LINKS:
Courte biographie de Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
Tsvetaeva est-elle une «Poète lesbienne»?
Marina Tsvetaeva (for English-speakers)
Andrey Kneller - translations into English
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12-3-2004
Марина Ивановна Цветаева
(1892 – 1941)
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LINKS: Courte biographie de Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva Tsvetaeva est-elle une «Poète lesbienne»? Marina Tsvetaeva (for English-speakers)Andrey Kneller - translations into English |
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Откуда такая нежность?
Не первые — эти кудри
Разглаживаю, и губы
Знавала темней твоих.
Всходили и гасли звезды,
Откуда такая нежность?—
Всходили и гасли очи
У самых моих очей.
Еще не такие гимны
Я слушала ночью темной,
Венчаемая — о нежность!—
На самой груди певца.
Откуда такая нежность,
И что с нею делать, отрок
Лукавый, певец захожий,
С ресницами — нет длинней?
18 февраля 1916
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Where does this tenderness come from?
Where does
this tenderness come from?
as stars
rise often and go out again
and yet no
such song have
Where does
this tenderness come from? 1916 Translation from Russian, by Elaine Feinstein |
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Уж сколько их упало в эту бездну ,
И так недолго злой, |
Il en tomba combien dans cet abîme béant dans le lointain ?
Et je disparaîtrai, un jour sans rime du monde, c’est certain.
Se figera tout ce qui fut qui chante et lutte et brille et veut,
Et le vert de mes yeux, et ma voix tendre, et l’or de mes cheveux.
Et la vie sera là, son pain, son sel et l’oubli des journées
Et tout sera comme si sous le ciel je n’avais jamais été.
Moi qui changeais comme un enfant sa mine, méchante qu’un moment,
Qui aimais l’heure où les bûches s’animent quand le cendre les prend,
Et le violoncelle, et les cavalcades, et le clocher sonnant,
Moi, tellement vivante et véritable, sur le sol caressant !
A tous, qu’importe, en rien je ne mesure, vous, miens et étrangers,
Je vous demande une confiance sûre, je vous prie de m’aimer
Et jour et nuit, voie orale ou écrite, pour mes oui non cinglants,
Du fait que si souvent je suis trop triste, que je n’ai que vingt ans,
Du fait de mon pardon inévitable des offenses passées,
Pour toute ma tendresse incontenable et mon trop fier aspect,
Et la vitesse folle des temps forts, pour mon jeu, pour mon vrai,
Écoutez-moi, il faut m’aimer encore du fait que je mourrai.
8 décembre 1913 |
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БАЙРОНУ
Я думаю об утре Вашей славы, Об утре Ваших дней, Когда очнулись демоном от сна Вы И богом для людей.
Я думаю о том, как Ваши брови Сошлись над факелами Ваших глаз, О том, как лава древней крови По Вашим жилам разлилась.
Я думаю о пальцах, очень длинных, В волнистых волосах, И обо всех - в аллеях и в гостиных - Вас жаждущих глазах.
И о сердцах, которых - слишком юный - Вы не имели времени прочесть, В те времена, когда всходили луны И гасли в Вашу честь.
Я думаю о полутемной зале, О бархате, склоненном к кружевам, О всех стихах, какие бы сказали Вы - мне, я - Вам.
Я думаю еще о горсти пыли, Оставшейся от Ваших губ и глаз... О всех глазах, которые в могиле. О них и нас.
24 сентября 1913, Ялта |
Je pense
au matin de votre gloire,
Je pense
à vos sourcils
Je pense
à vos doigts — si longs —
Je pense
à ces cœurs que, trop jeune,
Je pense
à ce salon obscur,
Je pense
encore à la poussière 24 septembre 1913. |
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О слезы
на глазах! |
Ô larmes des
obsèques,
Comme elle est
noire et grande,
Dans ce Bedlam
des monstres
Hurlez,
requins des plaines !
Voir... Non,
je ne consens,
Paris, 15 mars-11 mai 1939 |
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Рас -
стояние: версты, мили...
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Dis-tance
: des verstes, des milliers...
Dis-tance
: des verstes, des espaces...
De
talents et de tendons noués...
Conjurés
: des verstes, des espaces...
Quel mois
de mars, non mais quelle date ?! 24 mars 1925.
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М. А. Кузмину |
Deux
lueurs rouges — non, des miroirs !
Carbonisés — fumant dans les miroirs
Terrifiants ! Flammes et ténèbres !
Peur et
reproche, soupir et amen...
Alors
sachez que les fleuves reviennent,
Deux
soleils, deux cratères, 30 juin 1921.
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Идешь,
на меня
похожий...
