#trigorin

[heymelissachambers]

shoutout to the poor people on the train that had to listen to me and my friends yelling about how trigorin from the seagull gets pegged by arkadina

[anatomiadellamemoria]

TRIGORIN (cerca in un libro): Pagina centoventuno... righe undici e dodici... Ecco... (Legge) «Se un giorno ti occorrerà la mia vita, vieni e prendila».

Anton Čechov, Il gabbiano, atto III

[annieisyourfavourite]

Characters I’ve played - Trigorin (The Seagull)

“For some reason, as soon as I’ve finished one novel, I feel I must start writing another, then another, then another. I write in a rush, without stopping, and can’t do anything else. What is there radiant or beautiful in that, I ask you?”

[loki-the-true-king]

Ivan Ozhogin as Trigorin in the new russian musical “Чайка” (A. Chekhov, “Seagull”)

[loki-the-true-king]

Ivan Ozhogin as Trigorin in the new musical “Чайка” (A. Chekhov’s “Seagull”)

The premiere was on 07/09/17

[urlasage]

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       .

NINA Your life is beautiful. TRIGORIN I see nothing especially lovely about it. [He looks at his watch] 

Excuse me, I must go at once, and begin writing again

 I am in a hurry

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               .           .

                           .

[urlasage]

.           .

        .

   .

NINA

Think of me sometimes.

TRIGORIN

I shall never forget you. 

I shall always remember you

 as I saw you that bright day--do you recall it?

                  --a week ago, when you wore your light dress, 

      and we talked together, and the white seagull lay on the bench beside us

      .

 .              .

               .                  .

                               .

                                    .

[urlasage]

.

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.

you are very young and very kind

but I don't know what is so delightful about my life

you have heard of obsessions, when a man is haunted day and night

say, by the idea of the moon or something?

.

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.

.

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well, I've got my moon

day and night I am obsessed by the same persistent thought

                                                     I must write, I must write, I must write . . .  

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.

.

no sooner have I finished one story than I am somehow compelled to write another, then a third, after a third a fourth

I write without stopping, except to change horses like a postchaise

I have no choice

.

what is there brilliant or delightful in that, I should like to know? It's a dog's life! here I am talking to you

                                         excited and delighted

yet never for one moment do I forget that there is 

                             an unfinished story waiting for me indoors 

I see a cloud shaped like a grand piano 

I think: I must mention somewhere in a story that a cloud went by

                               shaped like a grand piano 

I smell heliotrope. I say to myself: Sickly smell, mourning shade, must be mentioned in describing a summer evening 

I lie in wait for each phrase, for each word that falls from my lips or yours and hasten to lock all these words and phrases away in my literary storeroom: 

                          they may come in handy some day

when I finish a piece of work, I fly to the theatre or go fishing

                                                          in the hope of resting, of forgetting myself

but no, a new subject is already turning

                              like a heavy iron ball, in my brain 

some invisible force drags me to 

my table and I must make haste to write and write

. and so on for ever and ever .

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                        .