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Accidental Literary | a selection of the poems of Marina Tsvetaeva
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Poet Profile
Tsvetaeva (Марина Ивановна Цветаева, October 8, 1892 – August 31, 1941), full name Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva, was born in Moscow, a famous Russian poet, essayist and playwright.
Her poems, with the themes of life and death, love and art, the times and the motherland, have been hailed as immortal, monumental poems, occupying an important position in the history of world literature in the 20th century, and her representative works include "Milestones" and "Magic Lantern".
I dedicate these verses
I dedicate these verses
The man who put me in the coffin.
The coffin revealed what I hated
High forehead.
Unnecessarily changed,
Nor can his own soul recognize it,
I lay in the coffin,
A bouquet of flowers on the forehead.
Can't read on my face:
"I hear it all! I see it all!
I am still humiliated in the coffin,
Same as the crowd. ”
Dressed in a snow-white skirt,
Colors I've hated since I was a kid!
I lie down, with whom?
Say goodbye forever.
Listen! I don't accept it!
Here it is – the trap!
It's not me who's buried in the soil.
It's definitely not me.
I know! Everything will burn to ashes!
The grave will not be taken in
Everything I've ever loved,
All of my life.
In the spring of 1913 in Moscow
The black sky is full of words
The black sky is full of words,
Beautiful eyes lose sight...
Deadly bed we don't feel terrible,
We don't feel sweet in the bed of desire either.
Writers sweat, cultivators sweat!
We are also familiar with another passion:
Light flames dance above the mane,——
It's inspiration to blow!
May 14, 1918
(Tsvetaeva wrote under this poem in 1939: "One of the best poems in the whole book.") ”）
Let me tell you a great scam
Let me tell you a great scam:
Tell you how the fog is
Hanging to the beginning of the branches, ancient stumps.
Tell you about the fire in the low room
How it was extinguished, how the Tsigant were like the Egyptians
Play a wooden flute under a tree.
Let me tell you a great lie:
Tell how the sword is
Clenched by a slender hand, how the wind of the times was
Blow up the beards of young people, the beards of the elderly.
History roars,
The sound of iron hooves.
1918.6.4 Translation | Lin Shu
I want to live with you
I want to live with you
In a small town,
Share the endless twilight
And the incessant sound of bells.
In this small town inn —
The ancient clock knocked out
Faint sound
Like time dripping gently.
Sometimes, at dusk, it came from a room on the top floor
Flute,
The piper leans against the window,
And the window is a big tulip.
If you don't love me at this moment, I won't care.
incline
Through the dreamy—mother's—ears.
I have a hearing that leans towards you,
- The Spirit of Tilting Toward the Victim: Burning? Is it?
I have an forehead that is tilted towards you,
The trefoil gum of the bifurcation of faith.
I have blood tilted toward your heart,
There is a sky that slopes towards a cozy island.
I have a river that slopes toward you,
century...... Amnesia tilted towards the shiqin
Bright slopes, steps sloping towards the garden,
The willow branch that slants towards the road sign's escape...
I have sloping to you, to the earth
All stars (star-to-star
affinity! - Flag pairs
The grave of suffering - the devotion of the tomb.
I have wings that tilt toward you,
vas...... The owl's devotion to the tree hole,
Darkness bulged against the coffin
,—— you know, I try to sleep all year round!
I have tilted to you, to the fountain
lip......
1923.7.28
The vasculature is filled with sunlight
The vasculature is filled with sunlight — not blood —
In a dark brown arm.
I am alone, to my own soul,
Full of great love.
I waited for the ant, counting from one to a hundred,
Break a grass stem and bite it...
Feeling the brevity of life so intensely, so ordinaryly,
How bizarre ,—— my life.
1913.5.15
Your soul is so close to my soul
Your soul is so close to my soul,
It's like a person's left hand and right hand.
We snuggle intimately, intoxicated and warm,
It's like the left wing and right wing of a bird.
