The Garden.
Posting #18.
“...Breathing heavily
he sat down into thick rye,
Will I sharpen, yes, I’ll
sharpen a very sharp knife...”
Andrei Bely. The
Countryside.
I’d
like to start with Andrei Bely’s poetry. In his poetry collection The Countryside (1906-1907), consisting
of 11 poems, the poet demonstrates his knowledge of the Russian village,
stylizing his language as rural colloquial.
The
cycle is composed in the name of a Russian merchant lusting for young maidens,
turning into a ruffian, and ignominiously hanged, as the cycle closes.
“I’m
a merchant, I am rich,
I grow flax and buy tar,
And I tar rope with it…”
What
a transformation follows:
“…How
many people I assaulted
and what things I pillaged –
That I don’t remember – No…”
What
a stunning ability of this amazing poet to transform himself into any character
of his choosing!
The
merchant is complaining about his misfortune:
“...My
beard is like a spade;
I am an old merchant, am I.
All is mine: silver and gold.
[But] Lyuba [his beloved]
isn’t mine!..”
Having
been watching the girl and her lover, the merchant started thinking “an evil
thought”:
“...Breathing
heavily he sat down into thick rye,
Will I sharpen, yes, I’ll
sharpen a very sharp knife...”
Each
poem in the cycle has its own title: Merchant,
Rendezvous, Too Old, etc. In the next poem On the Slope the old man makes threats against his young rival:
“Just
you wait, my deadly enemy,
Just you wait, I’m here.
The hour is near: you shall
fall down in blood
On the breast of the earth.
Right here shall you fall
down, pierced by a knife.
(Ai, lyuli-lyuli!)..”
Coming
to the next rendezvous with his beloved, in the poem Premonition, the young lover suddenly lost his spirit in anguish,
as if sensing death nearby. As though an inner voice is warning him of the
imminent danger:
“…Hey,
lad, turn back,
Turn back, lad!..”
And
finally, The Murder:
“…Greetings,
bro, an eye for an eye!
Remember, blood for blood.
We are alone, the village is
far away.
Do not contradict her…”
(The
reader will find out who “she” is in the penultimate stanza.)
“…How
over this one lawn
I will spill your blood…
Somewhere over there – on the
slope, a troika
Will sob briskly with its
bells
Into the departing day:
Tien-teren-teren…”
The
merchant is tired of “playing with his balalaika”:
“…Let’s
get down to business – why wait?
And I thrust my sharp knife
Into his chest all the way to
the hilt.
The flow of red blood
Sprang forth in a red stream.
The knife crackled, the knife
whistled
In the chest, in the stomach,
in the side…”
How
realistic is this scene!
“…Sounding
over the cursed rattle,
Into the velvet newness
From under the red hilt
Whistles the foamy blood…
Jackdaws, ravens, crows
Will descend in a flock
And will peck out the eyes,
Immovable like glass…”
The
merchant is quite pleased with himself:
“…To
fair wenches, to faithful love-girls
He will never come,
After I had pierced him
through
With my steel tooth [knife]…”
The
promised penultimate poem of this cycle puts everything in its place:
“…How
many people I assaulted
and what things I pillaged –
That I don’t remember – No…
Here they’ll come presently
To tighten up the knot…
Here come the steps, steps
are by the door,
The lock is screeching…”
They
are coming for the merchant, but not with knives:
“…The
officer is shouting to the convoy:
Draw your sabers!..”
And
now the promised answer as to who “she” is, in the expression: “Do not contradict her!”
“…They
have twisted the noose smartly,
My blood freezes.
The rope [she,
in Russian] is thrown over the crossbar,
Do not contradict her!..”
The
terrific poetry cycle closes with some terrific symbolism of Andrei Bely.
Following the poem The Gallows, the
last poem of the cycle From Up High
ends with these chillingly graphic words:
“...Splashing
emeralds into the eye
Are angry handfuls of flies
[sic!]…”
That’s
why Bulgakov inserts emeralds into the dead eyes of Berlioz in the 22nd
chapter of Master and Margarita, With
Candles:
“Mikhail Alexandrovich…, Woland
addressed the head in a low voice, and then the eyelids of the slain man lifted
up, and in his dead face Margarita, shuddering, saw the eyes very much alive,
and full of thought and suffering. Everything
has turned out the way it has been predicted, hasn’t it? – Woland
continued, looking into the eyes of the head. – To each according to his faith. So let it be! You are departing to
non-being, and I will be happy to drink to being out of this cup that you are
turning into! Woland raised his sword. At this instant the outer coverings
of the head darkened and shrank, and Margarita saw on the plate a yellowish
skull with emerald eyes and pearl teeth.”
***
Andrei
Bely’s symbolism is striking. If in the 10th poem of the poetry
cycle In the Village A. Bely writes
about the beloved of the slain lad:
“…The
shoulders are moving, they are shaking,
She is moaning through the
night…
No, he won’t rise from his
grave,
My falcon: Amen!..
Black swarms of flies
Are splashing into her face…”
–
Then in the case of the hanged merchant:
“…Splashing
emeralds into the eye
Are angry handfuls of flies…”
This
is what N. S. Gumilev admired in A. Bely’s poetry: “The
colorful impressionism of his early youth works [engrained] in most commonplace
experiences.”
And
indeed, “black swarms of flies” turn into this impressionistic picture:
“…Splashing
emeralds into the eye
Are angry handfuls of flies…”
Sic!
To
be continued…
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