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Digging into the SlavFile Lite Archives (Part 3)

April 14, 2020

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This is the third in a series of posts reprinting Lydia Razran Stone’s editorial columns from past years. You can find the first two posts here and here.

Fall 2007

We have recently returned from a trip to St. Petersburg, Moscow and points in between on the inland waterway and I seem to be suffering from a case of severe, if intermittent, culture shock. It is not the differences between today’s Russia and the United States that have me reaching for my inhaler, but the sharp contrast between the Russia of today and what I experienced during the other two periods I spent in that country—the early to mid-1960’s (several trips with my father who was investigating Soviet psychophysiology) and the early to mid-1990s (several trips to work in Moscow on a joint book sponsored by NASA). Of course, I know that my first-hand acquaintance with my family’s erstwhile homeland and thus my impressions have been laughably short-lived and superficial. Perhaps on each visit I have managed to see through only a very few chinks in the Potemkin façade presented to foreigners. I am also painfully aware that many, if not most, of my readers have a vastly more extensive and profound knowledge of the changes in Russia over this period. Nevertheless, with your indulgence, I will attempt to share some of my impressions here. Who knows? Every once in a while, the view through a chink may provide a new perspective.

The Moscow relative of a friend of mine visited New York and Washington about a decade ago and reported that one of the things that most struck her here were the ubiquitous delicious odors of cooking in urban streets. This does not seem to be true of the Russian capitals—perhaps, surprisingly, this is one advertising secret the new Russians have not yet learned. Or perhaps the smell of food is simply overpowered, especially in Moscow, by the smell of money, bargeloads of new, fresh (if not necessarily clean) money. Everything in the center of the city is well-tended (when I was last there in 1996, the grass around the Kremlin appeared not to have been mowed in at least a year). The stores (if that is not too plebeian a name for them) on central city streets are at least as forbiddingly pricey and elegant as those of any city I am familiar with. Our old friend GUM looks now like Georgetown Park (the most upscale of upscale malls in DC), filled with stores that are so elegant that they have only one item in the window, and only a couple more in the shop, and a like number of customers if that. Indeed, a Russian-born friend suggests that GUM may primarily be a money laundering operation. (Why carry more than three pairs of shoes, when what you are doing is selling the same $600 pair over and over?)

The new houses we saw built and being built in the dacha region on the banks of the waterway we traveled are not the picturesque cottages the word evokes but McDachas—коттеджи, whose opulence overshadows vacation homes in Palm Springs, to pick a U.S. example. The boats and recreational water sports equipment to be seen are worthy of Nantucket. It can still be reported that in the cities (especially the far outskirts of the capitals and smaller cities such as Yaroslavl) there are still Soviet-style exurban apartment complexes, crumbling masonry, balconies that look like they are in imminent danger of falling, and apartment houses where “normal people” live that have front entrances resembling the back doors of slum dwellings. On the other hand, upscale, modern and Western new construction and reconstruction is everywhere—stretching far, far beyond the tourist-oriented center of the cities. In the capitals at least, infrastructure, especially main roads, seems also to have been given at least a fraction of the attention it much needed the last time I visited here. The most striking infrastructure innovation we noted was a double-, or maybe even triple- or quadruple-, length toilet bus, parked outside the Hermitage and judging by appearances hooked up to the local sewer system.

At the risk of sounding downright un-American—and even though in general people seemed more cheerful than I had ever seen them in these climes and I saw many fewer signs of real poverty—I must admit that the sight of all this money being poured into the capitals made me uneasy. Where is it all coming from? Yes, I do know about petrorubles, but is that really all? We have learned that the Communists beggared the rest of the country for their own personal benefits and that of the capitals. But the benefits accruing to the capitals and the public and personal lives of at least some of their inhabitants is so much more startling now! Is the rest of the country becoming commensurately more impoverished? The only non-capital city not depen­dent on the tourist trade that we visited was Yaroslavl and, while it was in no way as opulent as Moscow or Petersburg, it seemed to me considerably more prosperous than the Moscow of 1996.

