Block Scythians history. Alexander Blok
Try it, fight with us!
Yes, we are the Scythians! Yes, Asians are us
With slanting and greedy eyes!
For you - centuries, for us - a single hour.
We, like obedient slaves,
Kept a shield between two hostile races
Mongols and Europe!
Century, century your old forge forged
And drowned out thunder, avalanches,
And a wild tale was failure for you
And Lisbon and Messina!
You have looked to the East for hundreds of years
Digging and melting our pearls,
And you, mocking, counted only the term,
When to instruct the cannon vents!
Now the time has come. Trouble beats with wings
And every day multiplies resentment
And the day will come - there will be no trace
From your Paestums, perhaps!
Oh, the old world! Until you die
While you languish in sweet flour
Stop, wise as Oedipus,
Before the Sphinx with an ancient riddle!
Russia - Sphinx. Rejoicing and grieving,
And bleeding black
She looks, looks, looks at you
And with hatred and love! ...
Yes, love as our blood loves,
None of you love for a long time!
You have forgotten that there is love in the world,
Which both burns and destroys!
We love everything - and the heat of cold numbers,
And the gift of divine visions
Everything is clear to us - and the sharp Gallic meaning,
And the gloomy German genius ...
We remember everything - the Parisian streets are hell,
And the Venetian coolness
A distant scent of lemon groves
And Cologne's smoky masses ...
We love flesh - its taste and color
And the stifling, mortal smell of flesh ...
Are we guilty if your skeleton crunches
In our heavy, tender paws?
We got used to, grabbing by the bridle
Zealous playing horses,
Breaking heavy sacrum for horses,
And to pacify the obstinate slaves ...
Come visit us! From the horrors of war
Come into peaceful embrace!
Before it's too late - an old sword in a sheath,
Comrades! We will become - brothers!
And if not, we have nothing to lose
And treachery is available to us!
Centuries, centuries will curse you
Ill late offspring!
We are wide through the wilds and forests
Before Europe, beautifull
Let's part! We will turn to you
My Asian mug!
All go, go to the Urals!
We're clearing the battlefield
Steel machines where the integral breathes,
With the Mongolian wild horde!
But we ourselves are no longer a shield for you,
From now on we will not enter the battle ourselves,
We'll watch the fight to the death
With your narrow eyes
Let's not move when the ferocious hun
He will fumble in the pockets of corpses,
Burn the cities, and drive the herd to the church,
And fry the meat of the white brothers! ...
For the last time - come to your senses, old world!
To a fraternal feast of labor and peace,
For the last time to a light brotherly feast
The barbarian lyre is calling!
Scythians
Panmongolism! Even though the name is wildAnd every day multiplies resentment
But it pleases my ears.
Vladimir SolovievAnd the day will come - there will be no trace
From your Paestums, perhaps!
O old world! Until you die
While you languish in sweet flour
Stop, wise as Oedipus,
Before the Sphinx with an ancient riddle!
And bleeding black
She looks, looks, looks at you
And with hatred and with love! ..
Yes, love as our blood loves,
None of you love for a long time!
You have forgotten that there is love in the world,
Which burns and destroys!
We love everything - and the heat of cold numbers,
And the gift of divine visions
Everything is clear to us - and the sharp Gallic meaning,
And the gloomy German genius ...
We remember everything - the Parisian streets are hell,
And the Venetian coolness
A distant scent of lemon groves
And Cologne's smoky masses ...
We love flesh - and its taste and color,
And the stifling, mortal smell of flesh ...
Are we guilty if your skeleton crunches
In our heavy, tender paws?
We got used to, grabbing by the bridle
Zealous playing horses,
Breaking heavy sacrum for horses
And to pacify the obstinate slaves ...
Come visit us! From the horrors of war
Come into peaceful embrace!
Before it's too late - an old sword in a sheath,
Comrades! We will become - brothers!
And if not, we have nothing to lose
And treachery is available to us!
Centuries, centuries - you will be cursed
Ill late offspring!
We are wide through the wilds and forests
Before Europe, beautifull
Let's make our way! We will turn to you
My Asian mug!
All go, go to the Urals!
We're clearing the battlefield
Steel machines where the integral breathes,
With the Mongolian wild horde!