Идешь, на меня похожий, Глаза устремляя вниз. Я их опускала - тоже! Прохожий, остановись!
Прочти - слепоты куриной И маков набрав букет - Что звали меня Мариной И сколько мне было лет.
Не думай, что здесь - могила, Что я появлюсь, грозя... Я слишком сама любила Смеяться, когда нельзя!
И кровь приливала к коже, И кудри мои вились... Я тоже была, прохожий! Прохожий, остановись!
Сорви себе стебель дикий И ягоду ему вслед: Кладбищенской земляники Крупнее и слаще нет.
Но только не стой угрюмо, Главу опустив на грудь. Легко обо мне подумай, Легко обо мне забудь.
Как луч тебя освещает! Ты весь в золотой пыли... - И пусть тебя не смущает Мой голос из-под земли.
Коктебель, 3 мая 1913
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You walk, and look like me...
You walk, and look like me, Your eyes directed down. I also used to lower mine! Hey you, passer by, stop!
Read-when you've gathered A bouquet of buttercups and poppies, That I was called Marina And how old I was.
Don't think that this is a grave, That I will appear,scary... I myself loved too much To laugh, when I shouldn't have!
And the blood would come to my face And my hair was curly... You passer by, I also was! You passer by, stop!
Break yourself off a wild stem And after it a berry,- No wild strawberry is larger or sweeter Than one from a graveyard.
Only don't stand gloomily, Dropping your head on your chest, Think about me easily, As easily then forget!
How the sun's ray shines upon you! You're all covered in golden dust... -Don't let it disturb you, My voice from underground.
Koktebel 3 May 1913
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Poems for
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Sophia Iakovlevna Parnok
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"Подруга" |
Girlfriend |
1.
Вы счастливы?
— Не скажете! Едва ли!
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You’re happy then! You won’t admit it! – Hardly! Well, let it be! You’re simple kissed, methinks, too many people And hence – your grief.
I see in you the heroines of Shakespeare’s Tragic plays You are the tragic youthful lady Whom no one saves.
You ate so tired mouthing love’s recurrent Recitative The iron bruise there on your bloodless hand speaks Expressively.
- I love you! – Like a cloud of thunder over You hangs – a pall! Because you are sarcastic, searing hot, and The best of all.
Because in darkness of the roads differ Our lives and we, For your inspired enticement and Dark destiny,
Because to you, my steep-browed demon, surely I’ll say goodbye, Because – despite all efforts mad to save you! – You still shall die!
Because this thrill I feel, because of – surely It’s not a dream! Because of the ironic charm in knowing You’re not – a he.
16 October 1914
Translated by Diana L. Burgin
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2.
Под лаской
плюшевого пледа
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Under caresses of an ivy Plaid I recalled yesterday's dream. Whose victory? Who's been defeated? What has it been?
Rethinking everything once more, Torturing myself once again. In this, for which no word I know, Had love ever been?
Who was the hunter? Who - the hunted? All is reversed as if by Satan! What did the loudly purring Siberian Cat, understand?
In this self-willing one another Who in whose hand was but a ball? Whose heart flew - yours or mine, Do you recall?
And still again - what has it been too? What do I want, what do I pity? And I don't know: Did I win? Did somebody Conquer me?
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3.
Сегодня
таяло, сегодня
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Today was melting, and today Before the window I did stand. A sober look, a freer chest, I'm satisfied just once again.
I don't know why. Perhaps the soul Has simply grown tired withal, And somehow the rebellious pencil I do not wish to touch at all.
Distant to good and evil both, Inside the fog I stood, and thus, Was lightly drumming with my finger Upon the barely sounding glass.
It is indifferent to the soul Than this one you first met - say I - Than mother-of-the-pearl mud puddles Where in full pleasure splashed the sky,
Than bird that overhead is flying And dog that's simply running by And even the impoverished singer Did not begin to make me cry.
The dear art of oblivion The soul has mastered all the way. Some overwhelmingly big feeling Melted within my soul today.
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4.
Вам одеваться
было лень,
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You were too lazy to get dressed, Too lazy to get up for me. And every following day for you Would have been happy with my glee.
To come so late on a cold night Embarrassed you especially. And every following hour for you Would have been young with this my glee.
I was the youth that passed you by - You did this without ill intent, Your actions were in every way Incorrigible, innocent.
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5.
Сегодня, часу
в восьмом,
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Today, around eight, dashing through Big Lubanka straight ahead, Like bullet, like snowball, Somewhere rushed the sled.
Already the laughter rang... I froze as I peered: Red down of the hair And somebody tall was near!
We were with another, and opened Another sled route entire, With wished-for and dear to me - More strongly, than I - desired.
