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About the electronic versionTristia
Mandelstam, Osip Emilievich
Creation of machine-readable version: Bruce A. McClelland
Creation of digital images: Bruce A. McClelland, Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia
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University of Virginia Library
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Text © Bruce McClelland, all rights reserved. Electronic version © Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia, 1996.
1995
Note: Illustrations have been included from the print version.
About the print version
Tristia
Osip Emilievich Mandelstam Editor Bruce McClelland Translator Bruce McClelland
Third Edition; First Electronic Edition
1922Station Hill
Barrytown, NY
1987
Note: The Cyrillic text comes from the 1922 Petrograd edition; the English translations are copyright 1971, 1975, 1987 by Bruce McClelland and were published in a dual-language edition by Station Hill Press, 1987.
The images exist as archived TIFF images, one or more JPEG versions for general use, and thumbnail GIFs.
Transliteration scheme based on that developed by George Fowler, Indiana University
Keywords in the header are a local Electronic Text Center scheme to aid in establishing analytical groupings
May 1996corrector Bruce A. McClelland, Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia
Final checking: David Seaman
PREFACE
Osip Emilievich Mandelstam was born near the beginning of the new age in Russia, an era whose most momentous achievement was the Great October Revolution of 1917. In 1891, the assassination of Tsar Alexander II was ten years past, and as the century's end drew nearer, there arose the expectation of some enormous change, one which would at last rectify the social and political injustices of Russia's long dynasties of tsars.
This dawn of anticipation was marked in poetry by a foreboding sense of the coming upheaval as something of a mystical event. Ambivalence concerning the effects of such a wrenching change appears in the art of the day, where the beginnings of socialist realism struggle against the otherworldliness of the Russian Symbolist poets and philosophers Blok, Bely, Merezhkovsky, Soloviev.
The Symbolists in particular were initially optimistic, even amid their great uncertainty about the fate of valued cultural structures. A sort of ill-defined gnosticism, or at least a Russified theosophy, in which the embodiment of the positive force behind the forthcoming transformation is the figure of the divine and Eternal Feminine Sophia, became the aesthetic base for a poetry filled with allusiveness and marked by a reliance upon a limited stock of "symbols."
These symbols were to be understood no so much as metaphoric substitutes as actual correspondences. By understanding the relationships and forces between the symbols within the poetry, the reader gets an intimation of the relationships that obtain at higher levels of experience.
While such a sensibility is a perfect consequence of both the political and spiritual conditions of late nineteenth century Russia -- and it should be understood that some facets of this attitude were very nearly apocalyptic in tone -- by the time Mandelstam was old enough to be aware of the poetics of the immediately preceding generation, the Symbolists' insistence upon the import of their correspondences had grown tiresome. Even Blok's well-known vision of the heavenly 'Unknown Lady' (Neznakomka), originally pure and luminous, eventually becomes sullied to such an extent that She takes on the aspect of a prostitute. [*]
Regardless of the distortions within Blok's private life that led to that degraded projection (and it may be that the archetype entails its shadow), the deterioration of the Image, the inability to maintain it against compromise, becomes symptomatic of the whole state of Symbolism by the beginning of the twentieth century' second decade. The collapse of the system, due as much as anything to a growing rigidity of its language and a too heavy reliance upon technique, was signaled by a preponderance of an all-too-familiar set of images and concerns. Even the earlier prosodic experiments of Bely, in which the sounds of the words clanging together were to be appreciated for their approximation to music (deemed the highest spiritual art), gave way to a hunger for a poetry that could deal more effectively with the realities of Russian culture at the beginning of the new century.
Mandelstam, then, came into his poetic maturity at just that point when the archetypal images of the Symbolists needed to be revisioned. The Symbolists themselves were aware of it. An editorial in the final number of the Symbolist journal Vesy (Scales) in 1909 stated,
We do not wish to say by this that the Symbolist movement has died, that Symbolism has ceased to play the role of the watchword of our age...But tomorrow the same word will become another watch-word, will burn with a different flame, and it already burns in a different way above us.
Ordinarily, the self-consciousness of literary movements -- definite Isms in this case -- does not extend to such clear recognition of their own demise. But it was a time of Isms, and apparently the passing away of one called for the immediate emergence of another.
The major, although not the only, replacement for Russian Symbolism, the new "watch-word," was Acmeism, a name which eventually came more to be associated with Osip Mandelstam than with its founder, the poet Nikolai Gumilev.
Gumilev, the husband of another significant Acmeist poet, Anna Akhmatova, was the original, if not the most profound, theoretician of Acmeism. A scant three years following the official extinction of the Symbolists in Vesy, Gumilev proposed both the name and the central theme of this new movement:
To replace Symbolism there is a new movement, which, whatever it is called -- Acmeism (from the word '-- the highest degree of something, the flower, the time of flowering), or Adamism (a manfully firm, clear view of life), -- demands, in any case, greater balance of powers and a more exact knowledge of the relationships between subject and object than there was in Symbolism... The first thing that Acmeism can answer is to point out that the unknowable, by the very meaning of the word cannot be known. The second, that all endeavors in that direction are unchaste. The whole beauty, the whole sacred meaning of the stars lies in the fact that they are infinitely far from earth.
It was to this kind of poetics that Mandelstam was drawn in his mid-twenties. Gumilev and the other Acmeists, having identified the cornerstones of the new school as Shakespeare, Rabelais, Villon and Théophile Gautier, had constructed a stance relative to the strong but waning influence of the earlier movement which suited Mandelstam's temperament and credentials. The essence of this stance is aptly described by Clarence Brown:
Equipped with his knowledge of human psychology and physiology, the Acmeist was to 'adjust' -- not in gloomy resignation, but joyfully -- to reality, and in the strictness of self-imposed forms write balanced, clear poems about it all.
[Mandelstam, 141]
Obviously, if Mandelstam had himself not been capable of raising
this platform to a new level, it would be difficult to make the
claim that I am about to make, namely that the poems of Tristia represent the acme of Acmeism, which in turn became a literary philosophy whose concerns resonate with many issues in
The title of Mandelstam's first book Kamen' (Stone; 1913) suggests the solidity of the Mandelstamian poem. But in that first book, the stone's quality of heaviness -- the heart -- is more evident than its quality of stability, that which makes it useful as a material for building. It is as if Mandelstam has identified, by the time of his first collection, the objective reality that true poetry can have, but has not yet learned of its transformative power. For it is of stone that the Gothic cathedral -- an ever-present image in Mandelstam's later critical writings -- is built; an organic "physiology," constructed from a common participation in the "fight against emptiness." "The fine arrow of the Gothic belltower," he maintains in his manifesto "The Morning of Acmeism," "is angry, for the whole idea of it is to stab the sky, to reproach it for being empty."
If the poems of the present collection transcend those of his earlier book, it is because the stones -- the words -- have been so assembled that we are able to perceive the divine physiognomy within the architected space:
And in the stone arches of the Assumption
I see high, arched brows.
From the ramparts, fortified with archangels,
I surveyed the city from a marvelous height.
The pinnacle constructed by this labor is, of course, acme. Acme, for Mandelstam, must have meant a position, an actual perceptive situation, from which one can see directly into the real. From this vantage, Mandelstam is able to observe (and thereby report upon) the city -- grand plan of the mesocosm -- in a fashion that the Symbolists, their attentions fastened upon the macrocosm, could not.
It is hard to talk about Mandelstam without resorting to some kind of spatial, usually architectural, metaphor -- not just because of the clarity of Mandelstam's own elaboration of such metaphors, but also because of his enormous awareness. The city -- Petersburg, for Mandelstam -- exists in time, a net of nodes which connect all history to a geography at any event. He "surveys the city from a marvelous height."
It is this perspective, obtained through Mandelstam's patient and careful use of language, that enables him to retain his artistic integrity in the face of the very historical forces that were to conspire against him. Mandelstam's unshakable faith in his art, based primarily upon the vision obtained from it, prevented him from sacrificing the Word rather than his life.
Tristia -- 'sad things,' 'sorrows' -- is the condition of these poems not because of some personal ego loss. Rather, the title of this collection is apt because the acme as the high point is a place of isolation -- not desolation. The sadness of Mandelstam -- a Jew fascinated his entire life with the Christian myth and its cultural effects -- in the years of war and chaos is the sadness of Christ surveying from the cross the mass of spectators who were unaware of their own involvement in history. It is the sadness of the alienated true poet, the one who has mastered language and its powers only to discover that his voice has not been heard above the rush of history's wave.
It was a sad time. These are not 'sad' poems, as a whole, or if so, not nearly so sad as those in Stone, which falls prey too often to that "emptiness" that Mandelstam's version of Acmeism intended to fight. But collectively, they convey the pain of an isolation caused by the maintenance of absolute integrity, which in his case led to his involuntary exile and destruction.
The beautiful and oft-cited title poem provides better than any critical statement the key to the problem of acmeism, the problem of Mandelstam:
Who can know, at the word "farewell,"
What separation awaits us,
What the cockcrow augurs
When fire glows in the Acropolis,
And on the dawn of some new life,
While an ox chews lazily in his shed,
Why the cock, herald of new life,
Beats his wings on the town's walls?
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
to the 1987 bilingual edition
to the 1987 bilingual edition
I am glad that these translations are at last illuminated by the intense rays of Mandelstam's exquisite originals. Glad, of course, that in facing their source, they may bask, may even be elucidated as English poems. I am apprehensive, too, for now they may be examined under sufficient light to detect the flaws that distinguish them as imitations.
Mandelstam is worth the risk. His place in Russian literature (different, to be sure, from his place in Soviet literature) demands at the very least that complete translations of his primary published texts be made available in English.
This volume provides a complete, bilingual edition of a collection of poems as they were published during the poet's own lifetime. As one of Osip Mandelstam's translators, and by implication, devotees, it strikes me as almost incomprehensible that Mandelstam's public fate has been such that the unavailability of a major work, Tristia, can have continued for so long.
Imagine, if you can, that a bilingual edition of Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus had not appeared until some fifty years after the poet's death! And yet, Mandelstam is no more difficult to appreciate than Rilke, whose major books have enjoyed -- or suffered, in some cases -- continual retranslation, often published facing the original texts, over the years of his renown. And it would not be particularly controversial to suggest that Mandelstam's contribution to Russian literature is as great as Rilke's to German, even European, poetry.
