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Moscow Notebooks
Mandelstam was one of the great Russian poets of the twentieth century, with a prophetic understanding of its suffering. This contains the poems of his years of persecution, from his journey to Armenia in 1930 until 1934, when he was arrested and exiled to the Urals for writing an unflattering poem about Stalin. Written and preserved by a miracle, his poems have become in Peter Levi's description "all gems and ingots" in the McKanes' translations.
- GenresPoetryRussiaLiterature
96 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1934
66 people want to read
About the author
Osip Mandelstam
302 books246 followersOsip Emilyevich Mandelstam (also spelled Osip Mandelshtam, Ossip Mandelstamm) (Russian: Осип Эмильевич Мандельштам) was a Russian poet and essayist who lived in Russia during and after its revolution and the rise of the Soviet Union. He was one of the foremost members of the Acmeist school of poets. He was arrested by Joseph Stalin's government during the repression of the 1930s and sent into internal exile with his wife Nadezhda. Given a reprieve of sorts, they moved to Voronezh in southwestern Russia. In 1938 Mandelstam was arrested again and sentenced to a camp in Siberia. He died that year at a transit camp.
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September 12, 2022Frustrante perdersi il suono delle Parole dell'originale o l'uso delle "onde-segnali semantiche" oppure non accorgersi che il ritmo delle Parole di un componimento che parla di un Tram riproduce effettivamente Lo sferragliare lungo i binari
December 16, 2022
To the rattling valor of the ages to come,
For the high tribe of men.
I have lost my cup at the feast of my fathers,
I have lost the cup of my fathers, and my joy and my honour.
....
Take me away into the night where the Yenisei flows
And the pine tree reaches the star,
For I am not a wolf by my blood
And only an equal will kill me.
За гремучую доблесть грядущих веков,
За высокое племя людей, –
Я лишился и чаши на пире отцов,
И веселья, и чести своей.
....
Уведи меня в ночь, где течет Енисей
И сосна до звезды достаёт,
Потому что не волк я по крови своей
И меня только равный убьёт.
Octet XI
And I walk out of space.
Into a neglected garden of magnitudes,
And tear up the imaginary constancy
And the self-consciousness of reason.
And your, infinity, textbook.
I read alone, without men.
A leafless, wild healer,
The book of huge roots.
И я выхожу из пространства
В запущенный сад величин,
И мнимое рву постоянство
И самосознанье причин.
И твой, бесконечность, учебник
Читаю один, без людей –
Безлиственный, дикий лечебник,
Задачник огромных корней.
31
That's enough sulking . Shove the papers in the desk drawer .
I am seized by a glorious devil ,
...
I am conscious that the beautiful year
thirty - one is blooming in cherry blossom
....
Don't get excited , impatience is a luxury .
I will gradually increase my speed ,
Let's go out onto the track at a cool pace .
I have kept my distance .
Держу в уме, что нынче тридцать первый
Прекрасный год в черемухах цветет
...
Не волноваться. Нетерпенье – роскошь,
Я постепенно скорость разовью –
Холодным шагом выйдем на дорожку –
Я сохранил дистанцию мою.
For the high tribe of men.
I have lost my cup at the feast of my fathers,
I have lost the cup of my fathers, and my joy and my honour.
....
Take me away into the night where the Yenisei flows
And the pine tree reaches the star,
For I am not a wolf by my blood
And only an equal will kill me.
За гремучую доблесть грядущих веков,
За высокое племя людей, –
Я лишился и чаши на пире отцов,
И веселья, и чести своей.
....
Уведи меня в ночь, где течет Енисей
И сосна до звезды достаёт,
Потому что не волк я по крови своей
И меня только равный убьёт.
Octet XI
And I walk out of space.
Into a neglected garden of magnitudes,
And tear up the imaginary constancy
And the self-consciousness of reason.
And your, infinity, textbook.
I read alone, without men.
A leafless, wild healer,
The book of huge roots.
И я выхожу из пространства
В запущенный сад величин,
И мнимое рву постоянство
И самосознанье причин.
И твой, бесконечность, учебник
Читаю один, без людей –
Безлиственный, дикий лечебник,
Задачник огромных корней.
31
That's enough sulking . Shove the papers in the desk drawer .
I am seized by a glorious devil ,
...
I am conscious that the beautiful year
thirty - one is blooming in cherry blossom
....
Don't get excited , impatience is a luxury .
I will gradually increase my speed ,
Let's go out onto the track at a cool pace .
I have kept my distance .
Держу в уме, что нынче тридцать первый
Прекрасный год в черемухах цветет
...
Не волноваться. Нетерпенье – роскошь,
Я постепенно скорость разовью –
Холодным шагом выйдем на дорожку –
Я сохранил дистанцию мою.
March 7, 2019
I stumbled upon this book of poetry by Osip Mandelstam by accident when I was browsing through books in the local college library. I had never head of him before, but as I read through the introduction and scanned some of his poems, I was intrigued.
Sadly, like too many of his countrymen at the time, Mandesltam was a victim of the Great Terror, Joseph Stalin's ruthless purge of political dissidents between 1936-1938. I had never hear of him before and I felt obligated, in a strange way, to listen to the voice of this poet from beyond history. I am glad I did.
His imagery is powerful and imbued with a resignation and sadness that hits home more deeply given the context in which the poems were written. I recently read short stories by Isaac Babel, another Russian writer who fell victim to the Great Terror and while I enjoyed them, I found myself more moved by the brief, but very powerful and evocative words that Mandelstam wrote.
One of my favorite lines: "The firmest and most unshakable places are quaking, and I am shaken. As though mourning is embedded in the very granite in the nest of former happinesses."
Other poems that really struck me are "My days have raced past" and "The Wolf". It is sad that more Americans do not know of Mandelstam. Reading work by Mandesltam and Babel would perfectly complement high school lessons on the Soviet Union's role in the Great Terror and World War II.
I am glad that I stumbled upon this book. That is the beauty of libraries: you can be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected discovery. That is something that Google will never do. Long live libraries!!
Sadly, like too many of his countrymen at the time, Mandesltam was a victim of the Great Terror, Joseph Stalin's ruthless purge of political dissidents between 1936-1938. I had never hear of him before and I felt obligated, in a strange way, to listen to the voice of this poet from beyond history. I am glad I did.
His imagery is powerful and imbued with a resignation and sadness that hits home more deeply given the context in which the poems were written. I recently read short stories by Isaac Babel, another Russian writer who fell victim to the Great Terror and while I enjoyed them, I found myself more moved by the brief, but very powerful and evocative words that Mandelstam wrote.
One of my favorite lines: "The firmest and most unshakable places are quaking, and I am shaken. As though mourning is embedded in the very granite in the nest of former happinesses."
Other poems that really struck me are "My days have raced past" and "The Wolf". It is sad that more Americans do not know of Mandelstam. Reading work by Mandesltam and Babel would perfectly complement high school lessons on the Soviet Union's role in the Great Terror and World War II.
I am glad that I stumbled upon this book. That is the beauty of libraries: you can be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected discovery. That is something that Google will never do. Long live libraries!!
May 30, 2023
Superb! 🥰
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February 23, 2009Richard & Elizabeth McKane, trans
Newcastle upon Tyne: Bloodaxe Books, 1991
Newcastle upon Tyne: Bloodaxe Books, 1991
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews