Imagine what a pearl is...
How the essence is hidden in it wisely:
A grain of sand is surrounded by talent
The fruits of mother-of-pearl’s labors...
Its size and purity are valued;
Critical, knowledgeable,
Everyone looks at the smoothness of the surface,
Forgetting what's inside her body...
And who here will remember about Oyster,
By whose grace a grain of sand
Becomes a pearl of skill,
Pearls with secret filling...
I asked once, under water,
Your friend the oyster:
“What suddenly happens to you,
Have you often started to frown?
Can't hide the suffering in your eyes...
No, no, but you hear “Oh!” and "Ah!"
“Oh, I feel bad, day by day!
My mood is useless!
Such pain gnaws at me! --
In response, my friend hears -
I agree that not everyone will understand!..
Will I be able to endure it any longer?
It's all about growing in me
Heavy... and round!
“But it’s a sin for me to complain!
Health, mood,
More than once I surprise everyone...
God bless you...
Everything is much deeper
My friend,
Everything is much deeper.
The scent of a flower
Warming up
Flame of the stars.
A fallen maple leaf contains
A whole autumn sunset.
A drop of moisture from the cornice
They're ringing
Malachites of the spring plains.
Snowflake spark
Playing
Ice of polar nights.
Everything is much more
My friend,
Everything is much closer.
One has opened and the other is a bud
It has not blossomed, but how sweet it is.
The beloved picked the bud and, surprised
The pearl has not yet been drilled.
He asked: “Who saved these pearls?”
And who protected the flower from the wind? -
She said: “Even in the age of love”
I couldn't pick a bud in my garden.
A pearl was born in the sea
Women wear them on their chests
Some have pearls
Attracts the eye
And others don’t shine at all
Some have sparkling pearls
Come to life on a trembling chest
Others' pearls die
The same goes for men...
We are very sensitive
Sergei Sergeevich was born on April 19, 1879 in the village of Lipovka, Eletsk district Oryol province in the family of an official of the Ministry of Agriculture, a member State Council Sergei Sergeevich Bekhteev. In 1903, Bekhteev graduated from the St. Petersburg Alexander Lyceum and served as an officer in the Cavalry Regiment. Since the beginning of the First World War I have been in active army, twice wounded, was treated in Kislovodsk, where, having learned about the abdication of Emperor Nicholas II, he wrote the poems “To the Tsar’s Eagles”, “Free Word”, “Rus is Burning”. He moved to Orel, then to Yelets, where he wrote the famous “Prayer” and a number of poems that were transmitted Royal family already in custody.
During Civil War Bekhteev joined Volunteer Army, together with the troops, was evacuated from Crimea and then lived in exile in Europe. Since 1920 - in Serbia. From 1929 until the end of his life, Bekhteev lived in France, in Nice, where he was the church warden of the Russian Orthodox church in honor of the icon Mother of God“Derzhavnaya” spared no effort and resources to organize the church. Bekhteev died on May 4, 1954 and was buried in the Concard Russian cemetery in Nice.
“You cannot put shackles on my songs:
Even the dead will sing enthusiastically
About God, the King and freedom! -”,
- the poet himself wrote about himself.
His work is the pearl of Russian poetry, and he himself is the guardian of the Russian word. In his work, Bekhteev is as wise as a philosopher; historically truthful and accurate, like a scientist-historian; strict and fair as a teacher; imaginative and bright, like an artist; elegant and sophisticated, like a stylist. And Orthodox. Bekhteev is an extraordinary personality for the 20th century.
He formulated the Russian idea specifically and clearly in the brilliant poem “Rus”: Country of elemental scope, Country of villainy and goodness, Country of Monomakh’s heritage, Country Tushino thief. The land of great possibilities, the land of mysterious wonders, the land of demons and wild orgies, the land of shrines, the land of Heaven.
The fact that Bekhteev was unknown in the USSR is understandable. But Bekhteev was unknown to Russian emigrants, although he lived in Europe for 34 years. In 1926 he was editor of the newspaper “Russian Flag” in Belgrade. In Serbia he published poems in periodicals; in 1923, two collections of his poems, “Songs of Russian Sorrow and Tears,” were published in Munich. In 1925, his autobiographical novel in verse, “Two Letters,” was published in Nice, and in 1927, a collection of poems, “Songs of the Heart,” was published in Belgrade. In 1934, Bekhteev published the collection “The Tsar's Guslar”, and in 1949-1952 four collections called “Holy Rus'”. Five publications - in France!
The flower of the Russian emigration did not hear the poet; I was not able to find his name in any of the indexes about figures of the Russian foreign literary, historical, poetic and cultural elite.
For the first time after 1917, Bekhteev’s poems were published in Russia in 1997 in Moscow and Podolsk, but not all of them, but only two collections of the cycle “Songs of Russian Sorrow and Tears.” Only on the 125th anniversary of Bekhteev’s birth and the 50th anniversary of Bekhteev’s death, the only sufficiently complete collection of his poems was published by the Assumption Metochion of Optina Pustyn in St. Petersburg.
Finally, in 2008, a wonderful monograph about Bekhteev appeared, written by the Voronezh writer V.K. Nevyarovich and published in St. Petersburg by the patriotic publishing house “Tsarskoe Delo” for the 130th anniversary of the birth of S.S. Bekhteev with the blessing of His Eminence Veniamin, Archbishop of Vladivostok and Primorsky. Probably many have heard and sung such beautiful Russian songs as “Holy Night”, “Prayer”, “The Dead Have No Shame”, “The End of the Russian Epic”, “Ringer”, “ Double headed eagle", "God, give us the Tsar", "Let us pray to the Lord in peace", but they do not know that they were written by Sergei Sergeevich Bekhteev.
Today we, like the old woman from Pushkin’s fairy tale, are sitting “at broken trough" A scattering of “eternal” questions swarms in the heads of the liberal intelligentsia: “What to do?”, “Where to start?”, “Where to go?” Bekhteev answers these questions in the poem “Back”:
No, not forward, back, back
To the graves of glorious generations,
Where the keen eye is so captivating
Our original Russian genius...
Back to sacred antiquity
Back to the desecrated shrines,
To the humble royal country,
Inaccessible to pride...
Back to the forgotten altars
To the stalled cells of Motstyra,
Back to the ascetic Kings,
To our heroic epics!
The main goal of all Bekhteev’s work is the future restoration Orthodox faith in Russia and the resurrection of Rus':
During the years of bloody unrest and adversity
I believe in Russia! - I believe in the people,
I believe that the years of suffering will pass,
That people will understand their damnation.
Elena DUNAEVA-RECTOR,
Cleveland, USA
Anna Akhmatova's poems are unlike any other; they have a special depth and charm. They get deep into the soul and make you think about the most important things in life. Her lines will be interesting to both women and men of any age!
Anna had a hard life rich life. There was war, famine, repression. But she was able not only to survive, but also to preserve her talent and willpower, reflected in her poems.
We have selected the best of them, poems that have forever left a bright mark on history:
I learned to live simply and wisely,
Look at the sky and pray to God,
And wander for a long time before evening,
To tire out unnecessary anxiety.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
And the bunch of yellow-red rowan will fade,
I write funny poems
About life that is perishable, perishable and beautiful.
I'm coming back. Licks my palm
Fluffy cat, purrs sweetly,
And the fire burns bright
On the turret of the lake sawmill.
Only occasionally the silence cuts through
The cry of a stork flying onto the roof.
And if you knock on my door,
I don't think I'll even hear it.
Twenty first. Night. Monday.
The outlines of the capital in the darkness.
Composed by some slacker,
What love happens on earth.
And out of laziness or boredom
Everyone believed, and so they live:
Looking forward to dates, afraid of separation
AND love songs sing.
But to others the secret is revealed,
And silence will fall upon them...
I came across this by accident
And since then everything seems to be sick.
She clasped her hands under a dark veil...
“Why are you pale today?”
Because I am tartly sad
Got him drunk.
How can I forget? He came out staggering
The mouth twisted painfully...