The problem, as I have rather unscientifically discerned it over the years [many of the translations presented here were first drafted in 1971], seems to originate from two rather hard-to-shake general notions concerning Mandelstam and his poetry: first, his books are impossible to get; second, his poetry is too difficult to understand.
Unfortunately, both of these disserving notions are rooted in some truth. The history of the publication of Mandelstam's work from its very beginnings is somewhat confused. Mandelstam's earliest and chief advocate in English, Clarence Brown, describes the situation thus:
Mandelstam published two books of poetry, or two and a half, or three, depending upon how you wish to regard a special section of poems that appeared in the collection of 1928. The first was Kamen' (Stone), the second Tristia. And when these appeared under their original titles within the collection Stikhotvoreniia (Poems) of 1928, Mandelstam printed twenty poems under the rubric '1921-1925.'
These books appeared in various editions, under various names, and -- what is somewhat more surprising and confusing -- with a varied composition of poems.
[Mandelstam, 159]
For readers in the West, the problem in one sense was alleviated by the publication of the three volumes of Collected Works completed in 1971 by editors Gleb Struve and Boris Filippov. In fact, when I and many others first got our hands on Mandelstam, the Struve and Filippov version was almost canonical, because it was next to impossible to obtain a copy of the original edition.
At the same time, more confusion was added because the poems that made up the Struve/Filippov Tristia did not correspond to the set in the original Tristia, published in Berlin in 1922. The first edition was actually arranged and edited by the poet/publisher Mikhail Kuzmin, and Osip Mandelstam himself was not entirely satisfied with the final selection.
From an historical point of view, the first edition of Mandelstam's "second book" (which, by the way, Tristia was called in the subsequent, 1923 edition) is the best we have. It is the text chosen by the late Carl Proffer for the Ardis Press facsimile edition (now out-of-print), and it is the text supplied for this bilingual edition. The slight inconvenience of the typographic differences, which can easily be overcome, may be compensated for by the authenticity of the text.
A confusing publication history, however, while providing grist for some future editor's mill, is not the only force at work in keeping alive the sense that Mandelstam is unavailable. Much has been written about the politics and biographical issues behind this sad state of affairs. For my part I wish simply to narrate three somewhat telling personal experiences for the light they may shed on the problem.
The first took place some time ago, the mid-Seventies, to the best of my recollection, in the Four Continents bookstore (now Victor Kamkin) in New York. This particular bookstore had a reasonably good selection of Soviet published editions of literature, science, technology, art, criticism, what have you, and it was clearly supplied directly by the Soviets. After browsing naively quite some time in the literature and poetry shelves, I approached the snide and supercilious, Nabokovian bookseller, and in my best student Russian, asked where I might find works by Mandelstam. Not deigning to respond to me in Russian, he said, after a haughty silence, "You might look over there, but we don't have much in our Jewish section."
Some years later -- 1982, to be exact -- in Moscow -- I noticed that an Intourist interpreter was reading the Russian poet Aleksandr Blok on the bus. A brief conversation with her about modern Russian poetry led me to mention that I had translated Mandelstam. A strange, anxious look came over her face, and she said, "Oh, but he's so difficult. as if she were impressed that a foreigner had tackled him. "Oh," I said, "you have read him?" "No," she replied.
And now, thirty years after the first collection of Mandelstam in Russian was made available in the West by Struve and Filippov, the following: a proposal for research at Moscow State University (MGU) is kicked back at me not because of the unsuitability of the topic, but rather because my anketa -- a sort of proposal-cum-vita -- includes the fact that I have translated Mandelstam. I am called by MGU administrators a "provocateur."
Politico-historical "accidents" have somehow conspired to prevent the sort of free circulation of source texts that one generally expects so long after the death of a major literary figure. Despite Mandelstam's reputation for abstruseness or arcanity, it would still be a mistake for anyone in the West to assume that the work is in any sense "impenetrable." On the contrary: as the most important representative of a poetic movement called Acmeism, which demanded above all else clarity (as against the vague mysticism of the Russian Symbolists), Mandelstam at his best is precise, clear, totally present within the poem.
At the same time, he does not condescend; he does not popularize or simplify grand poetic themes. He found such practice abhorrent:
The whole tragedy arises when, instead of the real past with its deep roots, we get "yesterday"...easily understood poetry, a cozy little corner.
"An Acmeist Manifesto"
By focusing upon the solidity inherent in the language itself, he is able to contain the metaphysical within beautiful, religious spaces. And his obvious affection for things and words Russian; for classical, Hellenic themes; for church architecture -- these and other attentions naturally enough inform his writing to the extent that one must try to be aware of at least the explicit references and allusions in order to apprehend the poem most fully.
For their part, my own annotations serve as a sort of minimum of "background information" for the reader totally unacquainted with Mandelstam and his culture. The reader wishing to examine Mandelstam more thoroughly would do well to take up quickly both Clarence Brown's Mandelstam and the memoirs of the poet's wife Nadezhda Yakovlevna Mandelstam, the first volume of which is entitled in English Hope Against Hope.
It is my sincere desire that the publication of this edition will contribute to the continuing effort to establish for this great modern Russian poet a reputation founded upon thorough familiarity with the work itself, rather than upon hearsay and criticism. As this reputation grows, perhaps, as occurred just recently with Nabokov, the literary legislator's in Mandelstam's own homeland (and let us not forget that Tristia was the title of Ovid's memoirs from exile) may soon have to overcome their embarrassment, and admit, by publishing his works, that it is useless to deny that great literature is what it is.
Bruce McClelland, 1987.
("How hard for me, the splendor of this crown and robe")  [Page 02] | ||
1: -- Kak etix pokryval i etogo ubora Mne pyshnost' tjazhela sred' moego pozora! -- Budet v kamennoj Trezene Znamenitaja beda, Carskoj lestnicy stupeni Pokrasnejut ot styda, ............................... ............................... I dlja materi vljublennoj Solnce chernoe vzojdet. -- O, esli b nenavist' v grudi moej kipela, -- No, vidite, samo preznan'e s ust sletelo. -- Chernym plamenem Fedra gorit Sredi belogo dnja. Pogrebal'nyj fakel chadit Sredi belogo dnja. Bojsja materi ty, Ippolit: Fedra -- noch' -- tebja storozhit Sredi belogo dnja. -- Ljubov'ju chernoju ja solnce zapjatnala... ............................... -- My boimsja, my ne smeem Gorju carskomu pomoch'. Ujazvlennaja Tezeem, Na nego napala noch'. My zhe, pesn'ju poxoronnoj Provozhaja mertvyx v dom, Strasti dikoj i bessonnoj Solnce chernoe ujmem. 1916 |
1: -- How hard for me, the splendor of this crown and robe, amidst my shame -- -- In stony Troezen will be an infamous calamity, the royal staircase will grow red with disgrace, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and for the mother in love, the black sun will rise. -- O, if hate would boil in my breast -- but see, the admission itself has fallen from my lips. -- Phedre [*] burns in a black flame in broad daylight. The funeral torch fumes in broad white daylight. Dread your mother, Hippolytus: Phedre -- night -- watche s over you in broad white day. -- I have stained the sun with black love . . . Death from a bottle will cool my ardor -- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . -- We are afraid, we do not dare relieve the king's grief. Wounded by Theseus, night fell upon him. But we, with a funeral song bringing home the dead, will pacify the black sun of wild and sleepless passion. |
"Как этих покрывал и этого убора Мне пышность тяжела средь моего позора!" -- Будет в каменной Трезене Знаменитая беда, Царской лестницы ступени Покраснеют от стыда, ............................... ............................... И для матери влюбленной Солнце черное взойдет. "О, если б ненависть в груди моей кипела, -- Но, видите, само презнанье с уст слетело". -- Черным пламенем Федра горит Среди белого дня. Погребальный факел чадит Среди белого дня. Бойся матери ты, Ипполит: Федра -- ночь -- тебя сторожит Среди белого дня. "Любовью черною я солнце запятнала..." ............................... -- Мы боимся, мы не смеем Горю царскому помочь. Уязвленная Тезеем, На него напала ночь. Мы же, песнью похоронной Провожая мертвых в дом, Страсти дикой и бессонной Солнце черное уймем. 1915, 1916 |
(ЗВЕРИНЕЦ) (THE MENAGERIE)  [Page 04] | ||
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("Every church sings its own soft part")  [Page 08] | ||
