warmed by the god of inspiration, another poet in luxurious language for us has painted the first snow 8 and all the shades of winter's delectations. 27 He'll captivate you, I am sure of it, when he depicts in flaming verses secret promenades in sleigh; 12 but I have no intention of contending either with him at present or with you, singer of the young Finnish Maid! 28 IV Tatiana (being Russian at heart, herself not knowing why) loved, in all its cold beauty, 4 a Russian winter: rime in the sun upon a frosty day, and sleighs, and, at late dawn, the radiance of the rosy snows, 8 and gloam of Twelfthtide eves. Those evenings in the ancient fashion were celebrated in their house: the servant girls from the whole stead 12 told their young ladies' fortunes and every year made prophecies to them of military husbands and the...

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Часть текста: sleep to earwitness primal sonorities) made me bolder, and every now and then I would take a bed-and-cot or twin-bed cabin, a prison cell or paradise, with yellow window shades pulled down to create a morning illusion of Venice and sunshine when actually it was Pennsylvania and rain. We came to know nous connmes, to use a Flaubertian intonationthe stone cottages under enormous Chateaubriandesque trees, the brick unit, the adobe unit, the stucco court, on what the Tour Book of the Automobile Association describes as “shaded” or “spacious” or “landscaped” grounds. The log kind, finished in knotty pine, reminded Lo, by its golden-brown glaze, of friend-chicken bones. We held in contempt the plain whitewashed clapboard Kabins, with their faint sewerish smell or some other gloomy self-conscious stench and nothing to boast of (except “good beds”), and an unsmiling landlady always prepared to have her gift (“…well, I could give you…”) turned down. Nous connmes (this is royal fun) the would-be enticements of their repetitious namesall those Sunset Motels, U-Beam Cottages, Hillcrest Courts, Pine View Courts, Mountain View Courts, Skyline Courts, Park Plaza Courts, Green Acres, Mac’s Courts. There...

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Часть текста: Проснувшись, я обнаружила, что жалюзи уже бросили полоски света на мои ноги, вынырнувшие из-под одеяла. Сосульки дивно горели под низким солнцем , и я смотрела на капель – там, снаружи, за стеклом. Солнце ложилось россыпью драгоценных камений. Я подняла жалюзи, чтобы насладиться видом моря солнечной зелени , которым любовалась еще с конца прошлого лета. На небе виднелся светозарный бирюзовый просвет , который отступающий холод собрал в первые светлые завои весны. Мною овладело блаженное чувство легкости и покоя. Я сбежала по лестнице и вышла босая на леденящую, испятнанную солнцем тропинку сада. Я закрыла глаза, сознание на секунду покинуло меня, и на его место пришел ясный и чистый сон. Погрузившись в него, словно в воду, я почувствовала, как наверху алое солнце желания и решимости озаряет мир глазками живого света. Но когда я открыла глаза, то увидела, что все изменилось за время моего отсутствия. Соседние горы покрыла слепящая завеса , за домиком, припавшим к земле возле ворот сада, мерцал яблочно-зеленый свет , а из гаража исходил ослепительный пылающий луч. Небо вдруг стало стремительно темнеть, и на его фоне, среди тишины таинственной, томно-сумеречной, поплыли вдаль тополя. Черный дрозд выводил дрожащую трель, и опушенные котиком алые небеса грозили скрыть последние солнечные лучи. Осторожно, на цыпочках, я направилась к гаражу, завороженная манившей меня издали горстью баснословных огней. Не дойдя до цели, я сошла с тропинки и остановилась на лужайке под запорошенной звездами небесной твердью. ...

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Часть текста: (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 then to another group on the lawn, consisting of Leslie, two policemen and a sturdy man with tortoise shell glasses. At this point, I should explain that the prompt appearance of the patrolmen, hardly more than a minute after the accident, was due to their having been ticketing the illegally parked cars in a cross lane two blocks down the grade; that the fellow with the glasses was Frederick Beale, Jr., driver of the Packard; that his 79-year-old father, whom the nurse had just watered on the green bank where he laya...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "GLEAM"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "GLEAM"