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Paradise Lost. John Milton. Selected Poems: Keats. And for whatever reason, I have a very hard time reading 'tribute to Given these facts--which are about me, not the bo Tsvetaeva is fascinating, the translation if readable and has a wonderful rhythm, but I have very low tolerance for, as the blub itself puts it, a lyrical diary that pays hommage to other poets. Given these facts--which are about me, not the book--this is a pretty solid volume. When Marina's imagining herself as an aged grandmother hitting on the young men, it's fun.
The poems to Alya are very moving.
Some of the narratives are masterpieces of compression. She's funny, she's smart, and the context for the volume makes it worth a look: Tsetaeva wrote these poems during the chaotic years after the revolution, while her husband was away fighting the Bolsheviks.
May 19, Antonio Delgado rated it really liked it. These poems are a diverse collection. Their unity resides in the time of their composition. However, many themes, such as feminism and freedom, appear in different variations and with similar repetitions. Very uneven, but worth sifting through.
A favorite: A red bow for my hair! A red bow for my hair! When the wind blows cold, when the moon is chill, he stands outside the tent, salt pillar in the field. This is your own heart calling you!
The sentry looks northwards and then looks to the south, to the east, to the west. No yawning while on duty!
November 10th Oct 17, Jeffrey Wright rated it it was amazing. The only thing on my bucket list is to put flowers on Marina Tsvetaeva's grave in the snow. Rings, songs, dance and heartache fill the pages in taut but supple stanzas. Love and loss are woven into golden braids full of spirit and spunk. All the poems were written between and when half the population of Moscow died. This upper class titan felt the full brunt of the Revolution, losing everything, even one of her two children.
Yet she maintained a solid core of determination, defiance an The only thing on my bucket list is to put flowers on Marina Tsvetaeva's grave in the snow. Yet she maintained a solid core of determination, defiance and divinity. She will bowl you over like a cannon ball.
Moscow In The Plague Year by Marina Tsvetaeva, Christopher Whyte | Waterstones
Absolutely stunning. Apr 21, Rachel rated it liked it Shelves: poetry. The translation is perfectly nice, the concept is interesting, and it's always wonderful to have more Tsvetaeva in translation. A delightful gift for the diehards of which I am one but hard to recommend to the casual reader. Good, but I've read other translations that were more lively.
Lots of poems about her boyfriends but the most touching tell of her daughter's death. Mar 25, metaphor rated it it was ok Shelves: poetry , marina-tsvetaeva.
All I could steal, one meagre little hour out of eternity. One hour for […] love from start to finish. Aug 10, Matthieu rated it really liked it. I edited this book. Erica rated it liked it Mar 06, Sarah Moga rated it liked it Sep 16, Tesni rated it really liked it Feb 08, Bill Magee rated it liked it Jul 22, Dustin Kurtz rated it really liked it Oct 12, Cheryl rated it it was ok Aug 22, Diana rated it it was amazing Jan 13, Hannah rated it really liked it Apr 08, Beth rated it really liked it Jul 13, Ivan Gagatko rated it it was amazing Jul 01, Michael Lloyd-Billington rated it really liked it May 21, Neal rated it it was amazing Sep 11, Nicholas Hudson rated it it was amazing Sep 26, Anna rated it really liked it Nov 16, Maia rated it really liked it Oct 03, Adina Ailoaiei rated it did not like it Dec 02, There are no discussion topics on this book yet.
About Marina Tsvetaeva. Marina Tsvetaeva. She always carried everything she has to say to its conceivable and expressible end. In both her poetry and her prose, nothing remains hanging or leaves a feeling of ambivalence. Tsvetaeva is the unique case in which the paramount spiritual experience of an epoch for us, the sense of ambivalence, of contradictoriness in the nature of human existence served not as the object of expression but as its means, by which it was transformed into the material of art.
Joseph Brodsky While your eyes follow me into the grave, write up the whole caboodle on my cross!