I ran away without touching the railing,
I ran after him to the gate.
Gasping for breath, I shouted: “It’s a joke.
All that has gone before. If you leave, I will die."
Smiled calmly and creepily
And he told me: “Don’t stand in the wind.”
And the stone word fell
On my still living chest.
It’s okay, because I was ready.
I'll deal with this somehow.
I have a lot to do today:
We must completely kill our memory,
It is necessary for the soul to turn to stone,
We must learn to live again.
Otherwise... The hot rustle of summer
It's like a holiday outside my window.
I've been anticipating this for a long time
Bright day and empty house.
(From the poem "Requiem")
The evening light is wide and yellow,
The April cool is gentle.
You're many years late
But still, I'm glad to see you.
Sit here closer to me,
Look with cheerful eyes:
This blue notebook -
With my children's poems.
I'm sorry that I lived in sorrow
And I was little happy about the sun.
Sorry, sorry, what about you
I accepted too many.
There is a cherished quality in the closeness of people,
She cannot be overcome by love and passion, -
Let the lips merge in eerie silence
And the heart is torn to pieces by love.
And friendship here is powerless even for years
High and fiery happiness,
When the soul is free and alien
The slow languor of voluptuousness.
Those who strive for her are mad, and her
Those who have achieved are struck with melancholy...
Now you understand why my
The heart does not beat under your hand.
These lines will live forever! If you liked the poems, don't forget to give it a thumbs up!)
Oleg ZOIN
Albatross
CHARLES BAUDLER
ALBATROSS
At times the blues eat away at the sailors,
And they are for the sake of idle fun then
They catch birds of the Ocean, large albatrosses,
Seeing off the court on the stormy road.
Roughly thrown onto the deck, a victim of violence,
The disgraced king of the blue heights,
Lowering his gigantic white wings,
He, like oars, drags them heavily behind him.
Only recently, beautiful, soaring towards the clouds,
He became so powerless, ridiculous, and ridiculous!
He smokes stinking tobacco into his beak,
He, mockingly, hobbles after him.
So, Poet, you are soaring under a thunderstorm, in a hurricane,
Inaccessible to arrows, rebellious to fate,
But walking on earth amidst whistling and swearing
Gigantic wings are in your way.
Translation by V. Levik
WIKIPEDIA briefly but meaningfully reports about the translator Wilhelm Löwick:
Wilhelm Veniaminovich Levik (December 31, 1906 (January 13, 1907), Kyiv - September 16, 1982, Moscow) - Russian poet-translator, literary critic, artist. Translated Shakespeare, Byron, Baudelaire, Goethe, Schiller, Heine, La Fontaine, Mickiewicz, Ronsard, Du Bellay, Camoens, Petrarch, Gautier, Lenau and others.
Many famous poets, translators and writers noted that Levik's translations differ high culture, poetry and accuracy in conveying the original. Wrote a series theoretical works, which are dedicated to both problems literary translation, and the work of major European poets.
Born in Kyiv. From 1921, for two years, he attended free art studio. In 1924, he moved with his family to Moscow and entered VKHUTEMAS, from which he graduated in 1930 with an artist’s diploma.
Levik completed his first completed translation from Heinrich Heine (“All the trees began to sound…”) at the age of sixteen, and was published in 1938 big job— translation of Heine’s poem “Germany. Winter's Tale" By the early 1940s, Levik was already deservedly called an outstanding poet-translator. Sixty years later, even the most severe critics recognized and confirmed this: “Levik was a master... He translated brilliantly... He also translated the lyrics beautifully” (Viktor Toporov). In 1947, Wilhelm Veniaminovich published a book of his translations from Pierre de Ronsard. This work, carried out by Levik in difficult front-line conditions, is rightly ranked among his best and highest literary achievements...
https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%9B%D0%B5%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%BA,_%D0%92%D0%B8%D0%BB%D1%8C %D0%B3%D0%B5%D0%BB%D1%8C%D0%BC_%D0%92%D0%B5%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B0%D0%BC%D0%B8% D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%B8%D1%87
Enjoy reading!..
