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Mon frère féminin: Lettre à l'amazone
"C'est le seul point faillible, le seul point attaquable, la seule brèche dans cette entité parfaite que sont deux femmes qui s'aiment. L'impossible, ce n'est pas de résister à la tentation de l'homme, mais au besoin de l'enfant. "
Ce texte de Marina Tsvétaïéva (1892-1941) sur l'amour des femmes entre elles est adressé à Natalie Clifford Barney (1876-1972) en réponse à ses Pensées d'une amazone (1918).
Avec son génie libre, sa faculté poétique éclatante, sa langue française d'une sublime beauté, Mon frère féminin est l'un des plus beaux textes lesbiens à ce jour. Marina Tsvétaïéva analyse en profondeur l'amour féminin et s'attache, en particulier, à définir les manques et les inquiétudes de deux femmes qui s'aiment sans qu'il leur soit possible d'avoir un enfant. Transcendant son propos, Marina Tsvétaïéva nous offre des pages inoubliables sur la femme, l'homme, l'amour et la vie.
Ce texte de Marina Tsvétaïéva (1892-1941) sur l'amour des femmes entre elles est adressé à Natalie Clifford Barney (1876-1972) en réponse à ses Pensées d'une amazone (1918).
Avec son génie libre, sa faculté poétique éclatante, sa langue française d'une sublime beauté, Mon frère féminin est l'un des plus beaux textes lesbiens à ce jour. Marina Tsvétaïéva analyse en profondeur l'amour féminin et s'attache, en particulier, à définir les manques et les inquiétudes de deux femmes qui s'aiment sans qu'il leur soit possible d'avoir un enfant. Transcendant son propos, Marina Tsvétaïéva nous offre des pages inoubliables sur la femme, l'homme, l'amour et la vie.
64 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1932
3 people are currently reading
355 people want to read
About the author
Marina Tsvetaeva
571 books577 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 - 30 of 38 reviews
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January 7, 2022Tudo isto existiu. Os meus versos são um diário íntimo. A minha poesia é uma poesia de nomes próprios. Todos nós vamos desaparecer. Daqui a 50 anos, já estaremos debaixo da terra. Haverá novos rostos sob um céu eterno. Sinto vontade de gritar aos que ainda estão vivos: Escrevam, escrevam mais! Fixem todos os momentos, todos os gestos, todos os suspiros!
Quando Marina Tsvietaieva se suicidou, em 1941, deixou um filho de apenas 16 anos que, órfão, entregou os escritos da poetisa a uma tia, mas também vendeu parte deles para sobreviver, até morrer em 1944 na Segunda Guerra Mundial. O que deles sobrou foi depositado pela filha mais velha, Ariadna, com a indicação de só poderem ser consultados a partir de 2000.
Tsvietaieva vivia para a poesia e para as paixões ardentes, tanto por homens como por mulheres, e os textos contidos nesta obra são prova disso. “Meu Irmão Feminino” é uma carta a Natalie Barney e “Noites Florentinas” é um conjunto de missivas dirigidas a Abraham Vickniak, pela quais passei somente os olhos. Por um lado, é um derramamento empolado de sentimentos exacerbados que não condiz comigo, por outro, é uma exteriorização de uma intimidade que senti que ia devassar.
Para quem tenha os mesmos pruridos que eu, esta obra continua a merecer ser lida pelo trabalho de recolha e análise de Aníbal Fernandes, que nunca desilude, no qual inclui um texto, “Uma memória” de Boris Pasternak, onde ele refere o suicídio de Tsvietaieva, Essenine e Maiakovski, bem como um capítulo intitulado “Marina por ela própria (ou quase)”, com testemunhos de pessoas que com ela conviveram e também excertos de obras suas que ajudam a compreender a sua vida e personalidade.
Boris Pasternak: - Viveu uma vida heróica. Para ela, cada dia era uma proeza – a proeza de ser fiel ao único país a que pertencia – o da poesia... É evidente que se tratava de uma russa, mais russa do que todos nós, não só pelo sangue mas pelos ritmos que viviam nela, pelo sangue tão rico, tão forte – único.”