"O, je n'en puis plus, j'étouffe!" - You screamed in full voice of yours, And boldly went tucking in The hollow of fur on her.
World is happy, and evening is bold! From the muff purchases fly... Thus you rushed in a snowstorm, Coat to coat, eye to eye.
And cruellest mutiny happened, And white snow did pour. I followed you with my eyes For two seconds - and no more.
And caressed the longish nap Upon his coat - without wrath. O Snow Queen! Your little Kai Is frozen to death.
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6.
Ночью над кофейной гущей 6 декабря 1914
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How your pupils sparkle brightly From beneath your heavy mane! Are your fellow-travellers jealous? Thoroughbreds can really race!
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7.
Как весело сиял снежинками Декабрь 1914
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How tiny snowflakes sparkled merrily On your gray, my sable fur How long we combed the Christmas for The brightest ribbons that there were.
How on those pink unsweetened waffles I Just gorged myself – I ate all six! How in your honor I felt tenderness For every chestnut mare we met.
How reddish coated hawkers – blaspheming With vigor, tried to sell us rags, How simple peasant women marveled at Us strange and fancy Moscow gals.
How when the crowd was finally scattering, We neared the church and slipped inside. How on an ancient Bogoroditsa 1 You simply riveted your eyes.
How noble, good, and wan her visage was With sad and melancholy gaze, Encircled by the pudgy Cupids on The eighteenth-century icon case.
How after sighing “Oh, I want her so!” You suddenly let go my hand With such solicitude you lit and placed A yellow candle on the stand.
- Oh cultivated, ringed-in-opal Hand! My whole unlucky plight! – How recklessly I promised you To steel the icon that same night.
How stomping like a soldiers’ regiment - The sunset and sound of bells, - In blissful spirits, just like name-day girls, We hit the nunnery hotel.
How swearing to you I’d get prettier Until old age, I crossed my heart, How three times straight – oh you were furious – The king of hearts 2 showed in my cards.
How you then took my head between your hands, Caressing each and every wisp How on that small enamel brooch of yours The flower cooled my lips.
How I across your tapered fingertips Traced patterns with my sleepy cheek, “How like a boy!” you told me teasingly. How much you liked a girl like me…
December 1914
Translated by Diana L. Burgin |
8.
Свободно шея
поднята,
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Just like a young plant sprout The neck is high and free. Who'll tell the name, who - years, Who - place, who - century?
The curve of not bright lips Is capricious and wan, But blinding is the terraced Forehead of Beethoven.
Clean to endearment Is the molten oval. A hand, in which a whip would do, And - in the silver - opal.
Hand, meriting a fiddlestick, Gone into precious silk, A beautiful hand also, A hand that is unique.
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9.
Ты проходишь
своей дорогою,
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There you go about your business, And I can’t touch you passing by, But I long for you – too eternally, For you to be for me – some passerby!
“Darling!”, said my heart, immediately: I forgave you all – and utterly, Knowing nothing – and unknowingly! Love me, please, o love just me!
Your lips convey to me – through their curvature, Through their exacerbated arrogance, - As do your forehead’s stern protuberances Seize this heart by storm, not chance!
Your voice – its hint of gypsy throatiness, Your dress – a black silk coat-of-mail, Everything about you pleases painfully, - Even that you are not beautiful!
Beauty, you’ll not wither with the summertime! Not a flower – you’re a stalk of steel, Wickeder than wicked, spicier than spicy, From what island – transported here!
As you snap a fan, or twirl a walking stick, - In your each and every move I sense, And in every wicked fingerlet, - Woman’s tenderness, boy’s impertinence.
With my verse all laughter parrying, I reveal to you and the world-at-large, Stranger with the brow of Beethoven, All in you that lies in store for us!
14 January 1915
Translated by Diana L. Burgin |
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10.
Могу ли не вспомнить я
28 января
1915
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How can I not remember That scent of tea and White Rose 3, And Sèvres porcelain figures Above the blazing fire…
You wore: a black knit jacket With a wing-shaped collar, I – a splendid dress of An almost golden faille.
I can recall your face as You entered – no trace of makeup, And stood, biting a finger, Your head held to the side.
Your power-loving forehead Beneath its heavy red helmet. - Not a boy and not a woman, But something that’s stronger than I!
I rose in an unforced motion As people gathered around us. And somebody jocularly Said: “Get acquainted, gentlemen!”
And in a protracted motion You put your hand in mine and Upon my palm that sliver Of ice affectionately leant.
With somebody glancing sideways, Already sensing a skirmish, I half lay in my armchair And twisted my ring to the side.
You took a cigarette out, And I immediately lit it, Not knowing what I’d do if You looked me on the eye.
