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The Ratcatcher: A Lyrical Satire
Winner of 2000 Heldt Translation Prize
The Ratcatcher, Marina Tsvetaeva's masterpiece, is a satirical version of the Pied Piper of Hamelin legend in the form of a complex narrative poem that bears all the marks of Tsvetaeva's poetic style. Written in 1926, it was not available in Russia until 1965, and has hitherto been virtually unknown in English.
The Ratcatcher, Marina Tsvetaeva's masterpiece, is a satirical version of the Pied Piper of Hamelin legend in the form of a complex narrative poem that bears all the marks of Tsvetaeva's poetic style. Written in 1926, it was not available in Russia until 1965, and has hitherto been virtually unknown in English.
123 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1926
3 people are currently reading
112 people want to read
About the author
Marina Tsvetaeva
577 books579 followers Марина Цветаева
Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva was born in Moscow. Her father, Ivan Tsvetaev, was a professor of art history and the founder of the Museum of Fine Arts. Her mother Mariya, née Meyn, was a talented concert pianist. The family travelled a great deal and Tsvetaeva attended schools in Switzerland, Germany, and at the Sorbonne, Paris. Tsvetaeva started to write verse in her early childhood. She made her debut as a poet at the age of 18 with the collection Evening Album, a tribute to her childhood.
In 1912 Tsvetaeva married Sergei Efron, they had two daughters and one son. Magic Lantern showed her technical mastery and was followed in 1913 by a selection of poems from her first collections. Tsvetaeva's affair with the poet and opera librettist Sofiia Parnok inspired her cycle of poems called Girlfriend. Parnok's career stopped in the late 1920s when she was no longer allowed to publish. The poems composed between 1917 and 1921 appeared in 1957 under the title The Demesne of the Swans. Inspired by her relationship with Konstantin Rodzevich, an ex-Red Army officer she wrote Poem of the Mountain and Poem of the End.
After 1917 Revolution Tsvetaeva was trapped in Moscow for five years. During the famine one of her own daughters died of starvation. Tsvetaeva's poetry reveals her growing interest in folk song and the techniques of the major symbolist and poets, such as Aleksander Blok and Anna Akhmatova. In 1922 Tsvetaeva emigrated with her family to Berlin, where she rejoined her husband, and then to Prague. This was a highly productive period in her life - she published five collections of verse and a number of narrative poems, plays, and essays.
During her years in Paris Tsvetaeva wrote two parts of the planned dramatic trilogy. The last collection published during her lifetime, After Russia, appeared in 1928. Its print, 100 numbered copies, were sold by special subscription. In Paris the family lived in poverty, the income came almost entirely from Tsvetaeva's writings. When her husband started to work for the Soviet security service, the Russian community of Paris turned against Tsvetaeva. Her limited publishing ways for poetry were blocked and she turned to prose. In 1937 appeared MOY PUSHKIN, one of Tsvetaeva's best prose works. To earn extra income, she also produced short stories, memoirs and critical articles.
In exile Tsvetaeva felt more and more isolated. Friendless and almost destitute she returned to the Soviet Union in 1938, where her son and husband already lived. Next year her husband was executed and her daughter was sent to a labor camp. Tsvetaeva was officially ostracized and unable to publish. After the USSR was invaded by German Army in 1941, Tsvetaeva was evacuated to the small provincial town of Elabuga with her son. In despair, she hanged herself ten days later on August 31, 1941.
source: http://www.poemhunter.com/marina-ivan...
Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva was born in Moscow. Her father, Ivan Tsvetaev, was a professor of art history and the founder of the Museum of Fine Arts. Her mother Mariya, née Meyn, was a talented concert pianist. The family travelled a great deal and Tsvetaeva attended schools in Switzerland, Germany, and at the Sorbonne, Paris. Tsvetaeva started to write verse in her early childhood. She made her debut as a poet at the age of 18 with the collection Evening Album, a tribute to her childhood.