A drop from above fell into the abyss.
There were waves; the wind howled.
But God, seeing the ardor of humble faith,
Gave the drop the highest hardness.
The shell took her into itself,
And here in the crown of the ruler of the state,
Recognition of valor and glory,
The pearl shines, beautiful and bright.
Konstantin Dmitrievich Balmont
In the sink
Konstantin Dmitrievich Balmont (1867-1942)
Where have you been, Pearl?
when was I waiting for you?
- I was hiding in the sink,
and waited there - lovingly.
- What are you talking about, Pearl?
there thinking in silence?
- About joy, about sweetness
about the happiness of the soul.
- And what are you wearing, Pearl?
did you find happiness?
- In a trembling of consciousness,
that I will ascend high is light.
- Did you know, Pearl,
that I will break your tower?
- He was dark, I’m light,
I only love light.
- Did you know, Pearl,
what awaits you after?
- I am the reflection of the Moons, I am the reflection of the Suns,
my path is to shine lovingly.
Valery Yakovlevich Bryusov
A person dies, his soul, indestructible, escapes and lives a different life. But if the deceased was an artist, if he hid his life in sounds, colors or words, his soul is still the same, alive both for the earth and for humanity.
(article “On Art” 1899)
Hands forever young
Not daring to miss a moment,
Gold beads
On a silver thread.
Large pearls, small pearls
They lower from morning to morning,
Yellow pearls, scarlet pearls
White silver thread.
Who are you, joyful parks,
Are you workers of the courts?
The threads are colorful, the threads are bright,
In the white glare I went blind.
Isn't my life those threads?
Pearls - women's hearts?
Parks are prophetic, lower
A bright pearl through and through!
Choose, choose
Pearls are large and simple,
Complete the pearl circle
Fast-lowering needle!
The thread is almost full! a little bit
All that remains is a bead, and so
Gold plated clasp
Necklace - Death - will close!
Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilyov
Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilyov (April 3, 1886, Kronstadt - August 26, 1921, near Petrograd) - Russian poet Silver Age, creator of the school of Acmeism, translator, literary critic, African explorer, officer, monarchist.
Russian poet of the Silver Age. I wrote poetry since childhood. The first book of his poems was published at the expense of his parents after graduating from high school. This collection of poems received the attention of V.Ya. Bryusov. In 1910, a collection of poems by N. Gumilyov “Pearls” was published, with a dedication “to my teacher Valery Bryusov.” The collection consists of three cycles: “Black Pearl”, “Grey Pearl”, “Pink Pearl”. The collection receives praise from V. Bryusov and other critics. In 1912, N. Gumilyov announced the emergence of a new artistic movement - Acmeism. (The desire for a subject-specific, detailed image of the world, for returning the word to its original, non-symbolic meaning). During the First World War, N. Gumilyov volunteered for the army (many poets wrote patriotic poems, but few of them went to the front), took part in hostilities, and was awarded St. George's Cross. On August 3, 1921, N. Gumilyov was arrested on suspicion of participation in a conspiracy, and on the night of August 26, he and 56 other people were shot. The place of execution and burial are still unknown. There is a monument to N. Gumilev in Koktebel, but there is no grave.
From the series “Pearl Gray”
* * *
Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev. World War I.
He swore an oath in the strict temple
In front of the Madonna statue,
That he will be faithful to the lady,
The one whose gaze is unyielding.
And I forgot about the secret marriage,
Spreading caresses everywhere,
At night he was stabbed to death in a fight
And he came to the threshold of heaven.
“Didn’t you swear in my temple,”
Madonna's speech was made, -
That you will be faithful to the lady,
The one whose gaze is unyielding?
Move away, not these harvests
Collected by the Almighty King,
Who broke the word of the oath,
In the Kingdom of God he is superfluous.”
But, sad and stubborn,
He fell at the feet of the Madonna:
"I haven't met a lady anywhere,
The one whose gaze is unyielding."
* * *
And it seems that in the world, as before, there are countries
Where no human foot has gone before,
Where giants live in sunny groves
And pearls shine in the clear water.
Fragrant resins flow from the trees,
Patterned leaves babble: “Hurry,
Bees of red gold are hovering here,
Here the roses are redder than the purple of kings!”
And the dwarfs and the birds argue over nests,
And the girls have a delicate facial profile...
As if not all the stars have been counted,
As if our world is not completely open!
"Captains" 1910 excerpt
The poem “Pearl Seekers” was written by N. Gumilev in 1906.
From dawn
We are like dreams;
We are kings
Depths.
Gentle, brave
Our scope
Our bodies
Glitter in the waters.
The world is beautiful...
Let's hurry,
Here's the low tide
We're behind him.
Zhemchugov
And jellyfish
I'm ready
Full load.
Will float
Our shuttle
All forward
To the East.
Tender wives
There are gardens
Affectionate ringing
Angry water.
Let's visit
Shores,
We'll give it back
Pearls.
Dream of the depths
Joy of jets
In one
Kiss.
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin (1870 - 1953) - Russian writer and poet, first laureate Nobel Prize in literature (1933) from Russia. Born in Voronezh, died and was buried in Paris. Was personally acquainted with A. P. Chekhov, K. D. Balmont, and V. Ya. Bryusov
Bunin is a first-class poet of the pure, so to speak, “Castal” school. His poems have not yet been appreciated. Among them there are true masterpieces in expressiveness and conveyance of elusive things.
All his life Bunin waited for happiness, wrote about human happiness, and looked for ways to achieve it. He found it in his poetry, prose, in his love for life and for his homeland and said great words that happiness is given only to those who know.
Bunin lived a complex, sometimes contradictory life. He saw a lot, knew a lot, loved and hated a lot, worked a lot, sometimes made cruel mistakes, but all his life his greatest, most tender, unchanging love was Mother country, Russia.
(K. G. Paustovsky “Ivan Bunin” 1961)
Bunin
In his poems there are cheerful drops,
Mountain slopes shining with mica,
And sung by the young birch
Song to the sun. AND spring waters font.
The verse is as transparent as northern April.
Then he runs like running water,
It glows like a cold star,
It has some kind of cheerful sober hops.
The comfort of the estates during leaf fall.
The good joy of loneliness.
Gun. Dog. Gray Eye.
Soul and air are bound in crystal.
Fireplace. Wine. Mild steel nib.
Longing for the alienated woman.
1925
(Igor Severyanin 1887-1941)
* * *
Delicate pearls are dear to me, the pure gift of the seas!
In the bosom of the ocean, in a cramped shell,
He grew up alone, like an unknown flower,
On the wreckage of mossy dead ships.
Thrown from the bottom by a spring storm,
He lay in the surf on the wild coast,
Where the seagulls flew over the water screaming,
Where he was rocked by a noisy wave...
Delicate pearls on your chest are dear to me!
Sweetly reveling in youthful beauty,
In God's bright world I wander with a dream, -
In the sky, in the shine of the sun, in the silence of the seas,
Blooming with sea pearls underwater,
I crumble into the reefs with blue moisture -
And there is only one happiness: to share with you
This joy of life, this beauty!
1901
Novella Nikolaevna Matveeva
Novella Nikolaevna Matveeva 1959 (1934 - 2016) - Russian poetess, prose writer, translator, bard, playwright, literary critic.
Novella Matveeva wrote poetry from childhood (her mother was a literature teacher and poetess). It has been published since 1958, and the first collection of poems was published in 1961. In the same year she was accepted into the USSR Writers' Union. In 1962, she graduated from the Higher Literary Courses at the Literary Institute named after A.M. Gorky. In 1963, she married Ivan Kiura (a graduate of the same institute). Since the late 1950s, she has been performing songs based on her own poems to the accompaniment of a seven-string guitar. In 1966, the first record in the USSR with a recording of her original songs was released (for the Melodiya company it was the first record with bard songs, the record became a rarity). In 1996, her book of memoirs, “The Ball Left in the Sky,” was published.