Quando Marina Tsvietaieva se suicidou, em 1941, deixou um filho de apenas 16 anos que, órfão, entregou os escritos da poetisa a uma tia, mas também vendeu parte deles para sobreviver, até morrer em 1944 na Segunda Guerra Mundial. O que deles sobrou foi depositado pela filha mais velha, Ariadna, com a indicação de só poderem ser consultados a partir de 2000.
Tsvietaieva vivia para a poesia e para as paixões ardentes, tanto por homens como por mulheres, e os textos contidos nesta obra são prova disso. “Meu Irmão Feminino” é uma carta a Natalie Barney e “Noites Florentinas” é um conjunto de missivas dirigidas a Abraham Vickniak, pela quais passei somente os olhos. Por um lado, é um derramamento empolado de sentimentos exacerbados que não condiz comigo, por outro, é uma exteriorização de uma intimidade que senti que ia devassar.
Para quem tenha os mesmos pruridos que eu, esta obra continua a merecer ser lida pelo trabalho de recolha e análise de Aníbal Fernandes, que nunca desilude, no qual inclui um texto, “Uma memória” de Boris Pasternak, onde ele refere o suicídio de Tsvietaieva, Essenine e Maiakovski, bem como um capítulo intitulado “Marina por ela própria (ou quase)”, com testemunhos de pessoas que com ela conviveram e também excertos de obras suas que ajudam a compreender a sua vida e personalidade.
Boris Pasternak: - Viveu uma vida heróica. Para ela, cada dia era uma proeza – a proeza de ser fiel ao único país a que pertencia – o da poesia... É evidente que se tratava de uma russa, mais russa do que todos nós, não só pelo sangue mas pelos ritmos que viviam nela, pelo sangue tão rico, tão forte – único.”
May 25, 2020
Me ha interesado mucho este texto donde se aborda el poliamor, la bisexualidad y el papel de la maternidad en todo eso. Pero me ha interesado más la obra de Natalie Clifford Barney aquí recogida, apenándome que en España sea tan difícil de conseguir.
April 30, 2021
Vedasi alla voce: raschiare il fondo.
Ma qui siamo oltre al fondo, siamo nel fondo del fondo. Pubblicare la qualsiasi pur di mettere il nome Cvetaeva in copertina: il valore del libercolo è leggermente superiore alle liste della spesa della grande poetessa russa e decisamente inferiore alle lettere che scriveva a Eni Gas e Luce per disdire il contratto.
La cosa davvero inquietante è che la prefazione di Erri De Luca è pure peggio.
Ma qui siamo oltre al fondo, siamo nel fondo del fondo. Pubblicare la qualsiasi pur di mettere il nome Cvetaeva in copertina: il valore del libercolo è leggermente superiore alle liste della spesa della grande poetessa russa e decisamente inferiore alle lettere che scriveva a Eni Gas e Luce per disdire il contratto.
La cosa davvero inquietante è che la prefazione di Erri De Luca è pure peggio.
July 14, 2020
'Weeping willow! Inconsolable willow! Willow—the body and soul of women! Inconsolable neck of willow. Gray hair falling over her face, so she cannot see anything. Gray hair sweeping the face of the earth. Water, air, mountains, trees are given to us in order to understand the human soul, so profoundly hidden away. When I see how a willow despairs, I understand Sappho'
January 27, 2020
Junho é o Pride Month e como é de praxe, leio autores LGBTQIA+. Para representar as autoras bissexuais, li este livro, sao cartas que Marina Tsvetaeva escreveu para a escritora americana que vivia em Paris, Natalie Clifford Barney. Ela fala sobre amor entre mulheres e principalmente seu relacionamento com a também poeta russa, Sofia Parnok.
Para ela era muito dificil, pois o seu maior desejo era a maternidade e naquela época nao tinha as tecnologias de hoje para que um casal de mulheres pudesse ser maes.
Estas cartas foram escritas em francês, lingua que ela era fluente desde a infância.