1: V raznogolosice devicheskogo xora Vse cerkvi nezhnye pojut na golos svoj, I v dugax kamennyx Uspenskogo sobora Mne brovi chudjatsja, vysokie, dugoj. I s ukreplennogo arxangelami vala Ja gorod oziral na chudnoj vysote. V stenax Akropolja pechal' menja snedala Po russkom imeni i russkoj krasote. Ne divo l' divnoe, chto vertograd nam snitsja, Gde rejut golubi v gorjachej sineve, Chto pravoslavnye krjuki poet chernica: Uspen'e nezhnoe -- Florencija v Moskve. I pjatiglavnye moskovskie sobory S ix ital'janskoju i russkoju dushoj Napominajut mne -- javlenie Avrory, No s russkim imenem i v shubke mexovoj. 1916 |
1: Every church sings its own soft part In the polyphony of a girl's choir, And in the stone arches of the Assumption I make out high, arched brows. From the ramparts, fortified by archangels, I surveyed the city from a marvelous height. Within the walls of the Acropolis, I was consumed With sorrow for the Russian name, for Russian beauty. Isn't it just marvelous, we dream Of an orchard, soaring pigeons in the hot blue sky, A nun is singing the litany: Tender Assumption: Florence in Moscow. The five-domed cathedrals of Moscow, With their Italian and Russian soul Bring to mind the Aurora [*], but with a Russian name, and in a fur coat. |
1: В разноголосице девического хора Все церкви нежные поют на голос свой, И в дугах каменных Успенского собора Мне брови чудятся, высокие, дугой. И с укрепленного архангелами вала Я город озирал на чудной высоте. В стенах Акрополя печаль меня снедала По русском имени и русской красоте. Не диво ль дивное, что вертоград нам снится, Где голуби в горячей синеве, Что православные крюки поет черница: Успенье нежное_Флоренция в Москве. И пятиглавные московские соборы С их итальянскою и русскою душой Напоминают мне явление Авроры, Но с русским именем и в шубке меховой. 1916 |
("On a sleigh, padded with straw")  [Page 10] | ||
1: Na rozval'njax, ulozhennyx solomoj, Edva prikrytye rogozhej rokovoj, Ot Vorob'evyx gor do cerkovki znakomoj My exali ogromnoju Moskvoj. A v Ugliche igrajut deti v babki I paxnet xleb, ostavlennyj v pechi. Po ulicam menja vezut bez shapki, I tepljatsja v chasovne tri svechi. Ne tri svechi goreli, a tri vstrechi, Odnu is nix sam Bog blagoslovil, Chetvertoj ne byvat', -- a Rim daleche -- I nikogda on Rima ne ljubil. Nyrjali sani v chernye uxaby, I vozvrashchalsja s gul'bishcha narod. Xudye muzhiki i zlye baby Lushchili semja [*] u vorot. Syraja dal' ot ptich'ix staj chernela, I svjazannye ruki zatekli' Carevicha vezut -- nemeet strashno telo, I ryzhuju solomy podozhgli. 1916 |
1: On a sleigh, padded with straw, Barely covered by the fateful mat, From the Vorobevy hills to the familiar chapel We rode through enormous Moscow [*]. But in Uglich [*], the children play mumbletypeg, And it smells of bread left in the oven. They carry me along the streets without my hat [*]; In the oratory three candles [*] burn. Not three burning candles -- three meetings. One consecrated by God Himself. A fourth would never be, but Rome is far -- And He was never fond of Rome. The sled dashed through black ruts, People were returning from the promenade. Wretched peasants with their angry wives Cracked seeds [*] by the gate. The damp distance blackened with flocks of birds, The bound hands swelled. They carry the Carevich [*], The body grows terribly numb, They set fire to the reddened straw. |
На розвальнях, уложенных соломой, Едва прикрытые рогожей роковой, От Воробьевых гор до церковки знакомой Мы ехали огромною Москвой. А в Угличе играют дети в бабки И пахнет хлеб, оставленный в печи. По улицам меня везут без шапки, И теплятся в часовне три свечи. Не три свечи горели, а три встречи -- Одну ис них сам Бог благословил, Четвертой не бывать, а Рим далече -- И никогда он Рима не любил. Ныряли сани в черные ухабы, И возвращался с гульбища народ. Худые мужики и злые бабы Переминались у ворот. Сырая даль от птичьих стай чернела, И связанные руки затеклиь Царевича везут, немеет страшно тело -- И рыжую соломы подожгли. 1916 |
(СОЛОМИНКА) (STRAW) [*]  [Page 12]  [Page 14] | ||
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("I've lost a delicate cameo")  [Page 16] | ||
1: -- Ja poterjala nezhnuju kameju, Ne znaju gde, na beregu Nevy. Ja rimljanku prelestnuju zhaleju -- Chut' ne v slezax mne govorili vy. No dlja chego, prekrasnaja gruzinka, Trevozhit' prax bozhestvennyx grobnits? Eshche odna pushistaja snezhinka Rastajala na veere resnic. I krotkuju vy naklonili sheju. Kamei net -- net rimljanki, uvy. Ja Tinotinu smugluju zhaleju -- Devichij Rim na beregu Nevy. 1916 |
1: "I've lost [*] a delicate cameo, Somewhere on the Neva's shore. I pity the charming Roman girl," You said to me, almost in tears. But why, fair Georgian beauty, Stir up the dust on a sacred tomb? Another downy snowflake Melted on her eyelid's fan. You bowed your gentle neck. Alas, no cameo, no Roman girl. I pity the tawny Tinotine -- virgin Rome on the Neva's shore. |
-- Я потеряла нежную камею, Не знаю где, на берегу Невы. Я римлянку прелестную жалею, -- Чуть не в слезах мне говорили вы. Но для чего, прекрасная грузинка, Тревожить прах божественных гробниц? Еще одна пушистая снежинка Растаяла на веере ресниц. И кроткую вы наклонили шею. Камеи нет -- нет римлянки, увы. Я Тинотину смуглую жалею -- Девичий Рим на берегу Невы. Осень 1916 |
("The Greeks planned for war")  [Page 18] | ||
1: Sobiralis' elliny vojnoju Na prelestnyj ostrov Salamin. On, ottorgnut vrazheskoj rukoju, Viden byl iz gavani Afin. A teper' druz'ja-ostrovitjane Snarjazhajut nashi korabli. Ne ljubili ran'she anglichane Evropejskoj sladostnoj zemli. O, Evropa, novaja Ellada, Oxranjaj Akropol' i Pirej. Nam podarkov s ostrova ne nado, Celyj les nezvanyx korablej. 1916 |
1: The Greeks planned for war On the delightful island of Salamis [*]. From the harbor of Athens, you could see it Seized by the enemy's hand. And now our friends the islanders Are fitting out our ships. Earlier the English didn't love The sweet European soil. O, Europe, new Hellas, Save the Acropolis and Pireus. We do not need the island's gifts, A forest of uninvited ships. |
1: Собирались эллины войною На прелестный остров Саламин. Он, отторгнут вражеской рукою, Виден был из гавани Афин. А теперь друзья-островитяне Снаряжают наши корабли. Не любили раньше англичане Европейской сладостной земли. О, Европа, новая Эллада, Охраняй Акрополь и Пирей. Нам подарков с острова не надо, Целый лес незваных кораблей. 1916 |
("I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses")  [Page 20] | ||
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("Not believing in the Resurrection")  [Page 22] | ||
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("This night is beyond recall")  [Page 24] | ||
1: Eta noch' nepopravima, A u vas eshche svetlo. U vorot Erusalima Solnce chernoe vzoshlo. Solnce zheltoe strashnee. Baju, bajushki, baju, V svetlom xrame Iudei Xoronili mat' moju. Blagodati ne imeja I svjashchenstva lisheny, V svetlom xrame Iudei Otpevali prax zheny. I nad mater'ju zveneli Golosa izrail'tjan. -- Ja prosnulsja v kolybeli, Chernym solncem osijan. 1916 |
1: This night is beyond recall, But it is still bright at your place. At the gates of Jerusalem, The black sun has risen. The yellow sun is more fearful -- In a bright temple, the Jews Have buried my mother. Not having Grace, Deprived of priesthood, The Jews, in a bright temple, Chanted over the woman's ashes. And the voices of the Israelites Rose above the mother. I awoke in a cradle, shone upon By a black sun. |
Эта ночь непоправима, А у вас еще светло. У ворот Ерусалима Солнце черное взошло. Солнце желтое страшнее, -- Баю-баюшки-баю, -- В светлом храме иудеи Хоронили мать мою. Благодати не имея И священства лишены, В светлом храме иудеи Отпевали прах жены. И над матерью звенели Голоса израильтян. Я проснулся в колыбели -- Черным солнцем осиян. 1916 |
(ДЕКАБРИСТ) (THE DECEMBRIST)  [Page 26] | ||
1: "Tomu svidetel'stvo jazycheskij senat -- Sii dela ne umirajut." On raskuril chubuk i zapaxnul xalat, A rjadom v shaxmaty igrajut. Chestoljubivyj son on promenjal na srub V gluxom urochishche Sibiri I vychurnyj chubuk u jadovityx gub, Skazavshix pravdu v skorbnom mire. Shumeli v pervyj raz germanskie duby, Evropa plakala v tenetax, Kvadrigi chernye vstavali na dyby Na triumfal'nyx povorotax. Byvalo, goluboj v stakanax punsh gorit, S shirokim shumom samovara Podruga rejnskaja tixon'ko govorit, Vol'noljubivaja gitara. Eshche volnujutsja zhivye golosa O sladkoj vol'nosti grazhdanstva, No zhertvy ne xotjat slepye nebesa, Vernee trud i postojanstvo. Vse pereputalos', i nekomu skazat', Chto, postepenno xolodeja, Vse pereputalos', i sladko povtorjat': Rossija, Leta, Loreleja. 1917 |
1: "To this the pagan senate bears witness: -- THESE DEEDS SHALL NEVER DIE! -- "
He lit his pipe and wrapped his cloak around While some play chess nearby. He traded his ambitious dream For a godforsaken Siberian plot And an elegant pipe at his venomous lips, Which uttered truth in a mournful world. When the German oaks first rustled, Europe wept in her snare. Black horses in quadrigae [*] reared on each triumphant turn. Once, the blue punch glowed in our glasses. With the broad noises of the samovar, A friend from across the Rhine spoke In muted tones -- a freedom-loving guitar. The lively voices are still excited Over the sweet liberty of citizenship; But the victims don't want blind skies, Toil and consistency are truer. Everything's confused and there is no one to say, As things grow colder, Everything's confused, it is sweet to repeat: Russia, Lethe, Lorelei... |