In 1912 Tsvetaeva married Sergei Efron, they had two daughters and one son. Magic Lantern showed her technical mastery and was followed in 1913 by a selection of poems from her first collections. Tsvetaeva's affair with the poet and opera librettist Sofiia Parnok inspired her cycle of poems called Girlfriend. Parnok's career stopped in the late 1920s when she was no longer allowed to publish. The poems composed between 1917 and 1921 appeared in 1957 under the title The Demesne of the Swans. Inspired by her relationship with Konstantin Rodzevich, an ex-Red Army officer she wrote Poem of the Mountain and Poem of the End.
After 1917 Revolution Tsvetaeva was trapped in Moscow for five years. During the famine one of her own daughters died of starvation. Tsvetaeva's poetry reveals her growing interest in folk song and the techniques of the major symbolist and poets, such as Aleksander Blok and Anna Akhmatova. In 1922 Tsvetaeva emigrated with her family to Berlin, where she rejoined her husband, and then to Prague. This was a highly productive period in her life - she published five collections of verse and a number of narrative poems, plays, and essays.
During her years in Paris Tsvetaeva wrote two parts of the planned dramatic trilogy. The last collection published during her lifetime, After Russia, appeared in 1928. Its print, 100 numbered copies, were sold by special subscription. In Paris the family lived in poverty, the income came almost entirely from Tsvetaeva's writings. When her husband started to work for the Soviet security service, the Russian community of Paris turned against Tsvetaeva. Her limited publishing ways for poetry were blocked and she turned to prose. In 1937 appeared MOY PUSHKIN, one of Tsvetaeva's best prose works. To earn extra income, she also produced short stories, memoirs and critical articles.
In exile Tsvetaeva felt more and more isolated. Friendless and almost destitute she returned to the Soviet Union in 1938, where her son and husband already lived. Next year her husband was executed and her daughter was sent to a labor camp. Tsvetaeva was officially ostracized and unable to publish. After the USSR was invaded by German Army in 1941, Tsvetaeva was evacuated to the small provincial town of Elabuga with her son. In despair, she hanged herself ten days later on August 31, 1941.
source: http://www.poemhunter.com/marina-ivan...
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
September 19, 2024
Tsvetaeva takes a playful jab at the legend of Hamlin with "The Ratcatcher." In this 1284 setting, a town drowns in a sea of rodents – a metaphor for the restless proletariat the bourgeoisie finds so unsettling. The townsfolk, with their stuffy airs and lack of artistic appreciation, are barely a step above begging minstrels themselves.
The Piper, a figure both charming and enigmatic, disrupts their orderly world with his music. His tunes awaken a dormant passion in the rats, a yearning for something more. This transformation reflects the power of art – to liberate and mesmerize in equal measure. The rats' exodus becomes a metaphor for the transformative power of artistic expression, igniting a fire within and driving a desire for something beyond the mundane. He saves the town only to be ridiculed and refused his reward. Revenge is soon to follow.
Tsvetaeva seamlessly weaves the medieval German setting with themes relevant to her own 20th century Russia. The arrival of the rats throws a wrench into the town's carefully constructed peace, forcing them to confront a different language, a different way of being. This exchange highlights the clash between revolution and societal stability, a theme that resonated deeply with Tsvetaeva's originally intended audience.
Marina Tsvetaeva, a towering figure in twentieth-century Russian literature, has been hailed alongside Blok, Pasternak, Mandelstam, and Akhmatova for her profound poetic artistry. Born into a family of artistic pedigree, Tsvetaeva's passion for poetry ignited at a young age, leading her to self-publish her first volume at seventeen. Her early life was marked by a whirlwind romance and the birth of two daughters, but the tumultuous events of the Russian Civil War forced her to make heart-wrenching decisions.
Exiled from her homeland, Tsvetaeva found refuge in Prague and Paris, where she continued to write prolifically, crafting her most celebrated works. The Ratcatcher was born during this period, reflecting her experiences of exile and the challenges of daily life. Upon her return to Russia in 1939, Tsvetaeva faced a series of devastating events. Her husband, Sergey Efron, a Soviet sympathizer and secret police agent, was arrested and executed for espionage.