Perhaps, if someone had asked Marie Antoinette how to make a city look more beautiful and prosperous, she would have replied, “Get rid of all the ugly and poor people.” One can ask not only what has been added to the capitals to change them so much, but also what has been taken away. Here is a list of things I saw less of than I had before or would have expected.

  • Diversity (чернокожие or at least a heavier sprinkling of obvious non-Northern Europeans); indeed if I had had the black hair of my youth and only a moderate suntan, I estimate I would have been in the top 1% of the racially exotic in most of the crowds I was in Russia (foreign tourists excepted). Ironically, the diversity of (non-Soviet) ethnic restaurants has increased a great deal.
  • Drunks (compared to the 1990s): a really marked decline.
  • Obvious prostitutes: perhaps they are just dressing better or have adopted more subtle recognition cues.
  • Beggars and shabby people selling household possessions or single cigarettes: none at all noted in the center of the capitals, though there were a few outside the cities e.g., at Peterhof, or in the smaller cities on the river. This is a general observation compared to the mid-90’s and I would not venture to say that there were none to be seen throughout the city.
  • The thuggish bodyguards one used to see standing outside certain types of establishment in the 1990s.
  • The kinds of Soviet types (here I am talking appearance and demeanor rather than ideology) our memories of the Soviet Union are populated with (definitely still around in the 90s): stout and officious minor officials (mainly women), бабушки and бабы of all sorts—rural and urban, middle-aged to elderly men in caps with medals or even just значки in their lapels. There ought to be a Red Book of Endangered Species for them.
  • Police presence: In two weeks, I only noticed traffic cops (looking to me as if they were up to their old tricks) and the one young policeman who told us relatively politely not to sit on the grass in front of St. Basil’s.

The question arises, in my mind at least, as to what has happened to all these people. Many may have simply been gotten out of town: deported (but surely some of the чернокожие one used to see had residence permits), persuaded to leave through quasi-official harassment or other less than savory means of gentrification, or simply gone in search of somewhere cheaper to live. The police and the prostitutes and maybe the bodyguards are undoubtedly undercover. But still, can the populations of Moscow and St. Petersburg born before, say, 1960 have left in such large numbers, or have they miraculously been transformed into only slightly tarnished versions of New Russians? Why hasn’t the experience of their formative years been imprinted on their appearance, demeanor, and service philosophy the way it seems to have been on those who emigrated to Brighton Beach?

Here are a few other things that I noticed were diminished compared to my previous visits or expectations.

  • The number of birds (other than those used to living symbiotically with man) and insects (and remember we were on the river) was startlingly small compared to what one would expect in a healthy ecology. This is really frightening.
  • Soldiers other than those who appeared to be about 17. In the 1960s, the streets were full of burly adult soldiers with multiple decorations, many of whom walked hand in hand.
  • At some point in the 1990s, it appeared that every other apartment dweller in Moscow had a large dog. This trend has apparently normalized.
  • The length of the line at the Red Square Mausoleum—but there is still a line.
  • The quality and quantity of fish on offer (especially smoked fish and caviar) compared to the 1960s. My belief is that all the best kinds have simply been used up.
  • Likewise the quality of the bread.
  • Likewise the tea, which in all restaurants and other public places we visited came in bags.
  • While the prices of books have not gone down, they were much lower than I expected after hearing that Moscow was the most expensive city in the world. Are they being subsidized? But having no desire to look a gift horse (or more precisely, edition of Black Beauty) in the mouth, I loaded up on children’s poetry and reference books.

A few things that have increased in number or quality.