IN last years lived in a dacha near Moscow and worked on translations of Shakespeare's sonnets. Novella Nikolaevna Matveeva left a huge archive of unpublished works. She died on September 4, 2016.
She had a thin and gentle voice (sometimes it seems that a child is singing). My favorite songs are: “The Girl from the Tavern” (“You were afraid of my love in vain”) and “Wind” (“What a big wind ...”). Check out youtube.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeKYtmW8u6Q (“Girl from the tavern” Spanish Veronica Dolina)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBbTmDQeLbE (“The Girl from the Tavern” Spanish Tatyana Doronina)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-AvtXzi8tc “Wind”
Pearl
A pearl lives in a coral forest,
Looks like a drop of fog.
Lulls her for centuries
The buzz of the blue ocean.
I wonder if she will ever be found
Pearl catcher: tenacious like a vine,
A Ceylonese or a son of foreign latitudes.
Mighty, like the tail of Leviathan.
Who's to say? - whether its price is great or small
There, under water, where prices are not set?
I am immersed in its radiance, as if in a dream,
She doesn't notice the danger.
But they will give her a price. And her dreams - at a price -
Scared away. And these dreams are more valuable than herself.
1959-1964
Haiku and tanka
Haiku (or haiku - this name was proposed by the Japanese poet and critic Masaoka Shiki only in the 19th century) is a lyrical tercet. Most Popular Genre Japanese poetry worldwide. This genre originated in the 14th century, but became independent only in the 16th century. At the court of every Japanese emperor there was a poet who composed haiku; for his talent in writing tercet, the emperor granted him wealth and even a title. The most outstanding and recognized master haiku is considered Matsuo Basho.
Matsuo Basho (1644, Ueno, Iga Province - 1694, Osaka) - Japanese poet, verse theorist, who played a large role in the formation poetic genre haiku (haiku). Born and raised in a samurai family. Basho created the haiku genre as it appears to us in given time, it was he who filled it with philosophical content. Behind the images of nature, landscape lyrics- the thoughts and moods of the author, even understatement (you need to think, think through, think up the tercet - after all, admiration for flowers, precious stones it could be chanting female beauty, comparison of pearls with drops of water, dew, tears - this is the purity and beauty of these phenomena) Haiku is a unique genre of Japanese and world poetry.
Matsuo Basho (real name Matsuo Munefusa)
She closed her mouth tightly
sea shell
Unbearable heat!
Translator V. Markova
Tanka (translated from Japanese - “ short song") is an unrhymed five-line verse, one of the oldest genres of Japanese poetry. Poems about love, feelings, separation, landscape lyrics, etc. The origins of the tank are folk legends.
Ariwara Narihira
I will collect and hide white pearls,
What does a noisy waterfall scatter:
In moments of sadness
In this mortal world
It will replace streams of bright tears!.. Translator A. Gluskina
Ariwara Narihira
That's right, someone is near the waterfall
Breaks the threads of necklaces, -
White pearls are falling all the time
Colored edges
Satin sleeves... Translator A. Gluskina
Ariwara Narihira
If people ask:
“Tell us, what was that?
Pearls of great price?
Answer: “A drop of dew
She was in a hurry to disappear at dawn.” Translator V. Markova
Izumi Shikibu
The thread broke
And the pearls roll down
One by one...
So, that's right, you think, looking
To the tears from my eyes. Translator: T. Sokolova-Delyusina
http://japanpoetry.ru/tanka – site of Japanese poetry (poems from this site)
There may be a reason for the origin of haiku and tanka in Shintoism. Shintoism (from the Japanese “shin” - deity and “to” - path, that is, “the path of the gods”) - national, state religion Japan, finally took shape in the VI-VII centuries. It is based on the worship of gods and the forces of nature, the harmonious existence of man with the surrounding world (living in harmony with nature).