Her daughter, Ariadna, was also arrested and sent to a labor camp. Tsvetaeva herself was isolated and destitute, facing a bleak and uncertain future.
The weight of these tragedies, coupled with the oppressive atmosphere of Stalin's regime, proved to be unbearable for Tsvetaeva. In the desolate town of Yelabuga, to which she had been evacuated during World War II, she tragically took her own life by hanging herself.
Her body was buried in an unmarked common grave. Shortly after her death, her son, Georgy, was conscripted into the army and was tragically killed in combat.
Tsvetaeva's extensive oeuvre, much of which was written and published abroad, encompasses a diverse range of poetic forms, including short poems, long poems, plays, and prose works. Her poetry, characterized by its lyrical beauty, emotional intensity, and philosophical depth, continues to captivate and inspire.
The Piper, a figure both charming and enigmatic, disrupts their orderly world with his music. His tunes awaken a dormant passion in the rats, a yearning for something more. This transformation reflects the power of art – to liberate and mesmerize in equal measure. The rats' exodus becomes a metaphor for the transformative power of artistic expression, igniting a fire within and driving a desire for something beyond the mundane. He saves the town only to be ridiculed and refused his reward. Revenge is soon to follow.
Tsvetaeva seamlessly weaves the medieval German setting with themes relevant to her own 20th century Russia. The arrival of the rats throws a wrench into the town's carefully constructed peace, forcing them to confront a different language, a different way of being. This exchange highlights the clash between revolution and societal stability, a theme that resonated deeply with Tsvetaeva's originally intended audience.
Marina Tsvetaeva, a towering figure in twentieth-century Russian literature, has been hailed alongside Blok, Pasternak, Mandelstam, and Akhmatova for her profound poetic artistry. Born into a family of artistic pedigree, Tsvetaeva's passion for poetry ignited at a young age, leading her to self-publish her first volume at seventeen. Her early life was marked by a whirlwind romance and the birth of two daughters, but the tumultuous events of the Russian Civil War forced her to make heart-wrenching decisions.
Exiled from her homeland, Tsvetaeva found refuge in Prague and Paris, where she continued to write prolifically, crafting her most celebrated works. The Ratcatcher was born during this period, reflecting her experiences of exile and the challenges of daily life. Upon her return to Russia in 1939, Tsvetaeva faced a series of devastating events. Her husband, Sergey Efron, a Soviet sympathizer and secret police agent, was arrested and executed for espionage.
Her daughter, Ariadna, was also arrested and sent to a labor camp. Tsvetaeva herself was isolated and destitute, facing a bleak and uncertain future.
The weight of these tragedies, coupled with the oppressive atmosphere of Stalin's regime, proved to be unbearable for Tsvetaeva. In the desolate town of Yelabuga, to which she had been evacuated during World War II, she tragically took her own life by hanging herself.
Her body was buried in an unmarked common grave. Shortly after her death, her son, Georgy, was conscripted into the army and was tragically killed in combat.
Tsvetaeva's extensive oeuvre, much of which was written and published abroad, encompasses a diverse range of poetic forms, including short poems, long poems, plays, and prose works. Her poetry, characterized by its lyrical beauty, emotional intensity, and philosophical depth, continues to captivate and inspire.
January 6, 2021
Jag har alltså läst den tvåspråkiga utgåvan av Råttfångaren, i svensk tolkning av Annika Bäckström, men ids inte lägga in den i Goodreadskatalogen.
Av att ha läst Tsvetajevas essäer vet jag att hon är ett geni. Dock är hon svårläst i översättning, med alla kortfattade ordlekar.
Som råttfångarens förföriska musik som låter ”там-там”, både rytm och ett lockande ”där–där”. Jag önskar också att jag kunde bättre ryska för att kunna se Bäckströms roliga lösningar – ett exempel av det lilla jag förmått upptäcka kommer från biten som skildrar Hameln-barnens trista vardag av historielektioner och mellanmål:
”гунн да гот, / бутерброд”, i svensk version ”Hunn och turk. / – vällingslurk.”