But we ourselves are no longer a shield for you,
From now on we will not enter the battle ourselves,
We'll watch the fight to the death
With your narrow eyes
Let's not move when the ferocious hun
He will fumble in the pockets of corpses,
Burn the cities, and drive the herd to the church,
And fry the meat of the white brothers! ..
For the last time - come to your senses, old world!
To a fraternal feast of labor and peace,
For the last time to a light brotherly feast
The barbarian lyre is calling!
 |
"We will fulfill our historical mission"
The "result" of the Brest-Litovsk negotiations (that is, no result, according to Novaya Zhizn, which is indignant at the Bolsheviks). None - good, sir. But the shame of 3½ years ("war", "patriotism") must be washed away. Poke, poke at the card, German rag, sneaky bourgeois. Artach, England and France. We will fulfill our historic mission. If you do not wash away the shame of your military patriotism, if you ruin our revolution with a "democratic world", then you are no longer Aryans. And we will open wide the gates to the East. We looked at you with the eyes of the Aryans, while you had a face. And we will look at your face with our squinting, crafty, quick glance; we will fold Asians, and the East will be poured on you. Your skins will go to Chinese tambourines. The one who dishonored himself, so lied to, is no longer an Aryan. Are we barbarians? It’s good. We will show you what barbarians are. And our cruel answer, a terrible answer - will be the only worthy man (...) Europe (its theme) is art and death. Russia is life. Block's diary entry dated January 11, 1918
see also
Links
- Wikipedia: Blok, Alexander Alexandrovich
- Wikisource:
- Wikipedia:
Millions for you. We are darkness and darkness and darkness ...
On February 7, 1918, the poem "Scythians" was published, which today is a topical warning to the West. It was written in two days - January 29 and 30, 1918. The internal state of the Bloc during this period is reflected in his January diary entries about the actual disruption of the peace talks in Brest-Litovsk with the Germans. The poet was seriously worried about the shame of these negotiations for Russia; not only the Germans, but also the position of the allies aroused his indignation.
Here is a diary entry dated January 11, 1918, which still sounds very relevant today: “The 'result' of the Brest negotiations (that is, no result, according to Novaya Zhizn, which is indignant at the Bolsheviks). None - good, sir. But the shame of 3 1/2 years ("war", "patriotism") must be washed away. Poke, poke at the card, German rag, sneaky bourgeois. Artache, England and France. We will fulfill our historic mission. If you do not wash away the shame of your military patriotism even with a "democratic world" ... then you are no longer Aryans. And we will open wide the gates to the East. We looked at you with the eyes of the Aryans, while you had a face. And we will look at your face with our squinting, crafty, quick glance; we will fold Asians, and the East will be poured on you. Your skins will go to Chinese tambourines. The one who dishonored himself, so lied, is no longer an Aryan. Are we barbarians? It’s good. We will show you what barbarians are. And our cruel answer, a terrible answer - will be the only one worthy of a man. Europe (her theme) is art and death. Russia is life. "
Especially topical today are the lines of the poem addressed to the eternally betraying Russia ungrateful West, which later unleashed an intervention against Russia in 1918-1921, participated in Hitler's campaign to the East, tormented us for a long time with the "cold war", and now is sucking the last juices from a weakened country ...
Scythians
Millions for you. Us - darkness and darkness and darkness.
Try it, fight with us!
Yes, we are the Scythians! Yes, Asians are we
With slanting and greedy eyes!
For you - centuries, for us - a single hour.
We, like obedient slaves,
Kept a shield between two hostile races
Mongols and Europe!
Century, century your old forge forged
And drowned out the thunder, avalanches,
And a wild tale was failure for you
And Lisbon and Messina!
You have looked to the East for hundreds of years
Digging and melting our pearls,
And you, mocking, counted only the term,
When to instruct the cannon vents!
Now the time has come. Trouble beats with wings
And every day multiplies resentment
And the day will come - there will be no trace
From your Paestums, perhaps!
Oh, the old world! Until you die
While you languish in sweet flour
Stop, wise as Oedipus,
Before the Sphinx with an ancient riddle!
Russia - Sphinx. Rejoicing and grieving,
And bleeding black
She looks, looks, looks at you
And with hatred and love! ...
Yes, love as our blood loves,
None of you love for a long time!