-- Тому свидетелжство языческий сенат -- Сии дела не умирают! -- Он раскурил чубук и запахнул халат, А рядом в шахматы играют. Честолюбивый сон он променял на сруб В глухом урочище Сибири И вычурный чубук у ядовитых губ, Сказавших правду в скорбном мире. Шумели в первый раз германские дубы, Европа плакала в тенетах, Квадриги черные вставали на дыбы На триумфальных поворотах. Бывало, голубой в стаканах пун горит, С широким шумом самовара Подруга рейнская тихонько говорит, Вольнолюбивая гитара. -- Еще волнуются живые голоса О сладкой вольности гражданства! Но жертвы не хотят слепые небеса: Вернее труд и постоянство. Все перепуталось, и некому сказать, Что, постепенно холодея, Все перепуталось, и сладко повторять: Россия, Лета, Лорелея. 1917 |
(МЕГАНОМ) (MEGANOM)  [Page 28] | ||
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("When on the squares and in solitary silence")  [Page 30] | ||
1: Kogda na ploshchadjax i v tishine kelejnoj My sxodim medlenno s uma, Xolodnogo i chistogo rejnvejna Predlozhit nam zhestokaja zima. V serebrjanom vedre nam predlagaet stuzha Valgally beloe vino, I svetlyj obraz severnogo muzha Napominaet nam ono. No severnye skal'dy gruby, Ne znajut radostej igry, I severnym druzhinam ljuby Jantar', pozhary i piry. Im tol'ko snitsja vozdux juga -- Chuzhogo neba volshebstvo, -- I vse-taki uprjamaja podruga Otkazhetsja poprobovat' ego. 1917 |
1: When on the squares and in solitary silence We slowly go out of our minds, Brutal winter will offer us Cold and clear Rhine wine. The frost offers us in a silver pail The white wine of Valhalla, And for us it recalls A clear image of a northern man. But northern skalds [*] are rude, Don't know the joy of the game, And to northern troops are dear Amber, feasts and flames. They only dream of the southern air, The magic of a foreign sky. -- Nevertheless the stubborn friend Still refuses to try. |
Когда на площадях и в тишине келейной Мы сходим медленно с ума, Холодного и чистого рейнвейна Предложит нам жестокая зима. В серебряном ведре нам предлагает стужа Валгаллы белое вино, И светлый образ северного мужа Напоминает нам оно. Но северные скальды грубы, Не знают радостей игры, И северным дружинам любы Янтарь, пожары и пиры. Им только снится воздух юга -- Чужого неба волшебство, -- И все-таки упрямая подруга Откажется попробовать его. 1917 |
(А. В. Карташеву) ("A young Levite among priests") A. V. Kartashevu [*]  [Page 32] | ||
1: Sredi svjashchennikov levitom molodym Na strazhe utrennej on dolgo ostavalsja. Noch' iudejskaja spushchalasja nad nim, I xram razrushennyj ugrjumo sozidalsja. On govoril: Nebes trevozhna zheltizna, Uzh nad Evfratom noch', begite, ierei. A starcy dumali: Ne nasha v tom vina. Se cherno-zheltyj svet, se radost' Iudei. On s nami byl, kogda, na beregu ruch'ja My v dragocennyj len subbotu pelenali I semisveshchnikom tjazhelym osveshchali Ierusalima noch' i chad nebytija. 1917 |
1: A young Levite [*] among priests, He remained long on morning watch. Jewish night grew thick around him, The ruined temple was solemnly being raised. He said: the yellow of the skies is alarming. Run, priests, for night is already over the Euphrates! But the elders thought: this is not our fault; Behold the black and yellow light, the joy, the Jews. He was with us when, on the stream's shore, We swaddled the sabbath in precious linen With a heavy menorah lit the night of Jerusalem, The heady fumes of non-existence. |
Среди священников левитом молодым На страже утренней он долго оставался. Ночь иудейская спущалася над ним, И храм разрушенный угрюмо созидался. Он говорил: небес тревожна желтизна! Уж над Енфратом ночь: бегите, иереи! А старцы думали: не наша в том вина -- Се черно-желтый свет, се радость Иудеи! Он с нами был, когда, на берегу ручья, Мы в драгоценный лен Субботу пеленали И семисвещником тяжелым освещали Ерусалима ночь и чад небытия. 1917 |
("The thick golden stream of honey took so long")  [Page 34] | ||
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("That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play") Du, Doppelganger [*]! du, bleitscher Geselle!...  [Page 36] | ||
1: V tot vecher ne gudel strel'chatyj les organa. Nam pela [*] Shuberta rodnaja kolybel'! Shumela mel'nica, i v pesnjax uragana Smejalsja muzyki goluboglazyj xmel'! Starinnoj pesni mir korichnevyj, zelenyj, No tol'ko vechno-molodoj, Gde solov'inyx lip rokochushchie krony S zverinoj [*] jarost'ju kachaet car' lesnoj. I sila strashnaja nochnogo vozvrashchen'ja, Ta pesnja dikaja, kak chernoe vino. Eto dvojnik -- pustoe prividen'e -- Bezsmyslenno gljadit v xolodnoe okno. 1918 |
1: That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play. A native cradle sang [*] Schubert for us, The mill was grinding, the music's blue-eyed drunkenness Laughed in the songs of the hurricane. The brown-green world of the old song, But only eternally young where the Erl-king Shakes the rumbling crowns of nightingaled Linden trees in savage [*] rage. The awesome force of night's return, That wild song, like black wine: It is a double, a hollow ghost Peering senselessly through the cold window! |
В тот вечер не гудел стрельчатый лес органа. Нам пели Шуберта -- родная колыбель -- Шумела мельница, и в песнях урагана Смеялся музыки голубоглазый хмель -- Старинной песни мир -- коричневый, зеленый, Но только вечно-молодой, Где соловьиных лип рокочущие кроны С безумной яростью качает царь лесной. И сила страшная ночного возвращенья -- Та песня дикая, как черное вино: Это двойник -- пустое привиденье -- Бессмысленно глядит в холодное окно! 1918 |
("Your marvelous pronunciation")  [Page 38] | ||
1: Tvoe chudesnoe proiznoshen'e, Gorjachij posvist xishchnyx ptits, Skazhu l' -- zhivoe vpechatlen'e Kakix-to shelkovyx resnits [*]. "Chto" -- golova otjazhelela... "Vo" [*] -- Eto ja tebja zovu. I daleko proshelestelo: Ja tozhe na zemle zhivu. Pust' govorjat: ljubov' krylata. Smert' okrylennee stokrat. Eshche dusha bor'boj ob"jata, A nashi guby k nej letjat. I stol'ko vozduxa, i shelka I vetra v shopote tvoem, I, kak slepye, noch'ju dolgoj My smes' bessolnechnuju p'em. 1918 |
1: Your marvelous pronunciation -- The scorching whistle of birds of prey; Or should I say: a living impression Of some sort of silken eyelashes. -- What? -- your head grew heavy... -- And in the distance, rustling: I, too, live on earth. Let them say love has wings. Death has a hundred more; My soul is filled with strife, But our lips fly to it. So much air and silk and Wind in your whisper, Like blind men, through the long night We drink a sunless mixture. |
Твое чудесное произношенье -- Горячий посвист хищных птиц; Скажу ль: живое впечатленье Каких-то шелковых зарниц. "Что" -- голова отяжелела. "Цо" -- это я тебя зову! И далеко прошелестело: -- Я тоже на земле живу. Пусть говорят: любовь крылата, -- Смерть окрыленнее стократ. Еще душа борьбой объята, А наши губы к ней летят. И столько воздуха и шелка И ветра в шопоте твоем, И, как слепые, ночью долгой Мы смесь бессолнечную пьем. 1918 |
(TRISTIA)  [Page 40] | ||
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(ЧЕРЕПАХА) (TORTOISE)  [Page 42] | ||
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(ФЕОДОСИЯ) ("Let us go where there are varied crafts")  [Page 44] | ||
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("In a crystal whirlpool, such steepness!")  [Page 46] | ||
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("Nature's the same as Rome, was reflected in it")  [Page 48] | ||
1: Priroda tot zhe Rim, i otrazilas' v nem. My vidim obrazy ego grazhdanskoj moshchi V prozrachnom vozduxe, kak v cirke golubom, Na forume polej i v kolonnade roshchi. Priroda tot zhe Rim, i kazhetsja opjat' Nam nezachem bogov naprasno bezpokoit', Est' vnutrennosti zhertv, chtob o vojne gadat', Raby, chtoby molchat', i kamni, chtoby stroit'. |
1: Nature's the same as Rome, was reflected in it. We see images of its civic might In the clear air, as in the sky-blue circus, In the forum of fields, the colonnade of the grove. Nature is the same as Rome, again it seems We have no reason to trouble the gods. We've got the viscera of the sacrifices To tell the fortunes of war, and slaves To keep the silence, and stones with which to build. |
Природа -- тот же Рим и отразилась в нем. Мы видим образы его гражданской мощи В прозрачном воздухе, как в цирке голубом, На форуме полей и в колоннаде рощи. Природа -- тот же Рим, и, кажется, опять Нам незачем богов напрасно беспокоить -- Есть внутренности жертв, чтоб о войне гадать, Рабы, чтобы молчать, и камни, чтобы строить! 1914 |
("To read only children's books")  [Page 50] | ||
1: Tol'ko detskie knigi chitat', Tol'ko detskie dumy lelejat', Vse bol'shoe daleko razvejat', Iz glubokoj pechali vozstat'. Ja ot zhizni smertel'no ustal, Nichego ot neja ne priemlju, No ljublju moju bednuju zemlju, Ottogo chto inoj ne vidal. Ja kachalsja v dalekom sadu Na prostoj derevjaannoj kacheli, I vysokie temnye eli Vspominaju v tumannom bredu. |
1: To read only children's books, To have only childish thoughts, To throw everything grown-up away, To rise from deep sadness. I am deathly tired of life, I will accept nothing from it. But I love my poor land, For I have seen no other. I rocked in a distant garden On a plain wooden swing, Tall dark fir trees I recall in a hazy fever. |
Только детские книги читать, Только детские думы лелеять, Все большое далеко развеять, Из глубокой печали возстать. Я от жизни смертельно устал, Ничего от нея не приемлю, Но люблю мою бедную землю, Оттого что иной не видал. Я качался в далеком саду На простой деревяанной качели, И высокие темные ели Вспоминаю в туманном бреду. 1908 |
("Go back to the tainted lap, Leah")  [Page 52] | ||
1: Vernis' v smesitel'noe lono, Otkuda, Lija, ty prishla, Za to, chto solncu Iliona Ty zheltyj sumrak predpochla. Idi, nikto tebja ne tronet, Na grud' otca, v gluxu[ noch', Puskaj glavu svoju uronit Krovosmesitel'nitca-doch'. No rokovaja peremena V tebe ispolnit'sja dolzhna. Ty budesh' Lija -- ne Elena. Ne potomu narechena, Chto carskoj krovi tjazhelee Struit'sja v zhilax, chem drugoj, -- Net, ty poljubish' iudeja, Ischeznesh' v nem -- i Bog s toboj. 1920 |