Humorn når hjälpligt fram ibland, som när Hamelns herrar nekar råttfångaren hans utlovade lön (att äkta borgmästarens dotter) och i stället försöker övertyga honom om att han ju tillräckligt belönats med meriterna han fått – tydligen ett tidlöst problem för musikanter.
Mest minnesvärt är raden från råttfångarens sång när han lockar barnen att livet suger och att de borde dränka sig: ”Жить – врагу!” (Liv åt fienden!)
Av att ha läst Tsvetajevas essäer vet jag att hon är ett geni. Dock är hon svårläst i översättning, med alla kortfattade ordlekar.
Som råttfångarens förföriska musik som låter ”там-там”, både rytm och ett lockande ”där–där”. Jag önskar också att jag kunde bättre ryska för att kunna se Bäckströms roliga lösningar – ett exempel av det lilla jag förmått upptäcka kommer från biten som skildrar Hameln-barnens trista vardag av historielektioner och mellanmål:
”гунн да гот, / бутерброд”, i svensk version ”Hunn och turk. / – vällingslurk.”
Humorn når hjälpligt fram ibland, som när Hamelns herrar nekar råttfångaren hans utlovade lön (att äkta borgmästarens dotter) och i stället försöker övertyga honom om att han ju tillräckligt belönats med meriterna han fått – tydligen ett tidlöst problem för musikanter.
Mest minnesvärt är raden från råttfångarens sång när han lockar barnen att livet suger och att de borde dränka sig: ”Жить – врагу!” (Liv åt fienden!)
August 16, 2023
Society is dull and materialistic. Destructive revolutionaries become another complacent elite. Art brings transcendent liberation, but people reject it. Is there hope in children?
December 12, 2017
Graffiante poemetto satirico, suddiviso in sei canti, che prende di mira la condotta egoistica della borghesia sovietica usando a modello una fiaba senza tempo: il Pifferaio magico.
Read
January 21, 2014* * *
Intatto il lucchetto
intonso il tappeto-
nelle case dei ricchi
cos'è primo? l'odore.
Deciso, come un gusto,
spietato, come la Torà.
spudorato come un ascesso
sul grugno dell'attore.
Tutta la carne della materia,
(i conti rilegati
in zigrino!) tutta
la materialità della carne
sta lì: cancrena fino al midollo.
Non si scherza con la lebbra
Non l'essenza delle cose-
la cosalità dell'essenza:
il suo aroma- tutto!
Ci sono odori che sferzano!
Non la sostanza delle cose:
la sostanzialità della cosa.
Non l'essenza delle cose,
-Oh! lì non è di casa-
il lezzo di verdure marce
- odore di scantinato-
gli preferisco.
Divino profumo della sazietà!
C'è un fetore del pulito.
Tutto il fetore del pulito sta lì!
Non odore, ma suono:
altisonante suono
di borsa. Del camoscio di mani
lungo il velluto di rosse
balaustre odora- per me
sa di tanto l'opulenza!
Di agiatezza- piena.
E se puzza di polvere,
non è la nostra- a primavera
la portano via, che ce ne importa?
Non polvere di miseria: impalpabile,
ma del velluto, del damasco,
dei tendaggi. Raccolta
di bellezze, mucchio
di bello e pulito,
e se odora di sudore-
di qualità, col marchio
della garanzia,
non il nostro (caprino),
ma di banca, di grasso
di gilet: non cederò.
Fino al cielo
- a Te, Odio!- innalzare
un tempio a cento cupole-
per tutti e per tutte.
* * *
Da I sogni ( canto secondo)
Intatto il lucchetto
intonso il tappeto-
nelle case dei ricchi
cos'è primo? l'odore.
Deciso, come un gusto,
spietato, come la Torà.
spudorato come un ascesso
sul grugno dell'attore.
Tutta la carne della materia,
(i conti rilegati
in zigrino!) tutta
la materialità della carne
sta lì: cancrena fino al midollo.
