In March 1912, Akhmatova entered great literature by releasing her first collection, “Evening,” in a circulation of three hundred copies. He was well received by both his colleagues and professional critics. The public also loved the lyrics of the young debutante. No wonder her second book, published a couple of years later, was so popular. The most insightful people realized that a real revolution had taken place in Russian culture. A talented woman with her own voice appeared in poetry, who did not hide under a male pseudonym, but spoke

Boldly, openly. At the same time, she was not carried away by the then fashionable decadent trends, continuing for the most part classical traditions, in particular, those laid down by Pushkin.

Akhmatova’s first collection includes the poem “Heart to Heart is Not Chained...”, dated in the spring of 1911 and related to intimate lyrics. The work was written by a woman who got married not long ago - her marriage to Gumilyov was concluded at the end of April 1910. Nikolai Stepanovich, who had been seeking Anna Andreevna’s love for several years, quickly lost interest in her after the wedding. The fact that

In the fall of 1910, he left his young wife and went on an African expedition for several months.

In the text under consideration one hears an echo of the situation that has developed in the poetess’s life. The lyrical heroine of the work is not going to hold the man. She places personal freedom above love. In addition, the woman perfectly understands the correctness of the old Russian proverb: “You can’t be nice by force.” She not only forgives her departing lover, but also wishes him happiness. Her words convey both sadness and wisdom. At the beginning of the second stanza, the heroine seems to object to an unknown interlocutor: “I don’t cry, I don’t complain...”. And then she calmly states that she is not destined to be happy. A woman who is abandoned, but has not lost her pride, does not need the pitiful caresses of her lover. Refusing his kiss, she hints at her imminent death: “...Death will come to kiss.”

The poem “Heart to Heart is Not Chained...” was written by the young Akhmatova - at the time of writing she was just over 20 years old. At the same time, in the work one can feel the wisdom inherent in women who have experienced, seen, felt and know a lot, who have more than once managed to be disappointed in love and men.

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Anna Andreevna Akhmatova

Heart to heart is not chained,
If you want, leave.
Much happiness is in store
To those who are free on the way.

I don't cry, I don't complain
I won't be happy.
Don't kiss me, I'm tired, -
Death will have to be kissed.

The days of acute yearning are over
Together with the white winter.
Why, why are you
Better than my chosen one?

In March 1912, Akhmatova entered great literature by releasing her first collection, “Evening,” in a circulation of three hundred copies. He was well received by both his colleagues and professional critics. The public also loved the lyrics of the young debutante. No wonder her second book, published a couple of years later, was so popular. The most insightful people realized that a real revolution had taken place in Russian culture. A talented woman with her own voice appeared in poetry, who did not hide under a male pseudonym, but spoke boldly and openly. At the same time, she was not carried away by the then fashionable decadent trends, continuing for the most part classical traditions, in particular, those laid down by Pushkin.

Akhmatova’s first collection includes the poem “Heart to Heart is Not Chained...”, dated in the spring of 1911 and related to intimate lyrics. The work was written by a woman who recently got married - her marriage to Gumilyov took place at the end of April 1910.

Anna Akhmatova and Nikolai Gumilyov

Nikolai Stepanovich, who had been seeking Anna Andreevna’s love for several years, quickly lost interest in her after the wedding. As proof, the fact that in the fall of 1910 he left his young wife and went on an African expedition for several months is enough.

Nikolay Gumilyov in Africa

In the text under consideration one hears an echo of the situation that has developed in the poetess’s life. The lyrical heroine of the work is not going to hold the man. She places personal freedom above love. In addition, the woman perfectly understands the correctness of the old Russian proverb: “You can’t be nice by force.” She not only forgives her departing lover, but also wishes him happiness. Her words convey both sadness and wisdom. At the beginning of the second stanza, the heroine seems to object to an unknown interlocutor: “I don’t cry, I don’t complain...”. And then she calmly states that she is not destined to be happy. A woman who is abandoned, but has not lost her pride, does not need the pitiful caresses of her lover. Refusing his kiss, she hints at her imminent death: “...Death will come to kiss.”

The poem “Heart to heart is not chained...” was written by the young Akhmatova - at the time of writing she was just over 20 years old. At the same time, in the work one can feel the wisdom inherent in women who have experienced, seen, felt and know a lot, who have more than once managed to be disappointed in love and men.

Vladimir Mayakovsky

SERGEY ESENIN

You've gone,
as the saying goes,
to another world.
Emptiness...
Fly, crashing into the stars.
No advance for you
no pub.
Sobriety.
No, Yesenin,
This is not a joke.
There is a lump of grief in my throat - not a laugh.
I see - he hesitated with his cut-in hand,
You pump a bag of your own bones.
- Stop it! Give it up!
Are you out of your mind?
Give it to your cheeks
Poured deadly chalk?!
You knew how to bend something like that,
What no one else in the world could do.
Why? For what?
The bewilderment faded away.
Critics mutter:
- This is to blame for this... and that...
And the main thing is that the bow is not enough,
The result is a lot of beer and wine.
- They say, you could replace bohemia
Class, class influenced you,
And there would be no fights.
Well, does the class fill their thirst with kvass?
Cool - he's not a fool to drink either.
They say, I would like to assign one of the guards to you -
They would become much more gifted in content.
You would write a hundred lines a day,
Tiring and long, like Doronin.
But in my opinion, if such nonsense were to come true,
They would have laid hands on themselves sooner.
It's better to die from vodka than from boredom!
They won’t tell us the reasons for the loss
Neither a loop nor a knife.
Maybe the ink will end up in Angleterre,
There would be no reason to cut the veins.
The imitators rejoiced: encore!
The platoon almost committed reprisals against itself.
Why increase the number of suicides?
Better increase your ink production!
The tongue will now be locked in the teeth forever.
It is difficult and inappropriate to develop mysteries.
From the people, from the language creator,
The loud drunken apprentice has died.
And they carry funeral scraps of poetry,
Almost unchanged from the last funeral.
To drive stupid rhymes into the hill with a stake -
Is this how a poet should be honored?
The monument to you hasn’t been demolished yet, where is it?
Bronze ringing or granite edge? -
And they’ve already applied it to the memory bars
Dedications and memories are rubbish.
Your name is scattered in handkerchiefs,
Your word slobbers Sobinov and brings out
Under a dead birch tree -
“Not a word, oh my friend, not a sigh.”
Eh, I wish I could talk differently
With this same one with Leonid Leongrinych!
I wish I could stand here like a thundering brawler:
- I won’t allow you to mumble the verse and crumple it! -
I would stun them with a three-fingered whistle
To the grandmother and to God the soul of the mother!
For the most mediocre trash to spread,
Fanning the darkness of the jacket's sails,
So that Kogan would scatter in all directions,
Oncoming ones are mutilated with mustache peaks.
The rubbish has thinned out a little so far.
There is a lot to do - you just have to keep up.
We need to change our life first,
Having remade it, you can chant.
This time is a bit difficult for the pen,
But tell me, cripples and cripples,
Where, when, what great one chose the path,
To make it more trodden and easier?
The word is the commander of human power.
March!
So that the time behind cannonballs explodes.
To the old days, so that the wind carries
Just a tangle of hair.
Our planet is poorly equipped for fun.
We must wrest joy from the days ahead.
In this life it is not difficult to die.
Make life much more difficult.