No livro de poemas que li recentemente, Insomnie et autres poèmes, a primeira parte intitulada "L'amie" sao de poemas saficos que ela escreveu para Sofia. Também ha outros poemas que ela fala das amazonas, tal como este que achei lindo:
Tanto a vida quanto a obra da Marina foram muito intensas e tragicas. Uma professora escreveu em sua redaçao: "muita imaginaçao e pouco raciocinio" e lendo as obras dela sinto o mesmo, ela divaga muito, mas com uma beleza extrema.
Por triste ironia do destino, a maternidade foi algo muito dificil para ela, teve 3 filhos, Ariadna, Irina e Georges. Ariadna foi presa politica junto com o pai, Marina nao tinha como sustentar os filhos sozinha e enviou Irina para um orfanato onde a menina morreu de fome, Georges foi morto na guerra e ela por fim se suicidou.
«Cette entité parfaite que sont deux femmes qui s'aiment»
Para ela era muito dificil, pois o seu maior desejo era a maternidade e naquela época nao tinha as tecnologias de hoje para que um casal de mulheres pudesse ser maes.
Estas cartas foram escritas em francês, lingua que ela era fluente desde a infância.
No livro de poemas que li recentemente, Insomnie et autres poèmes, a primeira parte intitulada "L'amie" sao de poemas saficos que ela escreveu para Sofia. Também ha outros poemas que ela fala das amazonas, tal como este que achei lindo:
AMAZONES
Sein de femmes! Souffle figé de l'âme
Essence de femmes! Vague toujours prise
Au dépourvu et qui toujours prend
Au dépourvu - Dieu que voit tout!
Lice pour les jeux du délice ou de la joie,
Méprisables et méprisants. - Sein de femmes!
Armures qui cèdent! - Je pense à elles...
L'unique sein, - à nos amies! (décembre 1921)
Tanto a vida quanto a obra da Marina foram muito intensas e tragicas. Uma professora escreveu em sua redaçao: "muita imaginaçao e pouco raciocinio" e lendo as obras dela sinto o mesmo, ela divaga muito, mas com uma beleza extrema.
Por triste ironia do destino, a maternidade foi algo muito dificil para ela, teve 3 filhos, Ariadna, Irina e Georges. Ariadna foi presa politica junto com o pai, Marina nao tinha como sustentar os filhos sozinha e enviou Irina para um orfanato onde a menina morreu de fome, Georges foi morto na guerra e ela por fim se suicidou.
October 9, 2019
"L'enfant commence en nous bien avant son commencement. Il y a des grossesses qui durent des années d'espoir, des éternités de désespoir."
December 3, 2019
Destroyed me emotionally!! I am not ok.
January 7, 2019
"Saule pleureur ! Saule éploré ! Saule, corps et âme des femmes ! Nuque éplorée du saule. Chevelure grise ramenée sur la face, pour ne plus rien voir. [...] Quand je vois se désespérer un saule je comprends Sapho."
Plutôt un long poème en prose qu'un essai, cette lettre de Marina Tsvetaeva est une réflexion sur la stérilité de l'amour entre deux femmes, et sur le destin prétendument inévitable des deux 'types' de lesbiennes – les vraies, et les fausses. Il ne s'agit pas pour autant d'une œuvre grossièrement homophobe ; au contraire, la douleur et les regrets très personnels de l'auteure se font ressentir à chaque page, exprimés dans un français impeccable. Je m'attendais à être frustrée par cette lettre de Tsvetaeva ; à la place, j'ai été profondément touchée.
Plutôt un long poème en prose qu'un essai, cette lettre de Marina Tsvetaeva est une réflexion sur la stérilité de l'amour entre deux femmes, et sur le destin prétendument inévitable des deux 'types' de lesbiennes – les vraies, et les fausses. Il ne s'agit pas pour autant d'une œuvre grossièrement homophobe ; au contraire, la douleur et les regrets très personnels de l'auteure se font ressentir à chaque page, exprimés dans un français impeccable. Je m'attendais à être frustrée par cette lettre de Tsvetaeva ; à la place, j'ai été profondément touchée.
August 5, 2018
Uncertainties-they sustain us.
And that remains the most sure.
And that remains the most sure.
February 18, 2022
Féminin, féministe, maternel, lesbien, atemporel et poétique.