You have forgotten that there is love in the world,
Which both burns and destroys!
We love everything - and the heat of cold numbers,
And the gift of divine visions
Everything is clear to us - and the sharp Gallic meaning,
And the gloomy German genius ...
We remember everything - the Parisian streets are hell,
And the Venetian coolness
A distant scent of lemon groves
And Cologne's smoky masses ...
We love flesh - its taste and color
And the stifling, mortal smell of flesh ...
Are we guilty if your skeleton crunches
In our heavy, tender paws?
We got used to, grabbing by the bridle
Zealous playing horses,
Breaking heavy sacrum for horses,
And to pacify the obstinate slaves ...
Come visit us! From the horrors of war
Come into peaceful embrace!
Before it's too late - an old sword in a sheath,
Comrades! We will become - brothers!
And if not, we have nothing to lose
And treachery is available to us!
Centuries, centuries will curse you
Ill late offspring!
We are wide through the wilds and forests
Before Europe, beautifull
Let's make our way! We will turn to you
My Asian mug!
All go, go to the Urals!
We're clearing the battlefield
Steel machines where the integral breathes,
With the Mongolian wild horde!
But we ourselves are no longer a shield for you
From now on we will not enter the battle ourselves,
We'll watch the fight to the death
With your narrow eyes
Let's not move when the ferocious hun
He will fumble in the pockets of corpses,
Burn the cities, and drive the herd to the church,
And fry the meat of the white brothers! ...
For the last time - come to your senses, old world!
To a fraternal feast of labor and peace,
For the last time to a light brotherly feast
The barbarian lyre is calling!
Alexander Blok
Alexander Blok (from the poem "Scythians")
Alexander Aleksandrovich Blok is the greatest poet of Russia, a high esthete in the cycle "Poems about the Beautiful Lady" and a buffoonery riot in the poem "The Twelve". Everything was subject to the poet's pen. In the poem "Scythians" A. Blok appeals to all people of good will with a passionate appeal to put an end to the "horrors of war", to converge on a "fraternal feast of labor and peace."
The poet warns the whole world to think about the phenomenon of Russia, which will be reborn from the ashes, but will never submit to the decrepit old world of Europe:
Millions for you. Us - darkness and darkness and darkness.
Try it, fight with us!
Yes, we are the Scythians! Yes, Asians are we
With slanting and greedy eyes!
For you - centuries, for us - a single hour.
We, like obedient slaves,
Kept a shield between two hostile races
Mongols and Europe!
Century, century your old forge forged
And drowned out the thunder, avalanches,
And a wild tale was failure for you
And Lisbon and Messina!
You have looked to the East for hundreds of years
Digging and melting our pearls,
And you, mocking, counted only the term,
When to instruct the cannon vents!
Now the time has come. Trouble beats with wings
And every day multiplies resentment
And the day will come - there will be no trace
From your Paestums, perhaps!
Oh, the old world! Until you die
While you languish in sweet flour
Stop, wise as Oedipus,
Before the Sphinx with an ancient riddle!
Russia - Sphinx. Rejoicing and grieving,
And bleeding black
She looks, looks, looks at you
And with hatred and with love! ...
Yes, love as our blood loves,
None of you love for a long time!
You have forgotten that there is love in the world,
Which burns and destroys!
We love everything - and the heat of cold numbers,
And the gift of divine visions
Everything is clear to us - and the sharp Gallic meaning,
And the gloomy German genius ...
We remember everything - the Parisian streets are hell,
And the Venetian coolness
A distant scent of lemon groves
And Cologne's smoky masses ...
We love flesh - and its taste and color,
And the stifling, mortal smell of flesh ...
Are we guilty if your skeleton crunches
In our heavy, tender paws?
We got used to, grabbing by the bridle
Zealous playing horses,
Breaking heavy sacrum for horses,
And to pacify the obstinate slaves ...
Come visit us! From the horrors of war
Come into peaceful embrace!
Before it's too late - an old sword in a sheath,
Comrades! We will become - brothers!
And if not, we have nothing to lose
And treachery is available to us!
Centuries, centuries will curse you
Ill late offspring!
We are wide through the wilds and forests
Before Europe, beautifull
Let's make our way! We will turn to you
My Asian mug!
All go, go to the Urals!
We're clearing the battlefield
Steel machines where the integral breathes,
With the Mongolian wild horde!
But we ourselves are no longer a shield for you,
From now on we will not enter the battle ourselves,
We'll watch the fight to the death
With your narrow eyes
Let's not move when the ferocious hun
He will fumble in the pockets of corpses,
Burn the cities, and drive the herd to the church,
And fry the meat of the white brothers! ...
For the last time - come to your senses, old world!
To a fraternal feast of labor and peace,
For the last time to a light brotherly feast
The barbarian lyre is calling!
Http://www.aif.ru/onlineconf/5519
The difficult political situation in Russia, which reigned at the beginning of the twentieth century, was reflected in the poem by Alexander Alexandrovich Blok. It is noteworthy that it was the last work written by the poet. We suggest that you familiarize yourself with a brief analysis of the "Scythians" according to a plan that will be useful for grade 11 students in preparation for a literature lesson.
Brief analysis
Writing history- The verse was written in January 1918 under the influence of the changes in the country that the October Revolution brought with it.
Poem theme- A call for peace and harmony.
Composition- The composition of the poem consists of three conventional parts: in the first part, Russia is represented by a restraining barrier between the West and the East, the second part is a warning to the Old World, in the third part the author calls for peace and unity.
genre- A revolutionary patriotic ode.
Poetic size- Differential iambic.
Metaphors – « misfortune beats with wings "," fraternal feast».
Epithets – « slanting "," hostile "," old».
Impersonations- « greedy eyes "," a wild tale».
Comparisons – « like obedient slaves "," wise, like Oedipus».
Writing history
The poem "Scythians" was written by Blokov in January 1918, in record time - in just two days. The year 1918 gave the poet a surge of creativity and inspiration. In just one month he managed to write several literary works, including the verse "Scythians".
The source of inspiration for Alexander Alexandrovich was the difficult political situation in the country. Russia was going through the consequences of a grandiose coup - the October Revolution, and in all spheres of life, an ever-growing tension was felt. The poet was particularly upset by the breakdown of negotiations between Soviet Russia and the Western powers in Brest-Litovsk. Being an ardent opponent of wars and violence, Blok was very upset by this news.
The result of his emotional experiences for his homeland was the poem "Scythians", in which the main character was Russia itself, represented by the freedom-loving Scythians. The work was published in the Znamya Truda newspaper a week after it was written. Blok read it in public on numerous occasions, invariably causing a sensation.
It is noteworthy that "Scythians" was the last poem in the work of Alexander Alexandrovich. Until his death in 1921, he did not write a single line.
Theme
The central theme of the work is a call for peace, harmony and unity. The shocks experienced became too serious a test for the country, and in each of his lines the author calls for a peaceful solution to all pressing issues between Russia and Western countries.
The writer assigns Russia a fateful importance for the whole world. For many centuries, it served as a barrier between two great civilizations - Western and Eastern, preventing the development of serious conflicts between them.
Despite the fact that the predominant theme is anti-war, Blok does not forget to mention the strength and might of his state, which, if necessary, can become a dangerous enemy.
But why unleash incinerating wars if all problems can be solved in a civilized way, without resorting to violence? From Blok's point of view, a bad world is much better than a good battle.
Composition
Compositionally, the poem can be roughly divided into three main parts:
- in the first part the author presents Russia as a kind of border between two cultures - West and East, which serves as a kind of buffer, restrains mutual aggression;
- second part is a kind of warning - Russia is strong and capable, if necessary, of giving a powerful rebuff to the offender;
- in the third part the poet calls for peace and unification, the solution of all conflict issues exclusively by peaceful means.
genre
The work is filled with sincere love for the homeland and people. It contains patriotic and political motives and touches upon social issues. The poem belongs to the genre of a revolutionary patriotic ode.
"Scythians" are written with iambic differences, which give the work a special, clear and verified sound.
Expression tools
The poem is replete with all kinds of artistic expression. Block uses metaphors("Misfortune beats with wings", "fraternal feast"), epithets("Slanting", "hostile", "old"), impersonations("Greedy eyes", "wild tale"), comparisons("Like obedient slaves", "wise, like Oedipus").
Poem test
Analysis rating
Average rating: 4.6. Total ratings received: 15.