Omar Khayyam
Giyasaddun Abul Fath ibn Ibrahim Omar Khayyam Nishapuri (1048-1131)
Omar Khayyam was born in 1048 in Nishapur. At that time Nishapur was a trading and cultural center Khorasan province (northeast Iran), the city was famous for its madrassas and famous library. After studying at hometown Omar Khayyam continued his studies in Balkh, Samarkand, Bukhara and Isfahan. He studied mathematics and physics, history, philosophy, medicine, philology and music theory, works ancient Greek thinkers V Arabic translation. He was an outstanding scientist (mathematician and astronomer) and an outstanding philosopher of his time, but throughout the centuries he remained a great Persian poet thanks to his famous quatrains (rubais).
Rubaiyat - form lyric poetry in the Near and Middle East, but this is not just lyrics, this is also philosophical reflection and everything fits in four lines, that is, the quatrain should be concise and succinct, simple and understandable. The rubai of Omar Khayyam - vivid pictures of life and human relationships - are immortal.
* * *
If you need pearls, you need to become a diver
And four skills to cultivate in yourself:
To trust a friend who is ready to give up his life,
Don’t breathe and dive into the seething abyss!
The one who has learned the secrets of the spirit in his heart,
He reads in the hearts of no matter who stands in front of him.
He himself is the sea, a diver and priceless pearls!
Delve into the wisdom of what I just said!
Translation: Nina Grigorievna Tenigina
* * *
How a pearl needs complete darkness -
So suffering is necessary for the soul and mind.
Have you lost everything and your soul is empty?
This cup will fill itself again!
Translation: German Plisetsky
* * *
Instead of gold and pearls with amber
We will choose another wealth for ourselves:
Take off your clothes, cover your body with old clothes,
But even in pathetic rags - remain a king!
Translation: German Plisetsky
* * *
I did not knit prayer beads from pearls,
And I did not erase the ashes of sins from my face,
I hope for salvation only because I
I never called one two.
Translation: Leonid Nekora
Website: http://hayam.spinners.ru/rubaiyat/0
Osip Mandelstam
Osip Emilievich Mandelstam (1891-1938)
Osip Emilievich Mandelstam (birth name - Joseph; born into a Jewish family in 1891 in Warsaw - died in 1938, in a transit camp near Vladivostok) - Russian poet, translator (fluent in French, English and German languages), prose writer, essayist, literary critic. One of the greatest Russian poets of the 20th century.
He received his primary education in St. Petersburg, where his family moved in 1897. 1907-1910 he studied at the Sorbonne and the University of Heidelberg (the oldest and one of the most prestigious universities Germany), but due to the financial situation of the family, he was again forced to return to St. Petersburg and continue his education in Russia.
The first publications of poems were in the Apollo magazine, 1910, and the first collection of poems, “Stone,” was published in 1913.
He was familiar with Nikolai Gumilyov and Anna Akhmatova, Alexander Blok, Anastasia and Marina Tsvetaeva, Boris Pasternak. It was Boris Pasternak, to whom Osip Mandelstam read the poem “We live without feeling the country beneath us,” who would call these 16 lines “an act of suicide.” For this “epigram on Stalin,” which he read in public, he would be arrested for the first time in 1934 and sent into exile, although the exile would later be replaced by living in Voronezh. In 1937 he returned to Moscow. In 1938 new arrest and a sentence of five years in a forced labor camp. He will die in the transit camp and be buried in mass grave. The location of the poet's grave is still unknown exactly. Rehabilitated posthumously: in the case of 1938 - in 1956, in the case of 1934 - in 1987.
He was married to Nadezhda Yakovlevna Khazina (1899-1980). She did not leave him during the years of persecution, shared his exile, and did everything to preserve poetic heritage husband She wrote memoirs - “Memoirs” and “Second Book”.
Sink
Maybe you don't need me
Night; from the abyss of the world,
Like a shell without pearls
I am washed up on your shore.
You indifferently foam the waves
And you sing incoherently,
But you will love, you will appreciate
Unnecessary shell lie.
You will lie down on the sand next to her,
You will dress with your robe,
You will be inextricably linked with her
A huge bell of swells,
And the fragile shell of the wall,
Like a house of an uninhabited heart,
You will fill me with whispers of foam,
Fog, wind and rain...