July 16, 2025
Intéressant mais oubliable et un peu pompeux…
June 21, 2018
Marina Tsvetaeva is one of my mother's favorite poets. When I discovered she was queer, I was floored. I read this book in hopes to understood her better, and perhaps to feel closer with my mom. Her mind, a wandering and mystical place, doesn't escape her Russian / Soviet roots. To be queer is to not have children and to not have children doesn't make life worth living, according to Tsvetaeva, though this comes from a lot of sentiments of the time (and the place). Her struggle to want to love women vs. her struggle to want to have children causes tension, all clear and easy to read in this book. It is a fascinating look inside of her own evident and internalized fear of being a queer woman.
June 18, 2016
It's not her main argument I find excellent, it's her writing. I admire her poetry but I'm in love with Tsvetaeva's prose. It's so gorgeous, and full of so many smaller beautifully crafted insights within the larger main insight. Worth reading if you admire her letters and other essays.
July 19, 2016
Similar in structure to "Mausoleum of Lovers" by Herve Guibert, which I enjoyed more than this. I believe this would be more successful in a larger collection because it felt like the translation & fragmentation detracted more than it helped the resonance of the letter itself.
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September 4, 2016This book was featured in the Nota Benes section of the Sept/Oct 2016 issue of World Literature Today Magazine.
http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2...
http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2...
May 4, 2018
so beautiful! (i read it in german tho i couldnt find another edition here on goodreads)
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April 7, 2023
déchirant.
"chaque fois que je renonce j'ai la sensation d'un tremblement de terre au-dedans de moi. c'est moi -- la terre qui tremble. renoncement? lutte pétrifiée."
༄⋆
une lettre lancinante qui exprime la souffrance de deux femmes qui s'aiment sans pouvoir être Une ("autour d'elles un vide plus vide qu'autour d'un vieux couple infécond "normal", un vide plus isolant, plus vidoyant").
marina tsvetaeva owns me fr.
"et le petit torrent définitivement digué -- ondulations lentes et chantantes, cristallines: - voulez-vous venir me voir, nous voir, mon mari et moi..."
"cet éclair, ce sourire -- elle les sait, mais -- pour une raison ou une autre -- elle ne lèvera pas les yeux."
"l'enroulant des flots de bleus de sa longue robe qui physiquement mettent entre la restante et la partante toute l'irrémédiabilité des mers."
"la brune partira comme la blonde partit. comme partent toutes les marcheuses vers leur but inconnu -- toujours le même -- s'étant reposées un moment sous l'arbre qui jamais ne marche."
༄⋆
"penchant fatal et naturel de la montagne vers la vallée, du torrent vers le lac...
la montagne, vers le soir, reflue entière vers la cime. le soir, elle est cime. on dirait que ses torrents la remontent à rebours. le soir, elle se reprend."
"chaque fois que je renonce j'ai la sensation d'un tremblement de terre au-dedans de moi. c'est moi -- la terre qui tremble. renoncement? lutte pétrifiée."
༄⋆
une lettre lancinante qui exprime la souffrance de deux femmes qui s'aiment sans pouvoir être Une ("autour d'elles un vide plus vide qu'autour d'un vieux couple infécond "normal", un vide plus isolant, plus vidoyant").
marina tsvetaeva owns me fr.
"et le petit torrent définitivement digué -- ondulations lentes et chantantes, cristallines: - voulez-vous venir me voir, nous voir, mon mari et moi..."
"cet éclair, ce sourire -- elle les sait, mais -- pour une raison ou une autre -- elle ne lèvera pas les yeux."
"l'enroulant des flots de bleus de sa longue robe qui physiquement mettent entre la restante et la partante toute l'irrémédiabilité des mers."
"la brune partira comme la blonde partit. comme partent toutes les marcheuses vers leur but inconnu -- toujours le même -- s'étant reposées un moment sous l'arbre qui jamais ne marche."
༄⋆
"penchant fatal et naturel de la montagne vers la vallée, du torrent vers le lac...
la montagne, vers le soir, reflue entière vers la cime. le soir, elle est cime. on dirait que ses torrents la remontent à rebours. le soir, elle se reprend."