  • Pretty girls. Remember the old stereotype of the Russian female as a maiden with potato shaped hips and a potato shaped nose? Well, forget it. My husband, a well-known expert on the subject, rates the girls of the Russian capitals only slightly below those of Rio de Janeiro, but adds that the Slavic beauties are much less interesting because of the low diversity.
  • Fast food eateries. I suppose the actual number of McDonald’s has increased, but they are attracting much less attention now, because there are so many rivals, imported—Sbarro, for example—and homegrown—one called Крошки Картошки, and another featuring a large selection of blini and kasha dishes.
  • My impression is that a monolingual Russian speaker trying to read the signs on stores within, say a radius of 10 miles of the Kremlin, would have no less trouble than a monolingual speaker of English confronted with these same signs.
  • Skill at advertising and PR. My memory of 1993-96 is that there were just as many advertisements (billboards, etc.) as there are now but that they were generally of very poor quality, unsubtle, and frequently (mis)translated from English. Now there is real evidence that Tverskоy Boulevard has mastered the skills of Madison Avenue. I saw some really clever ads. One that particularly sticks in my memory was for a product to treat traveler’s diarrhea that was posted on the inside of the doors of stalls in the women’s room at Sheremetyevo. An informal survey provided unambiguous results regarding the product most commonly advertised: cell phones and associated technology.
  • Relative prevalence of efficient service with a smile (or at least not a scowl of enmity). Based on shopping trips to Brighton Beach (to be fair the last was several years ago), though, Soviet-style service has not died out everywhere in the world. Ironically, the only place I myself encountered old-style frustratingly inefficient service this trip was at a church products kiosk on Red Square.
  • Quality and diversity of available produce. How many years ago was it that people lined up for hours for a couple of bananas? Now kiwis go unremarked in Yaroslavl. I am not speaking here solely of the fruit and vegetables in restaurants catering to tourists—but also street and central municipal markets. Prices, while probably high for the average Russian, seemed more than reasonable to me.
  • Quality of musical performances that tourists are taken to. Evenings of opera and ballet selections and choral performances in churches. Astonishingly good, better than anything designed for tourists I have seen anywhere. (Though one would have preferred a whole opera or ballet.)

While GUM has been turned into a clone of Georgetown Park, significant chunks of the Russian past seem to be in the process of turning into a huge theme park. This is not all spurious or tasteless, though I suppose it is all driven by the profit motive. The island of Kizhi, for example, is a wonderful, tasteful outdoor museum, diminished only slightly, if at all, by the accoutrements required for the tourist trade. Who among us, no matter how highbrow, in the course of a cultural afternoon might not want a WC, a bottle of water, a snack, or even a souvenir or two? On the other hand, there is no denying that there is a considerable kitschy and spurious element to it all, whatever its Disneyesque charm. To my mind the symbol of this aspect is the matryoshka. Does everyone know that: “Contrary to…popular belief, the matryoshka has no roots in Russian folk culture at all”? (Figes: Natasha’s Dance, pg. 267) This doll was dreamed up in 1891 at a workshop associated with the Russian “arts and crafts” movement on the model of a traditional Japanese nesting doll. Thus, by the way, it would seem equally valid (if the word can be used in this context) to have matryoshki decorated with Winnie the Pooh or Harry Potter as with females in Russian peasant dress, and I no longer have to feel guilty about purchasing the former two for my grandchildren.

The ironies of the “peasant past as theme park” phenomenon were brought home to me, when we got off the river boat at Uglich. There a souvenir торговый ряд of at least a mile in length had been set up for the benefit of boat tourists, complete with musicians, kiosks in the style of embellished huts, etc., etc. On the path, a stooped very old woman, of exactly the type whose absence I noted in the capitals, complete with headscarf, was attempting to sell postcards and roadside flowers. One of the tour directors, feeling that she was impeding the smooth flow of traffic off the several boats, said, and I quote verbatim, “Бабушка, уйдите отсюда, вам здесь нет места”[Grandma, go somewhere else, this is no place for you.] I guess the real thing is never welcome in the theme park.

If the Russian past has become a theme park, then its theme song is Kalinka. I was never much aware of Kalinka as anything other than one of many Russian folk songs, one that I rather liked. But with Soviet-style unanimity it seems to have been singled out by buskers, restaurant musicians, etc. I gradually got to feel about it as about some particularly annoying advertising jingle, and even, out of the kindness of my heart, tried to advise street musicians that they would get more tourist contributions if they were to play virtually anything else. It should be noted that the Soviet past is evidently too fresh and too raw to have yet undergone a similar process of theme-parkization. However, the profit motive being what it is, I would not rule such a development out. When you hear the first announcements that SovietLand is being built and will soon be open to the public, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Well, I guess that’s all except for a couple of personal peak experiences that I would like to share. There are more, but I am not without mercy and will save the rest for another column.

