In a small town,
* * * Enjoy the endless dusk.
And the constant ringing of bells.
In a hotel in this town—
The ancient clock struck.
Weak noise
Like time dripping gently.
Sometimes, at dusk, it comes from a room on the top floor.
Flute,
The piper leaned against the window,
The window is big, with tulips.
I don't care if you don't love me at the moment.
In the middle of the room, there is a ceramic tile stove.
There is a picture on each tile:
A heart, a sailboat, a rose.
Through our only window,
Snow, snow, snow.
You will lie in my favorite position: lazy,
It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter.
Lit a match once or twice.
A harsh voice.
The flame of your cigarette has gone from strong to weak,
The end of the smoke trembled, trembled.
Short, gray cigarette butts-even ashes.
You don't even bother to play-
The cigarette then flies into the fire.
-Zvetayeva
Staying in a hotel with your lover is sensitive enough to the temptations around you. I know I will love myself even though I know that the fire will eventually turn to ashes. This woman's deep affection contains a man's atmosphere and firmness, revealing a charming atmosphere from both words and connotations.
Zvetayeva was an outstanding poetess, essayist and translator in the Russian Silver Age. She was once praised by broschi as "the most outstanding poetess in the world (no one)". Her life was full of ups and downs, and she pursued "the love of the soul" from beginning to end. Her unique genius makes her always light the flame of creation in the ashes of love. Throughout her poetry history, this is a chronicle of love. Even in the last year or two of her life, her longing for love never stopped.
As an important poet in the Silver Age, Zvetayeva did not belong to any contemporary school. She once disdainfully denied the school's "bondage" and liked to trigger her own inner independent creation, just like her "favorite posture: laziness" and her "indifference" to the group. Perhaps it is because of this style that her later dissatisfaction in material and recognition proves the inevitability of her death from another side. When the famous former Soviet journalist Fei Medvedev visited Razumov Skaya, the biographer of Zvetayeva, in Vienna from 65438 to 0990, he asked her two questions. One of them was: "What surprised you most about the fate of Zvetayeva?" Razumov Skaya answered simply: "Her character, her character that is incompatible with everything."
Knowing Zvetayeva's life, and then reading this poem back, the warmth of love is still there, but the bitterness of despair has begun to spread. At this time, Tanabata has passed, "the ancient clock rings/makes a faint sound/like time drops gently." "I want to live with you" is so short and precious in the eternal unknown. "A heart, a sailboat, a rose." Destined to sail, heart and love will set out at night. "The flame of cigarettes turns from strong to weak" and "tremble, tremble". Who can give the soul a proper rescue, and what kind of enrichment will not feel empty again? This woman, who has been thinking with body and love, is trapped in her own shackles, beautiful and burning. "Even the ashes/you are too lazy to bounce off." No matter how deviant she is, the words she left are enough for the world to get close to her, know her and love her. Enough!
Because, we will never see such clear eyes and such a complicated soul again. They miraculously merged into one.