1: Go back to the tainted lap, Leah, Whence you came, Because to the sun of Ilion You preferred yellow twilight. Go, no one will touch you, Let the incestuous daughter Drop her head on her father's breast In the dead of night. But the fatal change Must be fulfilled in you; You shall be Leah -- not Helen -- Thus not betrothed, For it is harder for a king's blood To flow in the veins than another's -- No, you will love a Jew, You will vanish in him, and God help you. |
Вернись в смесителжное лоно, Откуда, Лия, ты пришла, За то, что солнцу Илиона Ты желтый сумрак предпочла. Иди, никто тебя не тронет, На грудь отца в глухую ночь Пускай главу свою уронит Кровосмесительнитца-дочь. Но роковая перемена В тебе исполниться должна: Ты будешь Лия -- не Елена! Не потому наречена, Что царской крови тяжелее Струиться в жилах, чем другой, -- Нет, ты полюбишь иудея, Исчезнешь в нем -- и Бог с тобой. 1920 |
(O this air, intoxicated with sedition")  [Page 54] | ||
1: O, etot vozdux, smutoj p'janyj, Na chernoj ploshchadi Kremlja Kachajut shatkij "mir" smut'jany, Trevozhno paxnut topolja. Soborov voskovye liki, Kolokolov dremuchij les, Kak by razbojnik bez"jazykij V stropilax kamennyx ischez. A v zapechatannyx soborax, Gde i proxladno, i temno, Kak v nezhnyx glinjanyx amforax, Igraet russkoe vino. Uspenskij, divno okruglennyj, Ves' udivlen'e rajskix dug, I Blagoveshchenskij, zelenyj, I, mnitsja, zavorkuet vdrug. Arxangel'skij i Voskresen'ja Prosvechivajut, kak ladon' -- Povsjudu skrytoe goren'e, V kuvschinax sjurjatannyj ogon'... |
1: O this air, intoxicated with sedition, On the black square of the Kremlin. The agitators rock the teetering world [*]. It smells of restless poplars. The waxen facades of the cathedrals, The thick forest of bells, As if a tongueless bandit Had vanished in the stony rafters. But in the sealed cathedrals, Where it is cool and dark, Like in delicate clay amphoras, The Russian wine sparkles. The whole Assumption, wonderfully rotund, The marvel of the arches of Paradise. And the Annunciation, in green, Suddenly seems to start to crow. The Archangel and Resurrection [*] Show through like a palm, Everywhere the secret burning, -- In the wine jugs a hidden flame. . . |
О, этот воздух, смутой пьяный, На черной площади Кремля Качают шаткий "мир" смутьяны, Тревожно пахнут тополя. Соборов восковые лики, Колоколов дремучий лес, Как бы разбойник безъязыкий В стропилах каменных исчез. А в запечатанных соборах, Где и прохладно, и темно, Как в нежных глиняных амфорах, Играет русское вино. Успенский, дивно округленный, Весь удивленье райских дуг, И Благовещенский, зеленый, И, мнится, заворкует вдруг. Архангельский и Воскресенья Просвечивают, как ладонь, -- Повсюду скрытое горенье, В кувшинах спрятанный огонь... Апрель 1916 |
("In Petersburg we'll meet again")  [Page 56] | ||
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("Stretching taut the silken threads")  [Page 58] | ||
1: Na perlamutrovyj chelnok Natjagivaja shelka niti, O, pal'ci gibkie, nachnite Ocharovatel'nyj urok. Prilivy i otlivy ruk, Odnobraznyja dvezhen'ja, Ty zaklinaesh', bez somnen'ja, Kakoj to solnechnyj ispug, Kogda shirokaja ladon', Kak rakovina, plameneja, To gasnet, k tenjam tjagoteja, To v rozovyj ujdet ogon'. |
1: Stretching taut the silken threads On a mother-of-pearl shuttle, O, lithe fingers, begin Your fascinating lesson. Ebb and flow of your hands, Monotonous movements, No doubt you are conjuring Some kind of solar fright. When your broad palm, Like a shell, flaming, First dies down, drawn to the shadows, Then sinks at last in a rosy light. |
На перламутровый челнок Натягивая шелка нити, О, пальци гибкие, начните Очаровательный урок. Приливы и отливы рук, Однобразные движенья, Ты заклинаешь, без сомненья, Какой то солнечный испуг, Когда широкая ладонь, Как раковина, пламенея, То гаснет, к теням тяготея, То в розовый уйдет огонь. 1911 |
("We went out of our minds with the easy life")  [Page 60] | ||
1: Ot legkoj zhizni my soshli s uma. S utra vino, a s vechera poxmel'e. Kak uderzhat' naprasnoe vesel'e, Rumjanec tvoj, o p'janaja chuma? V pozhat'i ruk muchitel'nyj obrjad, Na ulicax nochnye pocelui, Kogda rechnye tjazhelejut strui, I fonari, kak fakely, gorjat. My smerti zhdem, kak skazochnogo volka, No ja bojus', chto ran'she vsex umret Tot, u kogo trevozhno-krasnyj rot I na glaza spadajushchaja chelka. |
1: We went out of our minds with the easy life, Wine from morning on, hungover by evening, How can I keep this idle gaiety, Your blush, O drunken plague? An agonizing ceremony in a handshake, Nocturnal kisses on the streets, While the currents of speech grow heavy, And lanterns burn like torches. We wait for death, like the fairytale But I'm afraid that the first to die will be The one with the anxious red mouth And the forelock covering his eyes. |
1: От легкой жизни мы сошли с ума. С утра вино, а с вечера похмелье. Как удержать напрасное веселье, Румянец твой, о пьяная чума? В пожатьи рук мучительный обряд, На улицах наканы И слузить тебе готов. Кахетинское густое Хорошо в подвале пить, -- Там в прохладе, там в покое Пейте вдоволь, пейте двое, Одному не надо пить! В самом маленьком духане Ты обманщика найдешь. Если спроцишь "Телиани", Поплывет Тифлис в тумане, Ты в бутылке поплывешь. Человек бывает старым, А барашек молодым, И под месяцем поджарым С розоватым винным паром Полетит шашлычный дым... 1920, 1927, 1935 |
("Why do the clock-hoppers sing")  [Page 62] | ||
1: Chto pojut chasy-kuznechik, Lixoradka shelestit I shurshit suxaja pechka, -- Eto krasnyj shelk gorit. Chto zubami myshi tochat Zhizni tonen'koe dno, Eto lastochka i dochke [*] Otvjazala moj chelnok. Chto na kryshe dozhd' bormochet, -- Eto chernyj shelk gorit, No cheremuxa uslyshit I na dne morskom prostit. [*] Potomu chto smert' nevinnyx, [*] I nichem nel'zja pomoch', Chto v gorjachke solov'inoj Serdce teploe eshche. 1918 |
1: Why do the clock-hoppers [*] sing, And fever rustle And dry stove crackle -- It is red silk burning. Why do the mice grind with their teeth The slender ground of life -- A swallow has loosened My shuttle for her daughter. Why does rain murmur on the roof -- It is black silk burning, But the cherry blossom will hear, And on the bottom of the sea, forgive. Because of the death of the innocent And with no way to help, In a nightingale's fever, There is still a warm heart. |
1: Что поют часы-кузнечник, Лихорадка шелестит, И шуршит сухая печка, -- Это красный шелк горит. Что зубами мыши точат Жизни тоненькое дно, Это ласточка и дочке Отвязала мой челнок. Что на крыше дождь бормочет, -- Это черный шелк горит, Но черемуха услышит И на дне морском простит. Потому что смерть невинных, И ничем нельзя помочь, Что в горячке соловьиной Сердце теплое еще. |
("The flame annihilates")  [Page 64] | ||
1: Unichtozhaet plamen' Suxuju zhizn' moju, I nyne ja ne kamen', A derevo poju. Ono legko i grubo> Iz odnogo kuska I serdcevina duba, I vesla rybaka. Vbivajte krepche svai, Stuchite, molotki, O derevjannom rae, Gde veshchi tak legki. |
1: The flame annihilates My withered life, Now it isn't stone I sing, but wood. It is light and rough; From a single piece come The heart of the oak And the fisherman's oars. Drive the pilings tighter. Pound, you hammers, About the wooden paradise Where things are so much easier. |
Уничтожает пламень Сухую жизнь мою, И ныне я не камень, А дерево пою. Оно легко и грубо; Из одного куска И сердцевина дуба, И весла рыбака. Вбивайте крепче сваи, Стучите, молотки, О деревянном рае, Где вещи так легки. |
("I dream of hunchbacked Tiflis")  [Page 66] | ||
1: Mne Tiflis gorbatyj snitsja, Sazandarij [*] ston zvenit, Na mostu narod tolpitsja, Vsja kovrovaja stolica, A vnizu Kura shumit. Nad Kuroju est' duxany, Gde vino i milyj plov, I duxanshchik tam rumjanyj Podaet gostjam stakany I sluzit' tebe gotov. Kaxetinskoe gustoe Xorosho v podvale pit', -- Tam v proxlade, tam v pokoe Pejte vdovol', pejte dvoe: Odnomu ne nado pit'. V samom malen'kom duxane Ty tovarishcha [*] najdesh', Esli sprosish' Teliani. Poplyvet Tiflis v tumane, Ty v butylke poplivesh'. [*] 1920, 1927, 1935 |
1: I dream of hunchbacked Tiflis, Where a The people cluster on the bridge, The crowd carpets the whole capital, While below, the Kura [*] murmurs. Above the Kura are Where there is wine and good pilaf, A ruddy dukhanshchik Gives glasses to the guests, He is ready to serve you. The thick Cahetian wine In the cellar is ready to drink -- There in the coolness, in peace, You drink your fill, drink in pairs: Don't drink alone. In the smallest dukhan, If you ask for Teliani, You will find a friend. [*] Tiflis will be swimming in a fog, Your head will be swimming at the inn. [*] |
1: Мне Тифлис горбатый снится, Сазандарей стон звенит, На мосту народ толпится, Вся ковровая столица, А внизу Кура шумит. Над Курою есть духаны, Где вино и милый плов, И духанщик там румяный Подает гостям стаканы И служить тебе готов. Кахетинское густое Хорошо в подвале пить, -- Там в прохладе, там в покое Пейте вдоволь, пейте двое, Одному не надо пить! В самом маленьком духане Ты обманщика найдешь. Если спроcишь "Телиани", Поплывет Тифлис в тумане, Ты в бутылке попливешь. Человек бывает старым, А барашек молодым, И под месяцем поджарым С розоватым винным паром Полетит шашлычный дым... 1920, 1927, 1935 |
("An American girl of twenty")  [Page 68] | ||
1: Amerikanka v dvadcat' let Dolzhna dobrat'sja do Egipta, Zabyv Titanika sovet, Chto spit na dne mrachnee kripta. V Amerike gudki pojut, I krasnyx neboskrebov truby Xolodnym tucham otdajut Svoi prokopchennye guby. I v Luvre okeana doch' Stoit, prekrasnaja, kak topol', Chtob mramor saxarnyj toloch', Vlezaet belkoj na Akropol. Ne ponimaja nichego, Chitaet Fausta v vagone I sozhaleet, otchego Ljudovik bol'she ne na trone. |
1: An American girl of twenty Should reach Egypt, Forgetting the advice from the Titanic, Asleep on the bottom, gloomier than the crypt. In America the sirens sing, And the smokestacks of red skyscrapers Give back their sooty lips To the cold clouds. In the Louvre stands the ocean's daughter, Beautiful as a poplar, To crush the sugary marble Climbs on the Acropolis like a squirrel. Understanding not a word, She reads Faust in the carriage, And regrets that Louis No longer holds the throne. |
Американка в двадцать лет Должна добраться до Египта, Забыв Титаника совет, Что спит на дне мрачнее крипта. В Америке гудки поют, И красных небоскребов трубы Холодным тучам отдают Свои прокопченные губы. И в Лувре океана дочь Стоит, прекрасная, как тополь, Чтоб мрамор сахарный толочь, Влезает белкой на Акропол. Не понимая ничего, Читает Фауста в вагоне И сожалеет, отчего Людовик больше не на троне. 1913 |
("Sisters -- Heaviness, Tenderness -- your signs are identical")  [Page 70] | ||
1: Sestry tjazhest' i nezhnost', odinakovy vashi primety. Medunicy i osy tjazheluju rozu sosut, Chelovek umiraet, pesok ostyvaet sogretyj, I vcherashnee solnce na chernyx nosilkax nesut. Ax, tjazhelye soty i nezhnye seti, Legche kamen' podnjat', chem vymolvit' slovo -- ljubit' [*], U menja ostaetsja odna zabota na svete, Zolotaja zabota, kak vremeni bremja izbyt'. Slovno temnuju vodu, ja p'ju pomutivshijsja vozdux, Vremja vspaxano plugom, i roza zemleju byla, V medlennom vodovorote tjazhelye, nezhnye pozy, Rozy tjazhest' i nezhnost' v dvojnye venki zaplela. 1920 |
1: Sisters -- Heaviness, Tenderness -- your signs are identical. Bees and wasps suck the heavy rose. A man dies, the heated sand grows cool, and Yesterday's sun is carried away on a black stretcher. Oh, heavy honeycombs, tender nets, Easier to raise a stone than say the words, 'to love'! I have one concern left on earth, A golden one: to throw off time's yoke. I drink the turbid air as if it were muddy water. Time is ploughed up, and the rose was the earth. In a slow vortex, love has twined [*] the heavy, Tender roses, the roses Heaviness and Tenderness, Into double wreaths. |
Сестры тяжесть и нежность, одинаковы ваши приметы. Медуницы и осы тяжелую розу сосут. Человек умирает. Песок остывает согретый, И вчерашнее солнце на черных носилках несут. Ах, тяжелые соты и нежные сети, Легче камень поднять, чем имя твое повторить! У меня остается одна забота на свете: Золотая забота, как времени бремя избыть. Словно темную воду, я пью помутившийся воздух. Время вспахано плугом, и роза землею была. В медленном водовороте тяжелые, нежные позы, Розы тяжесть и нежность в двойные венки заплела! 1920 |
("I want to serve you")  [Page 72] | ||
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("A phantom scene barely glimmers")  [Page 74] | ||
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(ВЕНИЦЕЙСКАЯ ЖИЗНЬ) (VENETIAN LIFE)  [Page 76] | ||
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("I am sorry it is winter now")  [Page 78] | ||
1: Mne zhalko, chto teper' zima, I komarov ne slyshno v dome, No ty napomnila sama O legkomyslennoj solome. Strekozy v'jutsja v sineve, I lastochkoj kruzhitsja moda, Korzinochka na golove -- Ili napyshchennaja oda? Sovetovat' ja ne berus', I bezpolezny otgovorki, No vzbityx slivok vechen vkus I zapax apel'sinnoj korki. Ty vse tolkuesh' naobum, Ot etogo nichut' ne xuzhe. Chto delat': samyj nezhnyj um Ves' pomeshchaetsja snaruzhi. I ty pytaesh'sja zheltok Vzbivat' razserzhennoju lozhkoj, On pobelel, on iznemog -- I vse-taki, eshche nemnozhko. [*] V tebe vse draznit, vse poet, Kak ital'janskaja rulada. I malen'kij vishnevyj rot Suxogo prosit vinograda. Tak ne starajsja byt umnej, V tebe vse prixot, vse minuta, V teni [*] ot shapochki tvoej Venecianskaja bauta Dekabr' 1920 |
1: I am sorry it is winter now, And you can't hear mosquitoes in the house, But you reminded yourself Of the frivolous straw. The dragonflies hover in the blue sky, And fashion twirls like a swallow; A basket on the head, Or a bombastic ode? I don't presume to give advice And useless excuses, But the taste of whipped cream And the smell of oranges is forever. You define everything without thinking, And things are the worse for it. What can you do? The most sensitive mind Is put wholly on the surface. You try to beat the yolk With an angry spoon. It grew white, it succumbed. Yet just a little more. [*] In you everything teases, everything sings Like an Italian roulade, And a small cherry mouth Demands some dry grapes. Don't try so hard to be smart, In you everything is whimsy, fleeting, And in the shadow from your cap, A Venetian |
Мне жалко, что теперь зима И комаров не слышно в доме, Но ты напомнила сама О легкомысленной соломе. Стрекозы вьются в синеве, И ласточкой кружится мода; Корзиночка на голове Или напыщенная ода? Советовать я не берусь, И бесполезны отговорки, Но взбитых сливок вечен вкус И запах апельсинной корки. Ты все толкуешь наобум, От этого ничуть не хуже, Что делать самый нежный ум Весь помещается снаружи. И ты пытаешься желток Взбивать рассерженною ложкой, Он побелел, он изнемог, И все-таки еще немножко. И, право, не твоя вина, Зачем оценки и изнанки? Ты как нарочно создана Для комедийной перебранки. В тебе все дразнит, все поет, Как итальянская рулада. И маленький вишневый рот Сухого просит винограда. Так не старайся быт умней, В тебе все прихот, все минута. И тень от шапочки твоей Венецианская баута 1920 |
("The chalice was suspended in the air")  [Page 80] | ||
1: Vot daronosica, kak solnce zolotoe Povisla v vosduxe -- velikolepnyj mig. Zdes' dolzhen prozvuchat' lish' grecheskij jazyk: Vzjat' v ruki celyj mir, kak jabloko prostoe. Bogosluzhenye torzhestvennyj zenit, Svet v krugloj xramine pod kupolom v ijule, Chtob polnoj grud'ju my vne vremeni vzdoxnuli O lugovine toj, gde vremja ne bezhit. I Evxaristija, kak vechnyj polden' dlitsja -- Vse prichashchajutsja, igrajut i pojut, I na vidu u vsex bozhestvennyj sosud Neischerpaemym veseliem struitsja. |
1: The chalice was suspended in the air Like the golden sun for a splendid moment. Here only Greek should be heard: To take the whole world in your hands, like a simple apple. The triumphal zenith of the service, Light in a round room under a cupola in July, So outside of time we could fully sigh About that meadow, where time doesn't fly. The Eucharist drags on like an eternal noon -- Everyone takes the Sacrament, performs, and sings, In view of everyone the sacred vessel Pours out with inexhaustible rejoicing. |
Вот дароносица, как солнце золотое Повисла в восдухе>мдасчьвеликолепный миг. Здесь должен прозвучать лишь греческий язык: Взять в руки целый мир, как яблоко простое. Богослуженые торжественный зенит, Свет в круглой храмине под куполом в июле, Чтоб полной грудью мы вне времени вздохнули О луговине той, где время не бежит. И Евхаристия, как вечный полдень длится -- Все причащаются, играют и поют, И на виду у всех божественный сосуд Неисчерпаемым веселием струится. 1915 |
("As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades")  [Page 82] | ||
1: Kogda Psixeja-zhizn' spuskaetsja k tenjam V poluprozrachnyj les vosled za Persefonoj, Slepaja lastochka brosaetsja k nogam S stigijskoj nezhnost'ju i vetkoju zelenoj. Navstrechu bezhenke speshit tolpa tenej, Tovarku novuju vstrechaja prchitan'em, I ruki slabye lomajut pered nej S nedoumeniem i robkim upovan'em. Kto derzhit zerkalo [*], kto banochku duxov; Dusha ved' zhenshchina, ej nravjatsja bezdelki, I les bezlistvennyj prozrachnyx golosov Suxie shalosti [*] kropjat, kak dozhdik melkij. I v nezhnoj sutolke ne znaja, chto nachat', Dusha ne uznaet prozrachnye dubravy, Doxnet na zerkalo i medlit peredat' Lepeshku mednuju s tumannoj perepravy. 1920 |
1: As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades In a translucent forest in Persephone's tracks, A blind swallow falls at her feet With Stygian tenderness and a green branch. The shades flock to meet the fugitive, Welcome their new visitor with laments, Wring their feeble hands before her Bewildered and in timid hope. One holds a mirror, another a phial of perfume -- The soul is a woman, fond of trifles And the leafless forest is sprinkled with fine rain of Laments, dry transparent voices. And in the gentle confusion, not knowing what to begin, The soul does not recognize the spectral wood, Breathes on the mirror, and hesitates to give The copper coin from the misty crossing. |
Когда Психея-жизнь спускается к теням В полупрозрачный лес вослед за Персефоной, Слепая ласточка бросается к ногам С стигийской нежностью и веткою зеленой. Навстречу беженке спешит толпа теней, Товарку новую встречая прчитаньем, И руки слабые ломают перед ней С недоумением и робким упованьем. Кто держит зеркальце, кто баночку духов, -- Душа ведь женщина, ей нравятся безделки, И лес безлиственный прозрачных голосов Сухие жалобы кропят, как дождик мелкий. И в нежной сутолке не зная, что начать, Душа не узнает прозрачные дубравы, Дохнет на зеркало и медлит передать Лепешку медную с туманной переправы. 1920 |
("Just for joy, take from my palms")  [Page 84] | ||
1: Voz'mi na radost' iz moix ladonej Nemnogo solnca i nemnogo meda, Kak nam veleli pchely Persefony. Ne otvjazat' neprikreplennoj lodki, Ne uslyxat' v mexa obutoj teni, Ne prevozmoch' v dremuchej zhizni straxa. Nam ostajusja tol'ko pocelui, Moxnatye, kak malen'kie pchely, Chto umirajut, vyletev iz ul'ja. Oni shurshat v prozrachnyx debrjax nochi, Ix rodina -- dremuchij les Tajgeta, Ix pishcha -- vremja, medunica, mjata. Voz'mi zh na radost' dikij moj podarok -- Nevzrachnoe suxoe ozherel'e Iz mertvyx pchel, med prevrativshix v solnce. 1920 |