Biggest Realization (call it a “duh moment”): That “Подмосковные вечера”(translated into English as Moscow Suburban Evenings) is not about the barren plots filled with huge depressing apartment complexes (as, against all reason, I had always thought) but about the dacha regions.

Favorite Purchase. A T-shirt that has written on it: “ВСЕ БАБЫ КАК БАБЫ…А Я БОГИНЯ.”(All other broads are just dames, but I am a goddess.)

Greatest Linguistic Triumph. Picture this scene: Peterhof. A beautiful August morning. Slightly disheveled lady tourist (SDLT) with binoculars slung around her neck is confronted by довольно нахальный молодой человек (ДНМЧ) (smart-ass young man) who attempts to get her to buy postcards.

SDLT (quite politely) Нет, спасибо—не надо. (Thank you, I don’t want any.)

ДНМЧ (evidently, irritated by SDLT’s presumptuous attempt to speak his language and determined to show her up.) Нахально. Тогда дайте мне ваши бинокли—сегодня как раз день моего рождения. (Well, then give me your binoculars—today just happens to be my birthday.)

SDLT (in a tone of astonishment). Почему, кем вы мне приходитесь? (But why, who are you to me?)

ДНМЧ (inspired) Ведь я ваш потерянный внук—разве не узнаете? (Actually, I am your long-lost grandson, don’t you know me?)

SDLT (after a pause to consider this information) Нет, это невозможно—все мои внуки очень красивые. (No, that is impossible, all my grandsons are very handsome.)

Loud laughter from friends of ДНМЧ standing around in the vicinity. SDLT exits smugly.

end of SlavFile reprint

Filed Under: SlavFile Tagged With: Russian, SlavFile

6 Anti-Love Poems on the Occasion of Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2018

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Do you find the Valentine’s Day celebration of romantic love a bit much? Do you cast about in search of refuge from the onslaught of bliss? Look no further! Lydia Razran Stone—the indefatigable editor of SlavFile and a specialist in translating Russian poetry—has put together a few of her translated of Russian poems focusing on the negatives of love to serve as your antidote to an excess of Valentine’s Day positivity. If you would like more poems in this vein, you can contact her at lydiastone@verizon.net for more of her translations.

A: THE MALE PERSPECTIVE

  1. FYODOR TYUTCHEV: LOVE AS COMBAT
Предопределение Федор Тютчев 1851

Любовь, любовь – гласит преданье –
Союз души с душой родной –
Их съединенье, сочетанье,
И роковое их слиянье.
И… поединок роковой…

И чем одно из них нежнее
В борьбе неравной двух сердец,
Тем неизбежней и вернее,
Любя, страдая, грустно млея,
Оно изноет наконец…

Predestination Fedor Tyutchev 1851

Through love, through loves, as legends state it
Two kindred souls seek fusion true
Forever more to be related;
Ideal communion –destined, fated.
But fate locks them in combat too.

And in this combat one soul’s fires
Always burns with love more pure.
It suffers more, to more aspires,
But in the end that soul expires,
That’s its fate, predestined, sure.

Original is in the public domain and may be found online at: http://www.ruthenia.ru/tiutcheviana/stihi/bp/172.html

  1. SASHA CHERNYY THE SAD CONSEQUENCES OF INFIDELITY: THE LONG SUFFERING HUSBAND
Колыбельная Саша Черный 1910

Мать уехала в Париж…
И не надо! Спи, мой чиж.
А-а-а! Молчи, мой сын,
Нет последствий без причин.
Черный, гладкий таракан
Важно лезет под диван,
От него жена в Париж
Не сбежит, о нет! шалишь!
С нами скучно. Мать права.
Новый гладок, как Бова,
Новый гладок и богат,
С ним не скучно… Так-то, брат!
А-а-а! Огонь горит,
Добрый снег окно пушит.
Спи, мой кролик, а-а-а!
Все на свете трын-трава…
Жили-были два крота,
Вынь-ка ножку изо рта!
Спи, мой зайчик, спи, мой чиж,—
Мать уехала в Париж.
Чей ты? Мой или его?
Спи, мой мальчик, ничего!
Не смотри в мои глаза…
Жили козлик и коза…
Кот козу увез в Париж…
Спи, мой котик, спи, мой чиж!
Через… год… вернется… мать…
Сына нового рожать…