October 3, 2025
vale al principi no estava entenent res, però perquè descriu un sentitment absolutament incomprensible per una lesbiana jove i esperançadora (i molt feliçment enamorada fins l’eternitat) com jo… hehe
cada cop que llegeixo la tsvetàieva senzillament vull transportar-la als nostres temps i abraçar-la. totes aquestes seves inquietuds son lícites i meravellosament expressades, però costa empatitzar-hi tant des d’un punt de vista generacional com racional.
em FASCINA!!! que no se sàpiga si aquesta carta a la nataly clifford barney va ser-li efectivament enviada, o si només es va quedar al diari de la marina. la màgia d’allò desconegut i impossible de conèixer…⭐️
cada cop que llegeixo la tsvetàieva senzillament vull transportar-la als nostres temps i abraçar-la. totes aquestes seves inquietuds son lícites i meravellosament expressades, però costa empatitzar-hi tant des d’un punt de vista generacional com racional.
em FASCINA!!! que no se sàpiga si aquesta carta a la nataly clifford barney va ser-li efectivament enviada, o si només es va quedar al diari de la marina. la màgia d’allò desconegut i impossible de conèixer…⭐️
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September 24, 2024Read partially in English and partially in French (for language practice). <3
“Love in itself is childhood. Lovers are children.”
Yet another day as an "exceptional case," as Tsvetaeva would categorize me: a "woman without a maternal instinct." I understand her concerns, but I don't think a Child is the core or end of love.
"God has nothing to do with these trifles, except to heal us. He said once and for all—Love Me, the Eternal One. Beyond that—all is vanity."
If nothing else, this made me read all of Natalie Clifford Barney's wild Wikipedia page.
“Love in itself is childhood. Lovers are children.”
Yet another day as an "exceptional case," as Tsvetaeva would categorize me: a "woman without a maternal instinct." I understand her concerns, but I don't think a Child is the core or end of love.
"God has nothing to do with these trifles, except to heal us. He said once and for all—Love Me, the Eternal One. Beyond that—all is vanity."
If nothing else, this made me read all of Natalie Clifford Barney's wild Wikipedia page.
April 11, 2023
Ο θηλυκός αδελφός μου (εκδ. Οκτάνα, μτφρ. Ευγενία Γραμματικοπούλου)
«Ζει σε ένα νησί. Δημιουργεί ένα νησί. Είναι ένα νησί» (Μ. Τσ.)
«Το πάθος μας έχει πάρει τον δρόμο του: νιώθω ότι σύντομα θα μπούμε στη θλιβερή περίοδο των δακρύων.» (Ν. Μπ.)
μικρό και περίεργο ανάγνωσμα για έξοδο από το αναγνωστικό μου τέλμα. δεν ξέρω ακόμη τι ακριβώς σκέφτομαι για αυτό, αλλά θέλω να διαβάσω κι άλλα για την τσβετάγιεβα και την αγωνιώδη ύπαρξή της αλλά και για τον παρισινό κύκλο των γυναικών και του ομοερωτικού περιθωρίου της γαλλικής παρακμής.
«Ζει σε ένα νησί. Δημιουργεί ένα νησί. Είναι ένα νησί» (Μ. Τσ.)
«Το πάθος μας έχει πάρει τον δρόμο του: νιώθω ότι σύντομα θα μπούμε στη θλιβερή περίοδο των δακρύων.» (Ν. Μπ.)
μικρό και περίεργο ανάγνωσμα για έξοδο από το αναγνωστικό μου τέλμα. δεν ξέρω ακόμη τι ακριβώς σκέφτομαι για αυτό, αλλά θέλω να διαβάσω κι άλλα για την τσβετάγιεβα και την αγωνιώδη ύπαρξή της αλλά και για τον παρισινό κύκλο των γυναικών και του ομοερωτικού περιθωρίου της γαλλικής παρακμής.
April 12, 2025
Un peu du mal à lire /entendre ce texte après avoir lu ses confessions et lettres (Vivre dans le feu).. je retrouve pas tlmt la Tsvetaeva qui yappait sur son mari et ses gosses sur 700 pages (après jentends ce qu'elle dit mais svp on peut connaître le bonheur et aller toucher de l'herbe?