I and recall our glasses – Above a blue vase – clinking “Oh, be for me Orestes 4!” And I gave you a flower.
You laughed – at what I was saying! – And from your black chamois handbag You drew in a lengthy gesture A hankie and – let it drop.
28 January 1915
Translated by Diana L. Burgin
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11.
Все глаза под
солнцем — жгучи,
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Under sun the eyes are burning, Day's not equal day. I tell you for that occasion If I would betray:
Whose lips I had not been kissing In the hour of love, To whom I upon black midnight Did not scarily vow -
To live, like a flower blooms, like Mother tells a child, Never with an eye to go To any side..
See that cross made of cypress? It's familiar to you. All will wake - you only whistle Under my window.
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12.
Сини подмосковные холмы, 13 марта 1915
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13.
Повторю в
канун разлуки,
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I'll repeat in hour of parting When love comes to end That I loved, yes that I loved these Your masterful hands
And the eyes - somebody isn't Gifted with a glance! - Those that answer are demanding For a look by chance.
You with your thrice-cursed passion - God sees all, say I! And demanding a payment for An accidental sigh.
And I tiredly say, to listen Hurry not at all! Why is it that your own soul Stands across my soul.
And again I'll also tell you: All the same - start this! - Far too young was this my mouth For your gentle kiss.
Glance is luminous and daring, Heart - like five year old... Happy's he who did not meet you On your road.
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14.
Есть имена, как душные цветы,
Вознесение, 1915
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There are names, like suffocating flowers, And there are glances, like a dancing flame… There are sinuous, dark mouths With moist and deep-set corners.
There are women. Their hair is like a helmet. Their fans give off a fatal, subtle fragrance. They’re thirty years old. Why, oh why Do you need my Spartan child’s heart?
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15.
Хочу у зеркала, где муть 3 мая 1915
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Before a mirror, where there's fog And turbid sleep, your way I want to try - where it will lead And where there is the quay.
I see: the mast upon a ship, And you - on deck, standing... You - in the smoke of train... the fields In lament of evening
The ravens flying overhead, The evening fields in dew... In all the four directions I Am truly blessing you.
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16.
В первой любила ты 14 июля 1915
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In your first woman you Loved beauty found in few, Ringlets of henna hue, Lure of the zurna’s 5 blues.
Hint’s – beneath her horse’s – sound, Smooth rhythmical dismount, And, sown with semiprecious Seed pearls, two Turkish slippers.
And in your next, you loved Arch of a subtle brow, Carpets of peau de soie From rosy Bukhara 6 , Hand all beringed and sleek Beauty mark on her cheek, Always tanned under blonde, And sights of midnight London.
For something else, it’s clear You found your third girl dear…
- What will your heart retain of me, Wanderess, in its memory!
14 July 1915
Translated by Diana L. Burgin |
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17.
Вспомяните: всех голов мне дороже 6 мая 1915
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Уж часы - который час? -
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The clock - what time it is? Rang out. Hollows of giant eyes, Watered satin of the dress.. I just about see you, I guess, Just about.
The neighboring porch Has turned off the light. Somewhere they love too much.. Your face's sketch Is a scary sight.
It's semi-dark in the room, One is the night. Pierced by the light of the moon Window deepened - Like ice sheet.
"You give up" - the voice burst. "I didn't fight by choice." Voice from the moon catches frost. Voice - like from hundred verst This same voice!
Between us stood ray of moon, Moving the world everywhere. Intolerably shone Metal red-brown Of crazy hair.
Run of the moon forgot History's run. Mirror breaks moon apart. Knocking of hooves far apart, Screeching of a cart.
Light on the street burned down, Running fades. A cock will sing soon Parting for two young Ladies.
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1. “Bogoroditsa” literally means “The Mother of God”; in Russian Orthodoxy this is the common way of referring to Mary. There are many different icons of Mary as the Mother of God, and they are amongst the most revered images of Russian Orthodox believers.
2. The king of hearts indicates romance, particularly the love of a man. This is one of the many images of fortune-telling in this cycle; see also Parnok’s poem of 1915, “Fortune Telling” (Гадание), in which she mentions a “red king”.
3. “White Rose”, in English in the original, was a fashionable perfume at the time. This scent is a heavy, sweet fragrance that originally comes from England.
4. In Greek mythology, the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, who, with his sister Electra, avenged his father by slaying his mother and Aeghistus.
5. A zurna is a musical instrument that resembles an oboe.
6. Located in present-day Uzbekistan, Bukhara (Bokhara) was a major trading and cultural center on the Silk Road from China to the Ottoman Empire; it was ceded to the Russian empire in 1868.
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