Lullaby Sasha Cherny

Hush, my little sleepy-head.
Mama’s gone –to Paris fled.
Ah-Ah-Ah, please don’t you weep.
There were reasons, go to sleep.
Over there beneath the couch
Crawls a sleek and shiny roach.
Where’s his wife? In Paris, too?
No, she isn’t; that’s not true.
Life here’s dull, with you and me.
So says Mama, I agree.
Mama’s new one’s rich and sleek.
He won’t bore her in a week.
Ah-Ah-Ah! The candles glow;
Window panes pile up with snow.
Sleep my funny little man!
All the world’s not worth a damn…
Once there lived a deer and doe…
Do not chew upon your toe.
Sleep my bunny, rest your head!
Mama’s gone –to Paris fled.
Are you mine or are you his?
Doesn’t matter which it is!
Do not look at me like that…
Once there lived a kitty cat…
But a tom bore her away.
Sleep, my son, it’s almost day.
She’ll come back before too long
To birth us another son….

Original is in the public domain and may be found online at: https://45parallel.net/sasha_chernyy/kolybelnaya_mat_uekhala.html

  1. THE WOMAN’S PERSPECTIVE
  2. Zinaida Gippius- EVEN IF IT IS GROTESQUE, MIGHT IT STILL BE LOVE?
Зинаида Гиппиус ДЬЯВОЛЕНОК 1906

Мне повстречался дьяволенок,
Худой и щуплый – как комар.
Он телом был совсем ребенок,
Лицом же дик: остер и стар.

Шел дождь… Дрожит, темнеет тело,
Намокла всклоченная шерсть…
И я подумал: эко дело!
Ведь тоже мерзнет. Тоже персть.

Твердят: любовь, любовь! Не знаю.
Не слышно что-то. Не видал.
Вот жалость… Жалость понимаю.
И дьяволенка я поймал.

Пойдем, детеныш! Хочешь греться?
Не бойся, шерстку не ерошь.
Что тут на улице тереться?
Дам детке сахару… Пойдешь?

А он вдруг эдак сочно, зычно,
Мужским, ласкающим баском
(Признаться – даже неприлично
И жутко было это в нем) –

Пророкотал: “Что сахар? Глупо.
Я, сладкий, сахару не ем.
Давай телятинки да супа…
Уж я пойду к тебе – совсем”.

Он разозлил меня бахвальством…
А я хотел еще помочь!
Да ну тебя с твоим нахальством!
И не спеша пошел я прочь.

Но он заморщился и тонко
Захрюкал… Смотрит, как больной…
Опять мне жаль… И дьяволенка
Тащу, трудясь, к себе домой.

Смотрю при лампе: дохлый, гадкий,
Не то дитя, не то старик.
И все твердит: “Я сладкий, сладкий…”
Оставил я его. Привык.

И даже как-то с дьяволенком
Совсем сжился я наконец.
Он в полдень прыгает козленком,
Под вечер – темен, как мертвец.

То ходит гоголем-мужчиной,
То вьется бабой вкруг меня,
А если дождик – пахнет псиной
И шерстку лижет у огня.

Я прежде всем себя тревожил:
Хотел того, мечтал о том…
А с ним мой дом… не то, что ожил,
Но затянулся, как пушком
Безрадостно-благополучно,
И нежно-сонно, и темно…
Мне с дьяволенком сладко-скучно…
Дитя, старик,- не все ль равно?

Такой смешной он, мягкий, хлипкий,
Как разлагающийся гриб.
Такой он цепкий, сладкий, липкий,
Все липнул, липнул – и прилип.

И оба стали мы – едины.
Уж я не с ним – я в нем, я в нем!
Я сам в ненастье пахну псиной
И шерсть лижу перед огнем…

Zinaida Gippius THE LITTLE DEVIL 1906

One night I met, to my surprise,
A puny devil, blue with cold—
No bigger than a child in size,
His feral face was gaunt and old.

He shivered in the icy rain,
Which had soaked through his matted pelt.
“This son of hell feels cold and pain–
We share one fate,” I somehow felt.

They talk of love! What do I know?
Love’s something I don’t understand.
But pity? Yes, it moves me. So
I seized that devil by the hand.

“You’ll surely freeze here on the street.
Come home with me; we’ll get you warm!
I’ll feed you something hot and sweet.
Don’t be afraid, I mean no harm.”

He spoke—his voice a booming bass
As thick, and rich, and smooth as honey–
From his lank throat so out of place
It seemed indecent, even funny.

“Am I a babe, seduced by sweets?
I cannot stand them, never could.
Just feed me soup and fat red meats
And I’ll move in with you for good.”

At his brash words I took offense,
(My own had been much more than kind.)
Disgusted with such insolence
I turned to go, but changed my mind.

He gave a squeal so thin and shrill;
His face contorted pitifully.
He seemed so weak and looked so ill,
I had to drag him home with me.

In lamplight he looked nasty, seedy
A mix of aged imp and baby,
Who kept repeating, “I’m a sweetie.”
“He’ll grow on me,” I thought, “just maybe.”

So I got used to all his ways;
And he soon made himself at home;
Days, like a child, he romps and plays;
At dusk reverts to senile gnome.

At times his walk’s a manly stride;
At times a prancing girlish step.
Before the hearth he licks his hide
And stinks of dog when weather’s wet.

I used to worry, fret and strive;
I dreamed and longed for foolish stuff…
He gave my home, if not new life,
At least a coat of fuzzy fluff.
Devoid of woe, devoid of joy,
Our life’s a dark, dull, drowsy song.
A senile devil, babe, or boy—
What do I care—we get along.

He is so funny, soft and flimsy,
A rotting mushroom past its prime,
He is so sweetly sticky, clingy;
He stuck to me and now he’s mine.

Now he and I have grown together.
Not just united; we’re the same.
I stink of dog in rainy weather,
And lick my fur before the flame.

Original is in the public domain and may be found online at: http://pishi-stihi.ru/dyavolenok-gippius.html

  1. Marina Tsvetayeva: BETTER OFF WITHOUT IT, OR MAYBE NOT
Марина Цветаева  1915

Мне нравится, что вы больны не мной,
Мне нравится, что я больна не вами,
Что никогда тяжелый шар земной
Не уплывет под нашими ногами.

Мне нравится, что можно быть смешной –
Распущенной – и не играть словами,
И не краснеть удушливой волной,
Слегка соприкоснувшись рукавами.

Мне нравится еще, что вы при мне
Спокойно обнимаете другую,
Не прочите мне в адовом огне
Гореть за то, что я не вас целую.
Что имя нежное мое, мой нежный, не
Упоминаете ни днем, ни ночью – всуе…
Что никогда в церковной тишине
Не пропоют над нами: аллилуйя!

Спасибо вам и сердцем и рукой
За то, что вы меня – не зная сами! –
Так любите: за мой ночной покой,
За редкость встреч закатными часами,
За наши не-гулянья под луной,
За солнце, не у нас над головами,-
За то, что вы больны – увы! – не мной,
За то, что я больна – увы! – не вами!

Marina Tsvetayeva 1915

How nicе to know what ails me is not you,
How nice to know what ails you is not me.
And thus we’ll never feel, as lovers do,
Firm earth beneath us turn to flowing sea.
How nice to act the fool or talk too much,
Feel free to let you see me at my worst.
And if some day by chance our sleeves may touch.
No fiery flush my cool cheek will immerse.

How nice that you can calmly, though I’m near,
Enfold another woman in embrace;
That you do not berate me, do not jeer
When I display no urge to take her place;
That you my sweet, don’t seek to speak my name
Not heeding if it’s apt or apropos;
That loving vows we never will declaim;
Into the future hand and hand won’t go.

I’m grateful to you, more than I can tell,
For gifts of love, though given unaware:
For peaceful nights I sleep alone and well,
For keeping twilight trysts so very rare,
For moonlight walks that never came to be,
For sunlight not intended just for two.
Because, alas, you’re not what’s ailing me;
Because, alas, I’m not what’s ailing you.

Original is in the public domain and may be found online at: http://www.stihi-rus.ru/1/Cvetaeva/74.htm

  1. SOME CONSOLATION
  2. BULAT OKUDZHAVA: IF YOU’RE LUCKY AN UNHEALTHY LOVE TRANSFORMS INTO A BETTER KIND
Булат Окуджава 1959

Мне нужно на кого-нибудь молиться.
Подумайте, простому муравью
вдруг захотелось в ноженьки валиться,
поверить в очарованность свою!

И муравья тогда покой покинул,
все показалось будничным ему,
и муравей создал себе богиню
по образу и духу своему.

И в день седьмой, в какое-то мгновенье,
она возникла из ночных огней
без всякого небесного знаменья…
Пальтишко было легкое на ней.

Все позабыв — и радости и муки,
он двери распахнул в свое жилье
и целовал обветренные руки
и старенькие туфельки ее.,

И тени их качались на пороге.
Безмолвный разговор они вели,
красивые и мудрые, как боги,
и грустные, как жители земли.

Bulat Okudzhava-1959

I feel the need for someone I can pray to.
Imagine that a common lowly ant
Was overcome by yearning for a way to
Prostrate himself—as humble supplicant.

At peace no more, dispirited, frustrated
So all the world appeared to him mundane.
A goddess in his image he created
And worshipped her; his prayers were not in vain.

For when his days of prayer had numbered seven,
She did appear to him one winter’s night
Without a single augury from heaven…
The jacket that she wore was far too light.

Forgetting all the past – both pain and pleasure,
He opened wide the door out to the street
And kissed her hands, chapped raw from wind and weather,
And then the shabby slippers on her feet.

Two shadows moved like dancers in the entry.
And wordlessly communion seemed to flow.
And they were fair and wise like heaven’s gentry,
But sad like mortal folk on earth below.

Original is in the public domain and may be found online at: http://www.stihi-rus.ru/1/okud/32.htm

 

  1. Nikolay Gumilyov: EVEN IF LOVE DOES NOT BRIDGE THE GENDER GAP, ONE CAN TRY
Николай Гумилев Жираф 1907

Сегодня, я вижу, особенно грустен твой взгляд
И руки особенно тонки, колени обняв.
Послушай: далёко, далёко, на озере Чад
Изысканный бродит жираф.

Ему грациозная стройность и нега дана,
И шкуру его украшает волшебный узор,
С которым равняться осмелится только луна,
Дробясь и качаясь на влаге широких озер.

Вдали он подобен цветным парусам корабля,
И бег его плавен, как радостный птичий полет.
Я знаю, что много чудесного видит земля,
Когда на закате он прячется в мраморный грот.

Я знаю веселые сказки таинственных стран
Про чёрную деву, про страсть молодого вождя,
Но ты слишком долго вдыхала тяжелый туман,
Ты верить не хочешь во что-нибудь кроме дождя.

И как я тебе расскажу про тропический сад,
Про стройные пальмы, про запах немыслимых трав.
Ты плачешь? Послушай… далёко, на озере Чад
Изысканный бродит жираф.

Nikolay Gumilyov The Giraffe 1907

I see that this morning your eyes are especially sad;
Especially slender the arms that encircle your calves
Well, listen, far off to the south on the shores of Lake Chad,
There roams the exquisite giraffe.

To him have been given harmonious figure and grace,
His hide is embellished with pattern of magic design,
Which only the Moon would have daring enough to retrace
As playfully dancing she dapples the lake with her shine.

He seems at a distance a luminous sail on the waves
And fluid his gait, like a bird in its rapturous flight.
But only the Earth knows the site of the marble walled caves
To which he retreats when the sun starts to set every night.

I’d cheer you with tales of this land full of legend and song,
Of young tribal chiefs and dark maids, of their passion and pain…
But you have been breathing the fogs of the North for too long
And don’t want to believe there is anything else but the rain.

No lighthearted tales of the tropics can make your heart glad
You cannot imagine the palms or the scent of the alien grass…
You’re crying? Well, listen…on the distant shores of Lake Chad
There roams the exquisite giraffe.

Original is in the public domain and may be found online at: https://gumilev.ru/verses/375/

All translations by Lydia Razran Stone, published with permission.

Filed Under: Translation Tagged With: literary, poetry, Russian, translation, Valentine's Day

Stage Russia: Russian theater comes to you

November 10, 2017

Thater seats

Photo by Felix Mooneeram on Unsplash

For Russian theater lovers, Russian languages fans and anyone looking for new and fun ways to keep improving their Russian language skills, this screening and streaming program is a great option.
Stage Russia shows a variety of classical and contemporary plays staged by leading Russian theaters with English subtitles. As a Muscovite, I am delighted to have access to Satirikon’s Seagull and to be able to see other performances that would have been unavailable to me otherwise. Even if you are not a die-hard Butusov fan, you might enjoy other Stage Russia recordings, from Uncle Vanya to Drillalians.
It is also possible to organize viewings for colleges and to request viewings at local libraries (for free or for a licensing fee): https://www.stagerussia.com/streaming.
Read more about the project here. And, if you go to a screening, please consider writing a review for SlavFile or for SLD blog!

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: professional development, Russian

Russian Language Style Guide Resources

July 12, 2017

 

Article by Natalie Shahova – published in 2015

At the ATA 55th Annual Conference in Chicago a question was raised whether there is a Russian Guide similar to The Chicago Manual of Style for English language. I tried then to answer this question orally while below are some formal links to the sources I cited. One must keep in mind that Russian rules are much stricter than English. Though they do leave some freedom to the users, in most cases the absence (or presence) of a comma or of any other punctuation sign is an obvious mistake.

Please also note that numbers 2 & 3 of my list exist in various versions (titles, authors and dates of publication vary) but they are generally referred as Розенталь and Мильчин accordingly.

  1. Правила русской орфографии и пунктуации

http://www.rusyaz.ru/pr/
Утверждены в 1956 году Академией наук СССР, Министерством высшего образования СССР и Министерством просвещения РСФСР. На сегодня эти Правила, установившиеся почти полвека назад, – по-прежнему базовый источник для составителей словарей и справочников по русскому языку. На них основаны все многочисленные учебники и пособия для школьников и абитуриентов.

  1. Справочник по правописанию, произношению, литературному редактированию

Розенталь Д.Э., Джанджакова Е.В., Кабанова Н.П.

http://evartist.narod.ru/text1/20.htm
Дитмар Эльяшевич Розенталь (1899-1994) — советский и российский лингвист, автор многочисленных трудов по русскому языку.

  1. Справочник издателя и автора

А.Э. Мильчин и Л.К. Чельцова

http://www.redaktoram.ru/izdat_books_download_1_2.php – первые 12 разделов в виде pdf

http://diamondsteel.ru/useful/handbook/ – первые 7 разделов книги online

http://www.artlebedev.ru/everything/izdal/spravochnik-izdatelya-i-avtora/ – описание книги, покупка бумажной версии

  1. Запятание трудных слов и выражений – правила постановки запятых

http://www.konorama.ru/igry/zapatan/

  1. Корпус русского языка

http://www.ruscorpora.ru/search-main.html
На этом сайте помещен корпус современного русского языка общим объемом более 500 млн слов. Корпус русского языка — это информационно-справочная система, основанная на собрании русских текстов в электронной форме.

Корпус предназначен для всех, кто интересуется самыми разными вопросами, связанными с русским языком: профессиональных лингвистов, преподавателей языка, школьников и студентов, иностранцев, изучающих русский язык.

  1. Переводим служебные знаки

Наталья Шахова

Статья о различиях между правилами русской и английской пунктуации

http://atasld.org/sites/atasld.org/files/slavfile/fall-2008.pdf
SlavFile, Fall 2008, Vol. 17, No. 4, p.5

  1. Ководство

Артемий Лебедев

Подборка статей о дизайне и веб-дизайне, а также о российском интернете и событиях в нем.

Многие статьи касаются пунктуации и оформления текстов.

http://www.artlebedev.ru/everything/izdal/kovodstvo4/
Некоторые главы книги online: http://www.artlebedev.ru/kovodstvo/sections/

Filed Under: Translation Tagged With: Russian

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