Non si scherza con la lebbra
Non l'essenza delle cose-
la cosalità dell'essenza:
il suo aroma- tutto!
Ci sono odori che sferzano!
Non la sostanza delle cose:
la sostanzialità della cosa.
Non l'essenza delle cose,
-Oh! lì non è di casa-
il lezzo di verdure marce
- odore di scantinato-
gli preferisco.
Divino profumo della sazietà!
C'è un fetore del pulito.
Tutto il fetore del pulito sta lì!
Non odore, ma suono:
altisonante suono
di borsa. Del camoscio di mani
lungo il velluto di rosse
balaustre odora- per me
sa di tanto l'opulenza!
Di agiatezza- piena.
E se puzza di polvere,
non è la nostra- a primavera
la portano via, che ce ne importa?
Non polvere di miseria: impalpabile,
ma del velluto, del damasco,
dei tendaggi. Raccolta
di bellezze, mucchio
di bello e pulito,
e se odora di sudore-
di qualità, col marchio
della garanzia,
non il nostro (caprino),
ma di banca, di grasso
di gilet: non cederò.
Fino al cielo
- a Te, Odio!- innalzare
un tempio a cento cupole-
per tutti e per tutte.
* * *
Da I sogni ( canto secondo)
May 20, 2012
A biography of humankind.
How many times has this not happened to our societies? The "rats" arrive, whatever color they are, sometimes red, sometimes blue. The sweet flute comes next, and "is not music that lies, but the instrument". We feel saved, and we "marry a hero? or is he a pansy?". So there we go, following the one who plays the instrument best, the one who promises "wars for the boys, and for girls-weddings". That sums it up, that's our history, that's us. Sometimes Hamlin, sometimes the rats, sometimes the flute.
Flute ever sweeter, heart ever sleepier...
How many times has this not happened to our societies? The "rats" arrive, whatever color they are, sometimes red, sometimes blue. The sweet flute comes next, and "is not music that lies, but the instrument". We feel saved, and we "marry a hero? or is he a pansy?". So there we go, following the one who plays the instrument best, the one who promises "wars for the boys, and for girls-weddings". That sums it up, that's our history, that's us. Sometimes Hamlin, sometimes the rats, sometimes the flute.
Flute ever sweeter, heart ever sleepier...
October 1, 2018
Encomiabile operazione di (buona) resa in italiano di un testo intraducibile. Impressionante la coincidenza della Cvetaeva col proprio tempo e con la propria civiltà anche nell'esilio, anche da lontano, anche durante il soffocamento di quella civiltà: non ricordo dove ho letto l'accostamento di questi versi sincopati, allitterantissimi, ritmicamente folli, di percussioni e stridii - che imitano, dicono e sono fatti di quel tempo e quel soffocamento - con la ricerca musicale coeva e ancor più successiva di Šostakovič e, soprattutto, Prokof'ev (la Quinta, per esempio), ma è esatto ed evidente.
September 5, 2023
Satira contro la quotidianità che l'autrice vive...non troppo diversa dalla nostra. La storia è quella del pifferaio magico: in un città (Hammeln) corrotta dal troppo, i topi sognano una rivoluzione in un'India favolosa incantati dalla musica.
"Lo stracarico di riso in cantina produce- topi (....)
Perchè sia munifica la misura non troppo, nè poco"
"Lo stracarico di riso in cantina produce- topi (....)
Perchè sia munifica la misura non troppo, nè poco"
Read
January 21, 2021«Рай — ».
May 27, 2020
3.5
This was a fun read. The fact that this is a translation is very impressive because there's so much playing around with language and sounds.
However, it was also very hectic and a little difficult to understand at times, and there were so many niche references that I felt they often got in the way, even with the explanations in the notes.
This was a fun read. The fact that this is a translation is very impressive because there's so much playing around with language and sounds.
However, it was also very hectic and a little difficult to understand at times, and there were so many niche references that I felt they often got in the way, even with the explanations in the notes.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews