Tag Archives: poetry

Saturday Night Poetry: Pushkin

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Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve done one of these. That’s sad, as I used to do this nearly every week when I had my old blog.

Tonight’s poem is by Aleksandr Pushkin, the father of Russian literature. It’s called “It’s time, my friend, it’s time!” and it has a very special place in my heart. When I was in second-year Russian over three years ago, I memorized this little poem (in Russian, of course) for an oral exam.

This translation is mine – don’t be too harsh in judging it. I fully admit I am a terrible translator of poetry.

It’s time, my friend, it’s time! the heart demands peace – 
Day by day flies by, and each hour takes away
A small part of existence, but we together
Intend to live, and look – at once – we die.
In the world is no happiness, but there is peace and free will.
Long have I dreamed of another lot –
Long have I, a tired slave, planned an escape
To a faraway abode of labor and pure delights.

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Saturday Night Poetry: Mayakovsky, ‘Past one o’clock’

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Back in the day, I ran a political blog. It was fun for a while, but then I got tired of it and eventually started a new blog, this fabulous one you’re reading right now. On my old blog, I ran a feature every Saturday called Saturday Night Poetry. I like poetry, especially from random foreign poets, so I’ve decided to restart this feature. Tonight’s poet is Vladimir Mayakovsky, a poet who supported the Bolshevik Revolution, then became disillusioned and committed suicide. Part of this poem was at the end of his suicide note.

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

(English translation from here.)

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(Depressing) Russian Poetry

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We are doing a poetry unit in Russian right now and all the poems are so depressing. We have read some Anna Akhmatova and next week we will read Marina Tsvetaeva’s work. Here is one of my favorite Tsvetaeva poems. The translation is not mine – I found it here and I actually approve of it. (I am exceedingly picky about translations, so I do not give my approval often!)

I like it that you’re burning not for me,
I like it that it’s not for you I’m burning
And that the heavy sphere of Planet Earth
Will underneath our feet no more be turning
I like it that I can be unabashed
And humorous and not to play with words
And not to redden with a smothering wave
When with my sleeves I’m lightly touching yours.

I like it, that before my very eyes
You calmly hug another; it is well
That for me also kissing someone else
You will not threaten me with flames of hell.
That this my tender name, not day nor night,
You will recall again, my tender love;
That never in the silence of the church
They will sing “halleluiah” us above.

With this my heart and this my hand I thank
You that – although you don’t know it -
You love me thus; and for my peaceful nights
And for rare meetings in the hour of sunset,
That we aren’t walking underneath the moon,
That sun is not above our heads this morning,
That you – alas – are burning not for me
And that – alas – it’s not for you I’m burning.

The basic background information you need to know to understand this poem is that Tsvetaeva fell in love with her sister’s husband. Nothing happened between them, as far as I know (but she did have other affairs).

Tsvetaeva is one of my favorite poets. Sometimes I think I like her more than I like Akhmatova but to be honest, I like them both equally, in different ways.

On Saturday Nights, I Read Russian Poetry

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It’s true, my friends. I sometimes go out to dinner with friends, but I always like my dose of Russian poetry after I get back to my room.

I have read this Mayakovsky poem innumerable times. He used a variation of it for his suicide note. Very depressing, yes, but still an excellent poem.

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.
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