August 3, 2021
« Et voici que la jeune fille souriante, qui ne veut pas d’étranger dans son corps, qui ne veut pas de lui et du sien, qui ne veut que du mien, rencontre au tournant d’une route une autre moi, une elle, qu’elle n’a pas à craindre, dont elle n’a pas à se défendre, car l’autre ne peut pas lui faire de mal, comme on ne peut pas (au moins, étant jeune) se faire mal à soi-même »
September 11, 2024
un cri de désespoir lesbien dévastateur même si le texte ne me touche pas vraiment personnellement vu que la volonté d’avoir un enfant est quelque chose que je trouve incompréhensible voir même cauchemardesque, donc lire marina tsvetaeva dire que le besoin d’avoir un enfant l’emportera sur le lesbianisme et que celles qui ne choisiront pas d’aller vers l’ennemi (l’homme) finiront seules c’est pas ouf….. faut évidement remettre le texte dans son contexte historique puis ça se voit qu’elle projette bcp ses propres crainte bref ça me fait juste trop de la peine je veux lui faire un câlin
(j’ai aussi été très émue de découvrir que le texte a été écrit en français de base, pile après avoir fini un de ses recueils de poésie et d’avoir été triste de ne jamais pouvoir lire ses poèmes dans leur langue originelle)
(j’ai aussi été très émue de découvrir que le texte a été écrit en français de base, pile après avoir fini un de ses recueils de poésie et d’avoir été triste de ne jamais pouvoir lire ses poèmes dans leur langue originelle)
January 2, 2020
A beautiful and moving letter to a lover on things lost. Lovely pace and rhythm.
March 23, 2023
This book is so beautifully written and heart-breaking. I want to hug it and read it again and again.
May 7, 2020
Tralasciando la prefazione irrispettosa di Erri De Luca.
April 19, 2022
Ho un grosso problema con Marina Cvetaeva: sono innamorata di lei. Non nel senso di “amo la sua poetica”, nel senso di “amo la donna dietro le opere” (e anche il modo di scrivere della Cvetaeva, ovviamente).
Scoperta in quarta superiore, leggendo le poche poesie che la prof di un corso pomeridiano che seguivo aveva portato, rimasi estasiata. C’era proprio quel qualcosa della poesia che più mi piace leggere; Cvetaeva, poi, ha proprio la voce del poeta (parola qui intesa in accezione neutra).
Accatastata da qualche parte per il tempo e l’incapacità di procurarmi qualcosa di suo da leggere, Marina Cvetaeva è rimasta nella testa come un chiodo fisso in penombra, un cassetto chiuso che minaccia di aprirsi da un momento all’altro. Ora, ad aprire il cassetto è stato proprio lo scoppio della recente guerra.
Saffo è una poetessa che amo; ho letto tutti i suoi frammenti (non sono molti, purtroppo) e ho sempre amato il suo modo di approcciare la questione amorosa. Ecco, la cosa che non molti ricordano o sanno è che Saffo la questione amorosa la approcciava da molte prospettive, tra le quali quella politica. E già qui sento, in qualche modo, un ponte con Cvetaeva. Se poi si aggiunge l’importanza dei figli, ecco che il ponte si costruisce da sé: per entrambe è importante la maternità e il dissidio che essa porta con la propria sessualità.
Scrive l’autrice: «Quando vedo disperarsi un salice capisco Saffo».