But once a storm blows up – a bottomless abyss
It straddles between the left and right wings.
Tsvetaeva was one of the most important poets of the Russian Silver Age and was called "the first poet of the twentieth century" by Brodsky.
Marina Tsvetaeva (1892-1941) was born in Moscow. Her father, Ivan Tsvetaev, was a professor of art at Moscow University and the founder of the Moscow Museum of Fine Arts (now the Pushkin Museum of Plastic Arts in Moscow); her mother, Maria Main, of Polish, German and Czech descent, studied piano playing with the famous pianist Rubinstein. Tsvetaeva later wrote in her autobiography: "My passion for poetry comes from my mother, my passion for work comes from my father, and my passion for nature comes from both parents..." Because her mother with tuberculosis needed to go abroad for treatment, her childhood Marina and her sister accompanied her mother to Germany, France, Italy and other countries, and attended boarding schools there, which made Marina Tsvetaeva proficient in German and French from an early age. After the death of their mother in 1906, the sisters returned to Moscow to attend school.
In 1910, at the age of eighteen, Marina Tsvetaeva published her first collection of poems, The Twilight Album, which was recognized by famous poets of the time, such as Bryusov, Gumilev, and Voloshin, and Tsvetaeva entered the poetry world.
Twilight Album
In 1911, Tsvetaeva was invited by Volodshen to the latter's "Poet's House" villa in Koktebebery, Crimea, where she met and fell in love with Sergei Efron, and in January 1912 the two married in Moscow. In the same year, Tsvetaeva published a second collection of poems, the Divine Lantern Collection, which was snubbed by more "self-repetition". After the publication of the third collection of poems, the Two Books Collection (1913), which consisted mainly of poems from the first two collections, its influence was far inferior to that of the Dusk Memorial Book. In the following years, Tsvetaeva wrote poems intensively, and his best works were frequently published, but no poetry collections appeared, and the compilation of poems "Youth Poetry Copy (1913-1915)" was not officially published. The lyrical heroine's uninhibited personality and her sincere telling, restless feelings and their complex presentation constitute the theme and tone of Tsvetaeva's early poems.
Divine Lantern Collection
1916 was the beginning of a new phase in Tsvetaeva's poetry, and the compilation of poems ,Milestones, which was compiled but not published until 1921, was a "milestone" that marked the maturity of her poetry. From the perspective of the theme of the poem, on the one hand, the poet's extreme emotionalization has calmed down and turned to stubborn egocentrism, and the lyric poems of this period have become her "diary of the soul"; on the other hand, the author's era and society have begun to undergo violent turmoil, and social events such as the First World War, revolution, and civil war have broken out one after another, and like the family life that is almost sitting still, they are strengthening the poet's nervous inner feelings day after day, so Tsvetaeva wrote poems on realistic themes such as "Swan Camp". Although she was never a political poet who focused on reality.
Milestones
In the summer of 1922, when she learned that her husband was in exile and was attending university in Prague, Tsvetaeva traveled to Prague via Berlin with her eldest daughter, Alia. During her stay in Berlin, Tsvetaeva published two collections of poems, To Brock and Parting. During her more than two months in Berlin, Tsvetaeva wrote more than twenty poems, which were later included in the poetry collection "Craft Collection", which embodied another fine-tuning of Tsvetaeva's poetic style, that is, a shift to hidden inner feelings and the more obscure poetic image and poetic language associated with it, and Tsvetaeva's own words "I know this craft" seem to have a certain metaphorical component. In August 1922, Tsvetaeva came to the Czech Republic and lived in Prague and its outskirts for more than three years. Tsvetaeva's life in the Czech period was turbulent and overstretched, but while she was constantly moving and taking care of the housework, she never stopped writing poetry in addition to falling in love and having children, and wrote a total of one hundred and thirty-nine long and short poems in three years and three months, an average of one per week, showing strong literary creativity. In Prague, Tsvetaeva fell in love with her husband's classmate rodzevich at Charles University, leaving behind many masterpieces of poetry, the most famous of which were the long poems "The Poem of the Mountain" (1924) and "The Poem of the End" (1924). In 1923, she also published two collections of lyric poems, Pushukh and the aforementioned Collection of Crafts. During the period of exile in the Czech Republic, the heavy pressures of external life and the extreme tension of inner life echoed each other, and the forced solitude and active deep introspection promoted each other, so that the theme of "life and existence" in Tsvetaeva's poetry was constantly expanded and deepened. The three years of exile in the Czech Republic were one of the pinnacles of Tsvetaeva's poetry, "in the Czech Republic, Marina Tsvetaeva grew into such a poet that we can now justly include her among the great poets".