1: Just for joy, take from my palms A little sun, a little honey, As Persephone's bees commanded. An unfastened boat cannot be untied. A shade shod in fur cannot be heard. In the dense forest of life fear cannot be overcome. Only kisses are left for us. Furry, like small bees That die when they leave the hive. They rustle in transparent thickets of night, Their home is the dense Taiga woods; Their food -- time, honeysuckle, mint. So take and enjoy my passionate gift, A dry, unsightly necklace Of dead bees, who changed honey into sun. |
Возьми на радость из моих ладоней Немного солнца и немного меда, Как нам велели пчелы Персефоны. Не отвязать неприкрепленной лодки, Не услыхать в меха обутой тени, Не превозмочь в дремучей жизни страха. Нам остаются только поцелуи, Мохнатые, как маленькие пчелы, Что умирают, вылетев из улья. Они шуршат в прозрачных дебрях ночи, Их родина -- дремучий лес Тайгета, Их пища -- время, медуница, мята. Возьми ж на радость дикий мой подарок -- Невзрачное сухое ожерелье Из мертвых пчел, мед превративших в солнце. 1920 |
(СУМЕРКИ СВОБОДЫ) (THE TWILIGHT OF FREEDOM)  [Page 86] | ||
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("At a dreadful height, a wandering fire -- ")  [Page 88] | ||
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(ЛАСТОЧКА) (SWALLOW)  [Page 90] | ||
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("If I am to know how to restrain your hands")  [Page 92] | ||
1: Za to, chto ja ruki tvoi ne sumel uderzhat', Za to, chto ja predal solenye nezhnye guby, Ja dolzhen razsveta v dremuchem akropole zhdat'. Kak ja nenavizhu plaxuchie drevnie sruby!< n=42 target="sruby"> Axejskie muzhi vo t'me snarjazhajut konja, Zubchatymi pilami v steny vgryzajutsja krepko, Nikak ne uljazhetsja krovi suxaja voznja, I net dlja tebja ni nazvan'ja, ni zvuka, ni slepka. Kak mog ja podumat', chto ty vozvratish'sja, kak smel! Zachem prezhdevremenno ja ot tebja otorvalsja! Eshche ne razsejalsja mrak, i petux ne propel, Eshche v drevesinu gorjachij topor ne vrezalsja. Prozrachnoj slezoj na stenax prostupila smola, I chuvstvuet gorod svoi derevjannye rebra, No xlynula k lestnicam krov' i na prestup poshla, I trizhdy prisnilsja muzh'jam soblaznitel'nyj obraz. Gde milaja Troja? Gde carskij, gde devichij dom? On budet razrushen, vysokij Priamov skvoreshnik. I padajut strely suxim derevjannym dozhdem, I strely drugie rastut na zemle, kak oreshnik. Poslednej zvezdy bezboleznenno gasnet ukol, I seroju lastochkoj utro v okno postuchitsja, I medlennyj den', kak v solome prosnuvshijsja vol Na stognax, shershavyx ot dolgogo sna, shevelitsja. Dekabr' 1920 |
1: If I am to know how to restrain your hands, If I am to betray the tender, salty lips, I must wait for daybreak in the dense acropolis. How I hate those ancient weeping timbers [*]. Achaian men equip their steeds in darkness. With jagged saws they rip firmly into the walls. The dry fuss of blood does not subside at all, And for you there is no name, no sound, no mold. How could I imagine you'd return! How bold! Why did I lose touch with you so prematurely! The gloom has still not dispersed, The cock has not finished his song, The glowing ax has still not entered the pulp. The resin came forth on the walls like a transparent tear, And the city feels its wooden ribs, But the blood rushed out to the stairs, an attack, And thrice the men dreamed of the seductive figure. Where is pleasant Troy, where is the king's, the maiden's home? Priam's great starling coop will be destroyed, And the arrows will fall as a dry forest rain, And more will spring up like a hazel grove. The last star's sting will be extinguished painlessly, And morning will knock on the window like a grey swallow, And slow day will begin to stir, like an ox in the haystack Just awakened from a long dream. |
За то, что я руки твои не сумел удержать, За то, что я предал соленые нежные губы, Я должен рассвета в дремучем акрополе ждать. Как я ненавижу пахучие древние срубы' Ахейские мужи во тьме снаряжают коня, Зубчатыми пилами в стены вгрызаются крепко, Никак не уляжется крови сухая возня, И нет для тебя ни названья, ни звука, ни слепка. Как мог я подумать, что ты возвратишься, как смел? Зачем преждевременно я от тебя оторвался? Еще не рассеялся мрак и петух не пропел, Еще в древесину горячий топор не врезался. Прозрачной слезой на стенах проступила смола, И чувствует город свои деревянные ребра, Но хлынула к лестницам кровь и на преступ пошла, И трижды приснился мужьям соблазнительный образ. Где милая Троя? Где царский, где девичий дом? Он будет разрушен, высокий Приамов скворешник. И падают стрелы сухим деревянным дождем, И стрелы другие растут на земле, как орешник. Последней звезды безболезненно гаснет укол, И серою ласточкой утро в окно постучится, И медленный день, как в соломе проснувшийся вол, На стогнах, шерешавых от долгого сна, шевелится. 1920 |
("Beneath a veil of milky white")  [Page 94] | ||
1: Isakij pod fatoj molochnoj belizny < n=29 target="struveed2"> Stoit sedoju golubjatnej, I posox beredit sedija tishiny I chin vozdushnyj serdcu vnjatnyj. Stoletnix panixid bluzhdajushchij prizrak, Shirokij vynos plashchanicy, I v vetxom nevode genisaretskij mrak Velikopostnye sedmicy. Vetxozavetnyj dym na teplyx altarjax I iereja vozglas siryj, Smirennik carstvennyj: sneg chistyj na plechax I odichalye porfiry. Sobory vechnye Sofii i Petra, Ambary vozduxa i sveta, Zernoxranilishcha vselenskogo dobra, I rigi novogo zaveta. Ne k vam vlechetsja dux v godiny tjazhkix bed, Sjuda vlachitsja po stupenjam Shirokopasmurnym neschast'ja volchij sled, Emu voveki ne izmenim. Zane svoboden rab, preodolevshij strax, I soxranilos' svyshe mery V proxladnyx zhitnicax, v glubokix zakromax Zerno glubokoj, polnoj very. 1921 |
1: Beneath a veil of milky white [*] Stands Isaac's [*] like a hoary dovecote, The crozier irritates the grey silences, The heart understands the airy rite. The wandering specter of the centennial requiem, The grand bearing of the shroud And in a decrepit seine, the Gennesarian [*] gloom Of the Lenten Week. The Old Testament smoke on warm altars, And the final, orphaned cry [*] of the priest, A regal, humble man: clean snow on his shoulders, And the savage purple mantles. The eternal cathedrals of Sofia and Peter, Storehouses of air and light, the possessions Of the universal granary And the threshing barn of the New Testament. The spirit is not drawn to you in sorely troubled times, Here drags the wolf's track of unhappiness Along the cloudy steps; We will never betray it: For the slave is free, has overcome fear, And preserved beyond measure In the cool granaries, in deep combines, Is the kernel of deep, full faith. |
Исакий под фатой молочной белизны Стоит седою голубятней, И посох бередит седия тишины И чин воздушный сердцу внятный. Столетних панихид блуждающий призрак, Широкий вынос плащаницы, И в ветхом неводе генисаретский мрак Великопостные седмицы. Ветхозаветный дым на теплых алтарях И иерея возглас сирый, Смиренник царственный: снег чистый на плечах И одичалые порфиры. Соборы вечные Софии и Петра, Амбары воздуха и света, Зернохранилища вселенского добра, И риги нового завета. Не к вам влечется дух в годины тяжких бед, Сюда влачится по ступеням Широкопасмурным несчастья волчий след, Ему вовеки не изменим. Зане свободен раб, преодолевший страх, И сохранилось свыше меры В прохладных житницах, в глубоких закромах Зерно глубокой, полной веры. 1921 |
Notes
prunikos: For a more comprehensive examination of the role of Sophia in Symbolist poetry, see my Sophia-Prunikos: The Dualistic Cosmogony of Vladimir Solov'iev and its Consequence in the Life & Work of Aleksandr Blok (MA thesis, unpublished. University of Virginia, 1994)
phedre:The scene here is most likely taken from Racine's Phedre, ('Que ces vains ornements, que ces voiles me pèsent.') and not directly from Euripides' Hippolytus. See Phedre, Sc. III.
shirokomuryj:(Moscow 1990) has shirokoxmuryj, 'widely gloomy or cloudy', instead of temno-buryj,'dark brown'.
winesing:The Russian verb here is almost ambiguous: poju means either 'I sing' or 'I offer, serve'. Though the latter meaning is more likely in this context, the ambiguity may be intentional, considering the "musical" nature of "Italian speech". See also the poem beginning "A phantom scene barely glimmers..."
aurora:Note on Aurora goes here.
moscow:An allusion to the Time of Troubles (1598-1613) in Russia, from the rule of Boris Godunov to that of Mikhail Fyodorovich Romanov. Basically, this poem concerns Theodore's half-brother, Dmitri Carevich, who in 1591 was found in the courtyard of his estate in Uglich, a small town outside of Moscow, with throat mysteriously slashed, thus paving the way for a dynastic crisis.
uglich:Uglich: on the import of Uglich, see Clarence Brown's biography, Mandelstam:"'Uglich' is as familiar a name, and almost as fraught with his meaning, as 'Runnymede,' say, or the 'Alamo.'" (p. 222)
shapka:Note about the Carevich's hat goes here.
candles:three meetings: The Metropolitan of Moscow was consecrated as the Third Rome in 1589, under Theodore I. It is conjectured that the reason for this was that "those who formulated [the doctine] believed the end of the world was approaching and the Last Judgment. They were merely trying to keep Orthodox Christianity alive as a last refuge to the end." (G. Vernadsky, A History of Russia)
pereminalis:(Moscow 1990) has pereminalis', 'shifted their weight (from one foot to another -- presumably to get back on the curb)', instead of lushili semja, 'cracked (sunflower) seeds'.