Posto che la prefazione di Erri De Luca (da bruciare via dal libro) e almeno una minima parte dell’introduzione siano abbastanza miopi nel giudicare quella sessualità queer che le persone eterosessuali spesso non comprendono nelle sue implicazioni culturali-per fare ciò, servirebbe ascoltare la comunità LGBT innanzitutto, cosa che in Italia spesso e volentieri non accade. Ciò detto, la chiave che manca a Erri De Luca per leggere questa lettera è sicuramente un nome: Monique Wittig. Wittig, femminista francese (che, per evitare l’etichetta di «marxista» per il suo femminismo, scelse quella di «materialista»), parlava di lesbismo come di indipendenza dalle categorie maschili. Diciamoci la verità: secondo la definizione di Wittig, Marina Cvetaeva è lesbica e, di sicuro, questa sua lettura delle relazioni tra donne (dove del maschile si riconosce l’assoluta estraneità e dove il problema unico dell’amore saffico è la maternità) è una lettura lesbica nel senso wittighiano del termine. Temo che Erri, con la sua «cartolina», non abbia capito proprio che ciò che Cvetaeva cercava di far notare sia stato questo: come si può riconciliare il femminile e il lesbismo, se il femminile richiede di uscire dal lesbismo? (Naturalmente, mantengo qui l’accezione data da Monique Wittig, dato che il tema della lettera è il potenziale bisessuale delle donne).
O Cvetaeva, che con la tua voce poetica parli di problemi femminili a una donna, o alle donne in generale. Perché forse ciò che più riesce alla lettera è stabilire una continuità nel tempo con le lettrici: io non sono un’amazzone, ma più simile a Marina Cvetaeva nella sua preoccupazione di come possano riconciliarsi queste categorie discordanti. Perlomeno, lo erano quando questa lettera fu scritta.
Scoperta in quarta superiore, leggendo le poche poesie che la prof di un corso pomeridiano che seguivo aveva portato, rimasi estasiata. C’era proprio quel qualcosa della poesia che più mi piace leggere; Cvetaeva, poi, ha proprio la voce del poeta (parola qui intesa in accezione neutra).
Accatastata da qualche parte per il tempo e l’incapacità di procurarmi qualcosa di suo da leggere, Marina Cvetaeva è rimasta nella testa come un chiodo fisso in penombra, un cassetto chiuso che minaccia di aprirsi da un momento all’altro. Ora, ad aprire il cassetto è stato proprio lo scoppio della recente guerra.
Saffo è una poetessa che amo; ho letto tutti i suoi frammenti (non sono molti, purtroppo) e ho sempre amato il suo modo di approcciare la questione amorosa. Ecco, la cosa che non molti ricordano o sanno è che Saffo la questione amorosa la approcciava da molte prospettive, tra le quali quella politica. E già qui sento, in qualche modo, un ponte con Cvetaeva. Se poi si aggiunge l’importanza dei figli, ecco che il ponte si costruisce da sé: per entrambe è importante la maternità e il dissidio che essa porta con la propria sessualità.
Scrive l’autrice: «Quando vedo disperarsi un salice capisco Saffo».
Posto che la prefazione di Erri De Luca (da bruciare via dal libro) e almeno una minima parte dell’introduzione siano abbastanza miopi nel giudicare quella sessualità queer che le persone eterosessuali spesso non comprendono nelle sue implicazioni culturali-per fare ciò, servirebbe ascoltare la comunità LGBT innanzitutto, cosa che in Italia spesso e volentieri non accade. Ciò detto, la chiave che manca a Erri De Luca per leggere questa lettera è sicuramente un nome: Monique Wittig. Wittig, femminista francese (che, per evitare l’etichetta di «marxista» per il suo femminismo, scelse quella di «materialista»), parlava di lesbismo come di indipendenza dalle categorie maschili. Diciamoci la verità: secondo la definizione di Wittig, Marina Cvetaeva è lesbica e, di sicuro, questa sua lettura delle relazioni tra donne (dove del maschile si riconosce l’assoluta estraneità e dove il problema unico dell’amore saffico è la maternità) è una lettura lesbica nel senso wittighiano del termine. Temo che Erri, con la sua «cartolina», non abbia capito proprio che ciò che Cvetaeva cercava di far notare sia stato questo: come si può riconciliare il femminile e il lesbismo, se il femminile richiede di uscire dal lesbismo? (Naturalmente, mantengo qui l’accezione data da Monique Wittig, dato che il tema della lettera è il potenziale bisessuale delle donne).
O Cvetaeva, che con la tua voce poetica parli di problemi femminili a una donna, o alle donne in generale. Perché forse ciò che più riesce alla lettera è stabilire una continuità nel tempo con le lettrici: io non sono un’amazzone, ma più simile a Marina Cvetaeva nella sua preoccupazione di come possano riconciliarsi queste categorie discordanti. Perlomeno, lo erano quando questa lettera fu scritta.
December 14, 2020
“On ne peut pas vivre d’amour. La seule chose qui survit à l’amour, c’est l’Enfant.”
To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect when I first started reading this book. Marina Tsvetaeva is especially known for her poetry but not quite liking poetry myself, I thought I would rather begin with something else.
Mon frère féminin was recommended to me by an old acquaintance that told me they were captured by her writing and pleased with the subjects she treated. I must have nodded (a bad habit, I know) and moved on without thinking twice about it. I then heard about this book recently in a video dealing with Russian writers. That is when I decided to finally go for it and get this book for myself.
After this short introduction about how I ended up reading it, let us now move on to my appreciation of it. First, it is necessary to emphasize the pleasure I had to read a literary work on WOMEN written by a WOMAN. Writers from this period did mention romance between two women, that is not the point here. What I am trying to say is that many of them were men that probably did not understand the simple details or the view that women must have had on lesbian relationships.
Then, I also liked the sadness that inspired this writing. Without spoiling anything, she writes in this letter the sadness that two women encounter because they cannot have a child. Sure, they can adopt or one of them can get pregnant, but this child will not be a child of theirs. That’s why I was saddened but also comprehensive of what she was talking about. Myself being pansexual, I had such thoughts when being in a lesbian relationship.
“L’impossible, ce n’est pas de résister à la tentation de l’homme, mais au besoin de l’enfant.”
I also liked her writing that was at the same time poetic and efficient. What is remarkable is that she actually wrote this letter/book in French. Therefore, there are no misunderstandings or lack of style due to translation. I am regretting that she had such trouble to be published in France and still today struggles to be known as an author in the literary world.
To put it in a nutshell, I would definitely recommend this book if you are looking for a short but educational and endearing argument.
To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect when I first started reading this book. Marina Tsvetaeva is especially known for her poetry but not quite liking poetry myself, I thought I would rather begin with something else.
Mon frère féminin was recommended to me by an old acquaintance that told me they were captured by her writing and pleased with the subjects she treated. I must have nodded (a bad habit, I know) and moved on without thinking twice about it. I then heard about this book recently in a video dealing with Russian writers. That is when I decided to finally go for it and get this book for myself.
After this short introduction about how I ended up reading it, let us now move on to my appreciation of it. First, it is necessary to emphasize the pleasure I had to read a literary work on WOMEN written by a WOMAN. Writers from this period did mention romance between two women, that is not the point here. What I am trying to say is that many of them were men that probably did not understand the simple details or the view that women must have had on lesbian relationships.
Then, I also liked the sadness that inspired this writing. Without spoiling anything, she writes in this letter the sadness that two women encounter because they cannot have a child. Sure, they can adopt or one of them can get pregnant, but this child will not be a child of theirs. That’s why I was saddened but also comprehensive of what she was talking about. Myself being pansexual, I had such thoughts when being in a lesbian relationship.
“L’impossible, ce n’est pas de résister à la tentation de l’homme, mais au besoin de l’enfant.”
I also liked her writing that was at the same time poetic and efficient. What is remarkable is that she actually wrote this letter/book in French. Therefore, there are no misunderstandings or lack of style due to translation. I am regretting that she had such trouble to be published in France and still today struggles to be known as an author in the literary world.
To put it in a nutshell, I would definitely recommend this book if you are looking for a short but educational and endearing argument.
October 1, 2024
A piece of writing best approached through the lens of a woman's introspection into her lesbian relationships and desire for motherhood, because as a piece that argues that the desire for children ends all "normal" lesbian relationships, well... Let's just say her pain and bitterness only serves to bring down whatever argument she was trying to make. Still, supremely written -- it's one of the few pieces that somewhat resembles my weird stream-of-consciousness esoteric but poetic writing style. And I am a sucker for lesbian meditations that refuse to shy away from the despair so seemingly intrinsic to queerness.
March 18, 2020
Touchant mais un peu déçu de cette vision comme indépassable de la Nature
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