Blok’s Women.
Magdalena. Mary. Valentina.
Posting #1.
“…It seemed to me then
That now and always
You were looking ahead without
a thought.
And down by the window,
Like a sea wave,
The people were undulating
before you…”
Alexander Blok. 12 October, 1900.
And
so, Donna Anna is linked in Blok’s poetry to violence and “cursed freedom.”
At
the same time, around the year 1912, Blok writes an untitled poem about yet
another famous woman:
“Out
of crystal fog,
Out of an unseen dream,
Someone’s image, someone’s
strange…
The wind enters, a maiden
enters
Inside the crooked mirrors.”
Such
words as: “fog,” “dream,” “crooked mirrors” – already indicate that the woman
depicted by Blok is painted in Blok’s imagination, as he is sitting “in a
restaurant’s private room over a bottle of wine.”
At
first sight, this poem is a continuation of the poem To the Muse opening this 1909-1916 collection under the general
title Frightful World, as it explains
what “curse of sacred testaments” and
“trampling of sacred shrines” the
author is talking about.
This
“strange image” acquires a very famous name in Blok. –
“Magdalena!
Magdalena!
The wind is blowing from the
desert,
Flaring up the fire.”
So,
this is the kind of woman Blok is dreaming about. She is full of demons.
According
to the tradition, seven demons were exorcised out of Magdalena. Et voilà!
Bulgakov obliges, making master’s mistress Margarita a witch. And not just a
plain witch, but one burning with the desire to perish together with master,
while Blok calls Magdalena –
“Resolution
of all torments,
All invectives and praises,
All snakish smiles,
All imploring movements…”
–
and asks her –
“…Break
my life [that is, Blok’s life]
Like my wineglass!”
Being
supremely reserved and non-emotional in real life, Blok was unleashing his
feelings in his poetry. And if in an earlier poem Blok seemingly welcomes
losing his mind –
“I’ll
lose my mind, I’ll lose my mind,
I love in madness…”
–
then in his “Magdalena” poem, he welcomes the thought of dying.
This is the only way that we can explain the “curse of sacred testaments” and the “trampling of sacred shrines.” –
“So
that on the bed of a long night,
The strength of passion would
run out,
So that in a desert scream of
the violins,
The scared eyes would be lit
off
By the darkness of death.”
At
the same time as Blok was working on the poetry collection Frightful World (1909-1916), he was also writing his poetry cycle Harps and Violins (1908-1916). Among the
poems of this cycle, Blok describes the process of how he creates his poetry. –
“Pining
and weeping and laughing,
The rivulets of my verses are
ringing
At your feet, and each verse
Runs, weaves a living lace,
Not knowing its own banks…”
Here
A. Blok explains how he writes poems about the woman he had chosen, and his
words, like living running water, are transformed into poetry. His poems do not
know any banks, as he does not know it himself, where his inspiration is going to
take him, as it weaves a living lace.
In
one of my favorite poems from the collection Faina (1906-1908), Blok shows how he writes this verse:
“…Then
she is done weaving
And quietly puts away her
yarn…”
In
other words, in this poem it is not he who weaves the living lace, but the
woman of his imagination is weaving the story he is telling.
In
his depictions of most pedestrian things, Blok uses a very interesting method,
as for instance in his Night Violet,
opening it with a description of his ordinary walk, gradually turning this poem
into a veritable masterpiece.
The
easiest demonstration can be taken from Blok’s Masks, namely, from the poem Pale
Tales:
“The
wicked mask addressing the modest mask:
‘See how the dark knight is
telling fairytales
To the third mask!..”
And
here it comes:
“…The
dark knight weaves lacework
Around the maiden!..’”
In
other words, lacework is a fairytale, and fairytales are poems for Blok.
“Softly
whispers mask to mask,
Wicked mask to modest mask…
And the third one is
discomfited…
And darker still against the
dark curtain of the window,
The Dark Knight is only
imagined…
And the mask lowers its
pointed eyelashes,
The mask has a dream, it
dreams of a knight…
--Dark Knight, smile!..
He tells fairytales,
Leaning on his sword.
And she listens, in a mask…
How is her blush burning!
Strange is the profile of her
dark shoulders!
And behind them – a quiet
dance
Of distant meetings.”
And
just like in the poem about Orpheus, Blok gives away that he has taken this
whole fairytale about the dark knight and the masks from books, and he does it
through the following words:
“…And
on the window drape,
A golden beam stretching from
the heart,
A thin sticky cord.
And the lover who has lost
himself
Does not know how to stick,
Having flown from the
bookcase knob
Amur.”
To
be continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment