Nikolai Gumilev, a poet of the Silver Age, celebrated women as mysterious and fateful beings, a source of inspiration and danger. Far from sentimentality, his love is imbued with exoticism, tragic foreboding, and a sense of the fragility of existence. The female figures in his poems range from ancient goddesses to fatal beauties to tender creatures, but they are always strong individuals, capable of captivating and destroying. This collection is dedicated to these complex and contradictory feelings Gumilev experienced for women, and reflects his unique poetic vision of love.<\/p>\n
\nI remember everything down to the last detail: The pale streak of sunset, And the shadow that fell from the birches, And a quiet sigh, and a timid whisper. You spoke to me of dreams, Of the wanderings of a distant soul, And in the twilight, in the gleam of your eyes, I saw a completely different world. But that world collapsed like hail, And you left, like a ghost of the night. Only memory is my destiny and hell, And your image that gnaws at my heart.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nFragment<\/h2>\n
\nShe passed by like a gentle breeze, leaving only a tart scent in her wake. And her gaze, like a mountain stream, cut a sunset through my heart. I saw in her both pride and sorrow, and a mystery beyond my understanding. She was beautiful as steel, and cold as winter kukuma.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nLetter from Egypt<\/h2>\n
\nHere, by the Nile, in the sultry silence, I recall your unearthly face. Like a goddess in an ancient dream, you rule over my fate alone. The sand is hot, the palms are high, and the scent of lotus floats in the distance\u2026 But it still seems to me that you are with me, in the embrace of the night, full and deep.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nParting<\/h2>\n
\nDon't cry, my queen, don't call me, My fate is to wander in the distant darkness. I'm leaving, and don't say that I've forgotten the caresses of earth. Let my memory preserve only the bright hour when I saw paradise in your eyes. But time is merciless, as it is now, And you and I cannot predict our path.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nVoice<\/h2>\n
\nIn a garden where twilight hides names, I heard a voice, gentle and alien. It called me to a land of silence, where love is like an eternal, sweet heat. I followed the voice as if to a fire, forgetting all fear and all earthly pain. And in that moment, it was as if I saw the light, seeing in her both an angel and a role.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nLilac in a pot<\/h2>\n
\nA potted lilac, like a symbol of bygone days, reminds me of your hands. And the fragrance swirling among the shadows whispers to me of lost words. I remember how you carefully guarded its buds, loving them tenderly. And how love froze in my soul when you left without saying goodbye.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nVenice<\/h2>\n
\nIn Venice, beneath masks and sleep, I met a gaze that captivated my heart. She was as beautiful as a phantom, And the secret within her was forever locked. Canals, gondolas, the moon's glimmer, And the whisper of waves, and the tune of music... In her embrace, I forgot about stress, And felt a unique explosion of love.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nPortrait<\/h2>\n
\nOn the canvas is your image, tender and alive, frozen in eternity, like a wondrous dream. In your eyes is sadness, and on your lips is peace, and a secret that is forever captivated by me. The artist could only convey a part of what I keep in my heart about her. But even this moment, like grace, reminds me of my love.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nNight walk<\/h2>\n
\nUnder the starry sky, in the silence of the night, we walked hand in hand, silently. And every moment, like a gift from fate alone, is forever sealed in my soul. Your silhouette, in the moonlit silver, seemed unreal to me, wondrous. And I whispered to you about my game, about feelings that burn tirelessly.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe Forgotten Garden<\/h2>\n
\nIn a forgotten garden where the roses have withered, I search for your image among the leaves. And in every petal that has fallen, I see a reflection of former beauty. Here we were once together, and swore eternal fidelity to each other. But time has destroyed everything, forgotten, and the garden is overgrown with sadness and separation.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nShip<\/h2>\n
\nLike a ship, love is carried away, Into the abyss of passion, into storm and fog. And the heart is torn, as if a furious, blind volcano is ready to explode within it. We sail together, to distant shores, Not knowing what awaits us ahead. But I am ready to go with you to meet the squalls, Just so long as I don\u2019t lose you along the way.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nMask<\/h2>\n
\nAt the ball, a mask hid your tender face, But I recognized you in the strange crowd. Your gaze, like a coal, fiery and snowy, Seared my soul, full of sweet pain. You danced like a proud swan, And every gesture was filled with mystery and passion. I was captivated by your beauty, as before, And longed to touch your happiness.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nMirror<\/h2>\n
\nIn the mirror\u2014your face reflected, mysterious and full of magic. And I drown in your eyes, as if in a moment, in the abyss of eternal, sweet rumor. You look at me with a slight smile, as if you know all my dreams. And I am ready to give you all the lines, just to touch your lips, flowers.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nDream<\/h2>\n
\nIn a dream I saw your beautiful garden, where birds sang and lilacs bloomed. And you were like an angel in the clouds, smiling at me as on a long-ago day. I woke with a pain in my heart, knowing it was only a deception, only a mirage. But your image does not fade within me, and warms my soul like a ray of sunshine.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe last meeting<\/h2>\n
\nAt the crossroads of fates and paths, we met for the last time. And in silence, without unnecessary words or lines, I realized that love, peace, was gone. You were leaving, like a shadow in the darkness, and I stood there, unable to hold on. Only memory\u2014all that remains on earth\u2014of that love that can never be returned.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Nikolai Gumilev, a poet of the Silver Age, celebrated women as mysterious and fatal creatures, a source of inspiration and, at the same time, danger. His love<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71],"tags":[81],"class_list":["post-952","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stihi","tag-sborniki-stihov-izvestnyh-avtorov"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/952","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=952"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/952\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":174440,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/952\/revisions\/174440"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=952"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=952"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=952"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}