#tyutchev

[metamorphesque]

"Silentium", Fyodor Tyutchev (translated by John Cournos)

[rakonteur]

... Blessed is he who visited this world in its moments of unruly destiny! For he was summoned by the gods to partake in their revels; A witness to their mighty deeds, Admitted to their innermost thoughts, He drinks immortal life from heaven's very chalice

Fyodor Tyutchev (Cicero)

Tyutchev was writing during the 1825 Decembrist Revolt, one of the most turbulent periods of Tsarist Russian history. They ring true now.

[4eternal-life]

Last Love

Towards our end, as life runs out, love is more troubled and more tender. Fade not, fade not, departing light of our last love, our farewell splendour.

Shadow overshadows half the sky; far to the west the last rays wander. Shine on, shine on, last light of day; allow us still to watch and wonder.

What if our blood runs thinner, cooler? This does not make the heart less tender. Last love, last love, what can I call you? Joy and despair, mortal surrender.

*1851-54

Fyodor Tyutchev

Translated by Robert Chandler /   s

_____________________________________________________

Love at the closing of our days is apprehensive and very tender. Glow brighter, brighter, farewell rays of one last love in its evening splendor.

Blue shade takes half the world away: through western clouds alone some light is slanted. O tarry, O tarry, declining day, enchantment, let me stay enchanted.

The blood runs thinner, yet the heart remains as ever deep and tender. O last belated love, thou art a blend of joy and of hopeless surrender.

translated  by Vladimir Nabokov /  s

[vasilinaorlova]

“She was sitting on the floor...”

Она сидела на полу                     She was sitting on the floor И груду писем разбирала,           And went through a pile of letters И, как остывшую золу,                  And, like cooled ash, Брала их в руки и бросала.         She took them in her hands and threw them. Брала знакомые листы                   She took familiar sheets И чудно так на них глядела,            And looked at them so strangely Как души смотрят с высоты             Like souls look from the height На ими брошенное тело…               At the body that they abandoned… О, сколько жизни было тут,               Oh what life was there, Невозвратимо пережитой!                Irreversibly lived! О, сколько горестных минут,             Oh so many bitter moments, Любви и радости убитой!..                So much love and murdered cheer!.. Стоял я молча в стороне                    I stood silently afar И пасть готов был на колени,–           And was ready to fall on my knees– И страшно грустно стало мне,            And I was becoming terribly pensive, Как от присущей милой тени.             As if in a presence of a dear shadow. I love this poem by Fyodor Tyutchev. It was written in 1858. I always imagined a woman in a light, summer, plain, chintz dress with fairly dark hair, maybe dark strawberry blond, sitting with her back to me–a silent viewer. In Tyutchev’s poem the viewer, the I, is male (the gendered endings of the two words, a verb and an adjective, stoyal and gotov, ensure that), but in the English translation following closely the original in meaning (if not in rhyme or in the rhythm), the gender of the observer will be uncertain, as it is uncertain in my translation above. Whenever I think about this plain but spectacular scene, I do take on the point of the observer in my imagination: I see a woman sitting on the wooden floor warm with summer rays that cross planks, rays falling askance from the window and leaving skewed parallelograms around her. She is in fact sitting in one of these parallelograms: a half of her hair and her right shoulder are lit, and her another shoulder is in the dark.

[metamorphesque]

"I am deprived of everything...", Fyodor Tyutchev (translated by Anatoly Liberman)

[yourwind]

Silentium! Молчи, скрывайся и таи И чувства и мечты свои — Пускай в душевной глубине Встают и заходят оне Безмолвно, как звезды в ночи, — Любуйся ими — и молчи. Как сердцу высказать себя? Другому как понять тебя? Поймет ли он, чем ты живешь? Мысль изреченная есть ложь — Взрывая, возмутишь ключи, Питайся ими — и молчи… Лишь жить в себе самом умей — Есть целый мир в душе твоей Таинственно-волшебных дум — Их оглушит наружный шум, Дневные разгонят лучи — Внимай их пенью — и молчи!.. 1830  Ф. Тютчев

Silentium! Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal the way you dream, the things you feel. Deep in your spirit let them rise akin to stars in crystal skies that set before the night is blurred: delight in them and speak no word. How can a heart expression find? How should another know your mind? Will he discern what quickens you? A thought once uttered is untrue. Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred: drink at the source and speak no word. Live in your inner self alone within your soul a world has grown, the magic of veiled thoughts that might be blinded by the outer light, drowned in the noise of day, unheard… take in their song and speak no word 1830 F. Tyutchev

[artbytatianaz]

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[midspringwind]

Soft the dove-hues shadows mingle,

Color fades, sound droops to sleep...

Life and motion melt to darkness

Swaying murmurs far and deep.

But the night moth’s languid flitting

Stirs the air invisibly:

Oh, the hour of wordless longing;

I in all, and all in me.

Every sense in dark and cooling

Self-forgetfulness immerse, —

Grant that I may taste extinction

In the dreaming universe.

Tyutchev, Twilight