carevich:bound hands: it is believed that Dmitri was an epileptic
solominka:Solominka: nickname of Princess Salomeia Nikolaevna Andronikova, or, as she was better known in Western Europe, Lou-Andreas Salome.
spish:The Struve edition and (Moscow 1990) both have ne spish' instead of ty spish'. On the surface, the difference seems to be one of opposition in meaning: "When you are not sleeping..." versus "When you are sleeping...". Since the passage is referring to insomnia, it would seem that the first version is more logical. However, since spish here is an imperfective verb, there is no emphasis upon completion of the action; therefore, one reading of the second variant might be "When you are going to sleep (i.e. not yet asleep)...".
matchstick:Mandel'stam is playing with derivations from the root solom-, having to do with straw. Solomka is both a diminutive of soloma, 'straw' (as is solominka), and also the word for 'matchstick'.
feminine:In the past tense in Russian, the gender of the subject can be determined from the form of the verb. In this case, the verb poterjala is feminine, meaning that the subject "I" is a woman.
salamis:Salamis: Ajax accompanied the Greeks with twelve Salaminian ships to the Trojan War.
medusa:medusa: Here, since it is not capitalized, can mean either a generalized Medusa, snakes and all, or a sea-nettle or type of jellyfish. Medusa is the generic term for 'jellyfish' in Russian.
yurodivyj:The original Russian yurodivyj is often applied to a special class of people in Russian medieval society, the so-called "holy fools". So the craziness being implied here is deemed to be of this sacred sort. The 'place' being referred to is a sloboda, a type of settlement or village exempted from normal State obligations.
bytbede:The original Russian byt' bede is a special dative construction meaning 'there will be (it is fated to be) disaster or trouble'. This construction is used by Pushkin in Boris Godunov.
taurides:Taurides: a mountain range in Turkey near the Black Sea. [*****See also the poem beginning "The thick golden stream of honey . . ." (p.35)*****]
baiushki:"Baiu, baiushki. baiu...": the beginning of a well-known Russian lullaby.
quadrigae:quadrigae: L., 'four-horsed chariots.'
skalds:Note about skalds (Scandinavian singers?) here
levite:Note about Levites here
peli:(Moscow 1990) has a variant reading: Nam peli Shuberta -- rodnaja kolybel', 'Shubert was sung for us -- a native cradle (or lullaby, kolibel'naja pesnja).
bezumnoj:(Moscow 1990) has the adjective bezumnoj, 'senseless', instead of zverinjoj, 'savage'.
co:What?/Alright? (Russ. Shto/Vo?): in the Struve & Filippov edition these lines begin "Shto?"/"Co?" which are different pronunciations of the word for 'what' in Russian and Polish (or Ukrainian), respectively. "Vo," on the other hand, is a colloquialism meaning something like 'Alright!'.
vigilij:(Moscow 1990) has the phrase vigilij gorodskix, 'of the town's vigil'
wax:wax:A Slavic method of divination was the spilling of molten wax or lead into cold water. Its final, cooled-off shape would then be interpreted.
pierius:Pierius: A mountain in NE Greece, said to be the first place known where the muses were worshipped.
littlesong:little song: "In the Blacksmith's Shop"
epirus:Epirus: A region in western Greece.
stars:In the Struve edition of Mandelstam's works and thus in (Moscow 1990) these stanzas are preceded by the following three stanzas:
THEODOSIA [*A resort in the Crimea, where Mandelstam lived in 1919]
Theodosia Surrounded by high hills, you
Run down from the mountain with a herd of sheep,
And you sparkle in the dry, clear air
Like rosy, white stones.
The pirate feluccas flounder, the poppies
Of Turkish flags seem to burn in the port,
And the reeds of masts, the elastic crystal of the wave,
And skiff-hammocks hanging on the ropes.
And in all ways, from morning till night
and cried over by everyone, "Yablochko" is sung.
The wind carries away the golden seed --
It was lost, never to return.
But in the alleys, just become dark,
the incapable musicians, huddled in twos and threes,
Begin to sing their improbable variations.
O figures of hook-nosed travellers,
This joyous Mediterranean menagery!
The Turks in their towels wander about
Like chickens at a little inn.
They transport dogs in prison-like wagons,
The dry dust on the streets flies up,
And indifferent among the bazaar fury
Is a monumental cook from a battleship. mir:
world: In current Russian orthography, the Russian word for 'world' is spelled (and pronounced) the same as the word for peace: mir. In 1921, however, the two words were distinguished by the presence of a "hard sign" at the end of the word meaning 'peace'
archangel:Assumption, Archangel, Resurrection: cathedrals in Moscow.
kypris:Kypris: Aphrodite (of Cyprus, one of the chief seats of worship of that goddess).
wolf:Check wolf fairytale
clockhoppers:clock-hoppers:Mandel'stam uses a hyphenated word, chasy-kuznechnik, which combines the word for 'watch, clock' with the word for 'grasshopper'. It is something of a pun: the root of kuznechnik is related to kuznec, 'smith'. The association of the striking of a clock with the hammering on an anvil is suggested by this compound word. The solution to translation offered here does not capture the clarity of Mandel'stam's term.
sazandar:Sazandar: A musician; a member of the National Ensembles of Azerbaiian, Armenia, Georgia, Iran.
kura:Kura: a river in the Caucasus mountains.
dukhan:dukhan:A Caucasian inn. A dukhanshchik is apparently a waiter at one of the inns.
obmanshchika:(Moscow 1990) has the word obmanshchika, 'cheat, fraud'
inn:(Moscow 1990) includes a final stanza:
Chelovek byvaet starym,
A barashek molodym,
I pod mesjacem podzharym
S rozovatym vinnym parom
Poletit shashlychnyj dym...
The person tends to be old,
But the lamb, young,
And under the sinewy moon,
With rosy wine vapor
The smoke of shashlik begins to drift... verbsubj:
The subject of the (feminine) past tense verb zaplela, 'braided', in the original is unclear. Some suggest that it is the feminine noun ljubov', 'love' implied by the second line of the second stanza. On the other hand, it could be an anonymous feminine subject, which might be rendered simply by 'she'.
melpomene:Melpomene: the Muse of Tragedy.
hesper:This poem most likely refers to Tintoretto's painting of Susannah and the Elders, or else by another of several Renaissance artists who painted the scene. The story itself is in the Old Testament Apocrypha
struveed:In the Struve edition and (Moscow 1990), the following lines are included as the sixth stanza of the poem:
I, pravo, ne tvoja vina,
Zachem ocenki i iznanki?
Ty kak narochno sozdana
Dlja komedijnoj perebranki.
It's not your fault, really,
So why the appraisals and reverses?
It's like you were purposely created
For comical bickering. bautta:
bautta: It., 'a black cape with a hood or mask; a cowl.'
aonides:Aonides:The Muses, so-called because Mt. Helicon and the fountain of Aganippe were in Aonia.
sruby:The Russian plural noun sruby designates fellings, or trees that have been cut down for building frames. In (Moscow 1990) this word is modified by the adjective pakuchie, 'odoriferous (because newly hewn)', rather than the adjective used here, plakuchie, 'weeping' (in this case, because of the running sap -- see the fourth stanza)
isaacs:Isaac: the Cathedral of St. Isaac in St. Petersburg
gennesarian:Gennesarian:Gennesar, or Gennesaret, is a biblical town or region N.W. of the Sea of Galilee. It is mentioned in I Maccabees, as well as Luke 5:1, Matthew 14:34, and Mark 6:53. The New Testament reference follows Jesus' walking on water. Perhaps the gloom Mandel'stam is describing derives from the following scene: " . . . they came into the land of Gennesaret. And when the men of that place had knowledge of him, they sent out into all that country round about and brought unto him all that were diseased; And ran through that whole region round about, and began to carry about in beds those that were sick. . ."
cry:cry (Russian, vozglas): no English word can translate this word accurately; it means, roughly, "the final notes of a prayer which are sung or chanted in a loud voice." An alternate translation of this line might be: "And the orphaned final notes of the priest."
kartashev:(Moscow 1990) includes a dedication: A.V. Kartashevu
doppelganger:The epigraph is from Heinrich Heine: "O, my double, o my poor colleague". The epigraph was not originally printed in Tristia.
zarnic:(Moscow 1990) has zarnic instead of resnic
feodosia:***Russian lines of Theodosia go here
dochka: p62 prosti: p62 nevinna: p62 sazandarij:(Moscow 1990) had sazandarej (genitive plural noun) instead of sazandarij (nominative masculine singular adjective).
obmanshchika:(Moscow 1990) has the word obmanshchika, 'cheat, fraud'
imjatvoe:A variant of the comparison legche...chem vymolvit' -- ljubit' in (Moscow 1990) is chem imja tvoe povtorit'.
xochuja:The last four lines of this poem in (Moscow 1990) read:
I vse, chego xochu ja,
Ja vizhu najavu.
Ja bol'she ne revnuju,
No ja tebja zovu. xrapitidyshit:
The second line of the third stanza in (Moscow 1990) reads: I xrapit i dyshit t'ma.
pritina:(Moscow 1990) has pritina instead of pritona.
struveed:In the Struve edition and (Moscow 1990), the following lines are included as the sixth stanza of the poem:
I, pravo, ne tvoja vina,
Zachem ocenki i iznanki?
Ty kak narochno sozdana
Dlja komedijnoj perebranki.
It's not your fault, really,
So why the appraisals and reverses?
It's like you were purposely created
For comical bickering. iten:
Instead of the line V teni ot shapochki tvoej, (Moscow 1990) has I ten' ot shapochki tvoej.
zerkalce:(Moscow 1990) has zerkalce instead of zerkalo.
zhaloby:(Moscow 1990) has zhaloby instead of shalosti.
struveed2:The first five lines in (Moscow 1990) differ significantly. The first two stanzas read:
Ljublju pod svodami sedyja tishiny
Molebnov, panixid bluzhdan'e
I trogatel'nyj chin -- emu zhe vse dolzhny, --
U Isaaka otpevan'e.
Ljublju svjashchennika netoroplivyj shag,
Shirokij vynos plashchanicy
I v vetxom nevode Genisaretskij mrak
Velikopostnyja sedmicy. Imagism: