"I ran around in the garden. The bulletin board reads: "Reading by Alexander Brock" and "Peter Cogan's report will be held at the Museum of Comprehensive Technology".
"On the whole, everything on Vorobiev Mountain is like a festival: pancakes are sold under trees in tree-lined paths, and the phonograph is singing.
"The painters Milioti and Vyseslavtsev, as well as the poet Mrs. Pavlic Ann Tokol, have finally arrived. Let's buy tickets. We walked into the front hall decorated with shells, where a silver puppet with a spear said in a voice, "Please March for the Brock Party." We entered a hall decorated with pink velvet. It's packed, but he hasn't come yet. Antokolski brought us some chairs. Hardly had we sat down when the audience whispered, "Brock!" Brock. "Where is he?" Brock. "Sit at the small table!" Lilacs ... everyone is very excited.
"That deadpan face is very long. A pair of black eyes showed a depressed look, his lips were black and dry, and his face was yellow. The whole person looks exhausted, and his eyes, lips and whole face are simply lifeless expressions.
"He is reciting a long poem" Revenge ",which describes Byron, not the real Byron. He is fascinated by the little daughter of an ancient aristocratic family. It's as if his daughter married him, so he took her away. On a gloomy day, she came back alone. She is skinny and exhausted, holding a nursing baby in her hand. Later, my son grew up, but instead of going to war, he was very happy at the dance. One day, while he was dancing, he heard that his father was dying on Rose Street in Warsaw. But when he got there, he found his father dead and lying in bed. The description of his father in the coffin is exactly the same as Brock's. Close your eyes quietly. The body is straight and serene. Wearing an engagement ring on her finger. The son took the ring from his father's calm finger and drew a cross as his father's last sleep.
"When my son stood by the grave, there stood a woman dressed in black and covered with a black veil.
"Alexander Alexandrovich recited the plot of describing the war and describing the army in another chapter; Many people died in the battle, but they were full of heroism and bravely marched forward. The Queen was watching them.
"He recited the voice calm and monotonous.
"I seem to think that he also said that his son forgot his father.
"Then Brock stopped and it was all over. Let's clap. He bowed shyly. The audience cheered: "Please recite a few more short poems!" "twelve" Please recite twelve! '
"'I ... I can't recite 12! "
"'that strange girl! "Strange girl!"
"On a foggy morning," Brock recited, "like a little boy, you suddenly came to bow. Goodbye! The badge collided with the bracelet What wonderful memories! These lines have been in my memory since I was very young and will remain forever. )
"I can't remember any more cadences, but I can describe them in prose:' Your face is embedded in a golden photo frame and placed on the table in front of me. The memory of you is melancholy. You left in the middle of the night in a dark blue cloak. I'll take your face off the table and embed it in a golden frame.
"When Brock recited' Little Bell' and' Ring', the ending was' ы'. He recited mechanically, reserved and lacked * * *. Very serious and gloomy. You put your silver ring to my lips coldly.'
"Brock sometimes forgets what he said, so he turned and looked at the ladies and gentlemen sitting behind him. They smiled and gave him a hint.
"My Marina is sitting in an inconspicuous corner. Her face is dignified and her lips are tight, just like when she is angry. Sometimes her hands will touch the small flowers I hold, and her beautiful aquiline nose will smell these tasteless flowers and leaves. To be exact, there is no joy on her face, but she is very excited.
"It's getting dark, probably because it's dark, Brock read slowly. So a gentleman behind us lit the lamp. The candles on the chandelier and the headlights on both sides of the room are on, and the headlights are wrapped in thick glass, which is very dark.
"After a few minutes, it was all over. Marina asked Miriotti to take me to see Brock. When I entered his room, I began to put on a casual look. Then walk to Brock. I pulled his sleeve carefully and gently. He turned around. I handed him the letter. He smiled and whispered, "Thank you!" I made a deep bow. He greeted him with a casual smile. I left.
"1920 may 15"
In Marina Zvetayeva's life, Brock was the only poet who was respected by her, not as a "heartstring craft", but as a god of poetry and worshipped by her as a god. All the other poets she loves are regarded as like-minded people by her. Exactly-she regards herself as their peers and like-minded people, and about everyone-from Trediakovski to Mayakovski-she thinks she has the right to say something about Pushkin as she said: "I know the sharpness of quill pens, as if it had been sharpened! The finger is not dry yet, leaving his ink! "
And every one of them-even the most invisible Rilke! -She feels like a brother. She knows that poetry is not produced by a genius alone, but all the misfortunes, weakness and joy of a living person's flesh and blood, which are produced by his painful experience, his will and strength, sweat and labor, hunger and desire. His empathy and sympathy for their personal lives, "environmental restrictions" or environmental restrictions (life should be broken) have not weakened compared with his creation of poets.
Zvetayeva believes that only Brock's creation has reached an unattainable height-not detached from life, but purified by life (just like being purified by fire! ), so she never dared to think that she would reach such a creative height-only worship. All the poems she dedicated to Brock in 19 16 and 1920 to 192 1 years, as well as the prose she recited about him in Paris in the early 1930 s (this essay has never been published anywhere, nor has it been written.
As readers of my generation said "Pasternak and Zvetayeva", her generation said "Brock and Akhmatova". But the combination of these two names is purely a gift to Zvetayeva. She didn't draw an equal sign between them; Her praise of Akhmatova's poems is at best a manifestation of sisterhood, and that's all. They are indeed two sisters in poetry, but they are by no means twins; Akhmatova's perfect coordination and spiritual harmony fascinated Zvetayeva in the early days, but later it became a factor that restricted Akhmatova's creation and the development of her poems. "She is perfect, but unfortunately this is her limit." When talking about Akhmatova, Zvetayeva said this.
I still remember Ann Tokov's bringing Marina A a scene of Brock's Twelve, which is a large format, black and white-night, snow-a book with sharp illustrations by Annenkov; As soon as he left our former restaurant, he began to read directly, his small black eyes shining with fanatical light; He flapped his hands in the air; He came to us and blindly bypassed the obstacle until he leaned against the table where Marina was sitting. She stood up to meet him. He read until the end, and Marina silently took the book from him without raising her eyes. At the moment of shock, she always lowered her eyelids, gritted her teeth, and kept her boiling feelings from showing, seemingly indifferent.
The extraordinary phenomenon of Twelve not only shocked her, but also made her feel ashamed of herself and some contemporary poets in some major aspects. On this point, she talked a lot in the short article describing Brock, which was very sharp. In particular, she talked about: Cao Taige Theatre, which was put out of the revolutionary scope by Brock, just became a haven for many poets during the revolutionary period-starting from herself, she wrote a series of exquisite but untimely plays-although it didn't last long. ...
Not a muse, not a muse, not in-laws.
A short-lived relationship-not your bondage,
Friendship:-not with women's hands-cruel hands!
Bring me a rope buckle.
Fasten it.
This combination is terrible. -I'm sleeping
In the dark canyon-the rising sun shines brightly.
Ah, who put it on my back?
Wings without strength
Empty?
In the long poem "Riding on a Red Horse" (192 1) marked with the words dedicated to Anna Akhmatova, there are complex and iconic vivid images of Brock, the creator of Twelve, and Georgi Bobedono, a revolutionary deified by Zvetayeva.
Within a few days, she met him twice,1May 9th, 920 and1May 4th, 4, and listened to his recitation at Moscow Museum of Comprehensive Technology and Art Palace. She didn't know him and didn't have the courage to know him. She feels sad and happy for this, because she thinks that only imaginary meeting will not bring her disappointment. ...
(translated by Suzhou and Hangzhou)
Precautions:
Marina: That's Zvetayeva's name. Mother and daughter call each other by their first names like sisters.
Vamirioti (1875— 1943): Russian painter, who lived in the Art Palace at that time.
Peter Kogan (1872— 1932): Soviet literary theorist.
Mount Vorobiev: 1935 formerly known as Lenin Mountain in Moscow.
Vysheslavtsev (1890-1952): Russian painter, who lived in the Art Palace at that time, and Zvetayeva wrote many poems for him.
Pa Tokol (1896— 1978): Russian poet.
Alexander Alexandrovich: Brock's name and his father's name.
Twelve: Bloch's long poem describing the first few days after the October Revolution in the Soviet Union is one of the highest achievements of Russian poetry.
Refers to the short poem "Your five senses are embedded in a simple frame ..." (1908).
The envelope contained a poem written by Zvetayeva to Brock.
Wa TreDiacov (1703- 1768): Russian poet, academician of Petersburg Academy of Sciences, author of New Compilation of Russian Simple Poetics (1735).
Quoted from Zvetayeva's Poem to Pushkin (193 1).
You Annenkov (1889— 1974): Russian printmaker and landscape painter, living abroad since 1924.
Cao Taige is a lyric drama written by Brock.
Quoted from Zvetayeva's long poem "Riding on a Red Horse".
Make an appreciative comment
Evren followed her dear mother Marina into the hall decorated with pink velvet, observed her mother's respected poet Brock with her excited eyes, and listened to him recite an unusually beautiful poem with reservations: "A foggy morning, like a little boy, you suddenly ran past and bowed. Goodbye! ..... "Has been stored in the author's childhood memory of the faint poem, at the moment is unusually monotonous and lack of * * * voice into her eardrum. The child noticed his mother's expression. She is still dignified and tight-lipped, but the excitement she can't hide still attracts her daughter's attention.
It was in Alexander Brock's recital without communication that Aveling first felt his mother's reverence for Brock. Her dear mother Marina is a famous Soviet poetess: Marina Ivanovna Zvetayeva. This talented poetess has been writing poems since she was 6 years old. She has always been a maverick in her creation, never joined any poet group, insisted on finding her own way, and made her mark in the poetry world. The poetess's life has been ups and downs, and her love, family and life have never reached a perfect moment. 1933, she wrote in a private letter: "You can't imagine the poverty I live in. I don't have any means of making a living except writing. My husband is ill and can't work. Four people make a living by knitting hats with their daughters and earning five francs a day. In other words, we are starving like animals. " Economic helplessness erodes her, while political isolation intensifies her loneliness and whips her pride. Living overseas ranged from 1922 to 1939. Because she refused to curse the Soviet Union with Belarusian reactionary nationals, her poems could no longer be published. After a bitter exile of 17 years, Zvetayeva returned to the motherland, but she did not expect to be greeted by a series of unreasonable persecution: her daughter and husband were arrested by the Soviet authorities, one in exile and one in death. As Pasternak said, "Zvetayeva is a woman, but she has a man's capable heart. She is resolute and hard to contain. She goes forward bravely in life and creation, greedily pursues completeness and clarity, even as fierce as a beast. In this pursuit, she went very far and walked in front of everyone. " This may be the reason why Zvetayeva always faces the situation of "loneliness without protection and sympathy". 194 1, the proud, stubborn and dignified poetess wrote her last poem on a small piece of paper-to the literary foundation-"I hereby apply for the work of washing dishes in the canteen of the upcoming literary foundation". After being rejected, she hanged herself in despair. Forty years later, the poems written by Zvetayeva with her whole life and * * * finally got the due evaluation. As she wrote at the age of 2 1, "But my poems are like precious wine, and the moment of good luck will surely come."
Evren is the closest person to Zvetayeva. From an early age, she looked at her mother's heart with clear eyes. In my memory, Marina listened to Brock's poems twice. She was with her mother, and Marina suppressed her inner boiling with a cold expression. But Evelyn knew her mother. She knows this is one of her mother's favorite poems. The words purified by the fire of life are the most sacred things in her heart. Those poems with "high skill" have always been the insistence of my mother's creation. They have combined the pain and misfortune of an era, so they have already turned into living monsters, constantly absorbing all the life and feelings of the creator, and maintaining vitality forever under the nourishment of blood. Unfortunately, these poems just floated under the sky of that era and were limited by the whole environment. Zvetayeva never thought that her poems failed to transcend this invisible boundary and were always restricted by the real environment.
But there is one person in Zvetayeva's heart: Brock, whose poems can travel through time and space and touch the truth outside the times. His poems are full of energy. Whether written in wartime or peacetime, whether read in the darkness of innocence or material desire, whether under the domination of divinity or under the mainstream consciousness of high morale recovery, his poems seem to shine high in the distant sky, sometimes bringing comfort and sometimes excitement. It is as eternal as truth, observing the ultimate life. Although the river of history never stops flowing forward, it has no choice but to go back and forth. War and peace also change with the digital beat of recording years. Poets, including Zvetayeva herself, can't get rid of this reality. And Brock's poems have such power. They see through hardships, sufferings, weakness and strength, and all the joys and sorrows of life have lost their color in front of them, because these poems already contain all these feelings, and they look on with a smile, just like an old man who has experienced all the joys and sorrows of life watching his children play.
Zvetayeva admired Brock and Brock's poems, but gave up all opportunities to communicate with him face to face, which strengthened her understanding of his poems. She is still the introverted and eccentric Marina, or the Marina who lives in her own spiritual world. Looking up at Brock's poems is actually looking up at the perfect poems and spiritual realm created in her heart. Under the shelter of illusory wings, she feels gratified and satisfied. Efren can feel the world created by her mother, so she sees the soft inner world under her firm appearance. Zvetayeva once said in her letter: "A person, all his life, has no books, no readers, no friends-no groups, no social interaction, no protection and sympathy, not as good as a dog, but ... but everything." Perhaps everything about her is a world of poems left to her imagination forever. In this world, "the sun rises and shines". Maybe when she decided to end her life, she just wanted to get her life back through death and return to her inner world that would never be disappointed.
(Wei Xing)