"Craft Collection"
In October 1925, still motivated by material necessities, Tsvetaeva's family moved to Paris, but in France they still lived in poverty. Because of Tsvetaeva's stubborn personality, because of her husband's cooperation with Soviet intelligence agencies, and because of her public admiration for Soviet poets such as Mayakovsky, her relations with the Russian diaspora were so strained that she almost lost the opportunity to publish her work. During this period, Tsvetaeva also devoted much of her energy to prose writing, writing many memoirs and critical texts, and during her nearly fourteen years in exile in France, she wrote less than a hundred poems. In a letter to her Czech friend Djeskova, she lamented: "Exile has turned me into a prose writer. Published in 1928, After Russia was Tsvetaeva's last collection of poems published during her lifetime, it was the culmination of her poetry in exile, and it also contained her first poems from the "French period". In addition to lyric poems, Tsvetaeva wrote a large number of long poems during her exile, in addition to the aforementioned Poems of the Mountains and The Poems of the End, there were also Beautiful Boy (1922), The Mousetrap (1925), From the Sea (1926), The Attempt at the Room (1926), The Poem of the Ladder (1926), The New Year's Letters (1927), the Poem of the Air (1927), and so on. In the poems of Tsvetaeva's exile in France, the theme of nostalgia becomes more and more prominent, and the emotions of tragedy become more and more intense, but nostalgia also flashes a moment of joy from time to time, and tragedies often reflect tranquility and detachment, such as her use the elderberry that blooms tenaciously and comes back from the dead as a projection of herself in "Elderberry", the catalpa tree as a symbol of the homeland in poems such as "The Thought of hometown", and the catalpa tree as a symbol of the homeland in "Desk" She used the desk as the most loyal confessor of her life (in fact, she did not even have a desk in many rental places). In September 1938, when Nazi Germany annexed Czechoslovakia, Tsvetaeva wrote an upbeat group of poems, "To the Czech Republic", which constituted the "Swan Song" of her poetry.
In 1937, Tsvetaeva's husband, Evron, had secretly fled back to the Soviet Union after being involved in an assassination organized by Soviet intelligence, and their daughter had returned to Moscow a little earlier. Two years later, Tsvetaeva, who was poor and hostile, was forced to return to her homeland with her son Georgi (nicknamed Moore), but Tsvetaeva was greeted by an even harsher fate: her daughter and husband were arrested by the Soviet Ministry of Internal Affairs, the daughter was imprisoned for fifteen years, and her husband was eventually shot. On August 31, 1941, she was evacuated from Moscow to Tsvetaeva in the small town of Yelabuga, Tatarstan, and after her application to be a dishwasher in the canteen of the Writers' Association was also rejected, she hanged herself in a rented wooden house after a quarrel with her son. In 1944, her son was also killed on the battlefield of the Great Patriotic War.
After returning to the Soviet Union, Tsvetaeva had no possibility of publishing her works, and could only engage in a little literary translation, but she still had some sporadic poems, and her last poem as we know it, "I Have Been Repeating the First Line of Verses", was written on March 6, 1941, more than five months before her death, and during these five months, Tsvetaeva, as a great poet, most likely never wrote poetry.
——Selected from the public account of "People's Literature Publishing House"
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