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So ... GO!
So ... GO!
Correspondence Marina Tsvetaeva
Posted 01-09-2009 at 18:53 by Пар-И
Rainer Maria Rilke - Marina Tsvetaeva
Val-Mont, Glion-sur-Terry (In)
Switzerland
May 17, 1926
- Marina, Thank you for the world !»...
Marina, so your daughter could you say such and such hard times! (In a child in the days of my childhood - at least in Austria, in Bohemia - could find an inner rush soponimaniya, so to say that ?)...
... My daughter probably could say this, if the word and his appeal would have been more vital to her, but, in fact, the only time I really was with her at all even preceded all of literature, from its birth to its first anniversary: then everything connected with home, family and the resistance is gone, and because it arose partly against my will, also married, though never officially been dissolved, faded away (after nearly two years of age), returning I was a natural for me to loneliness, so Paris has begun: it was in 1902. Now my daughter is long married, living somewhere in the Saxon name that I do not know, but my granddaughter, Christine, whom I also represent only a small multiple images, in November crossed the line second year and has since grown into its third year .. . But all this is an entirely different plane than that on which the Myuzot where I am since 1921 (I managed to find it and settle here because of the wonderful circumstances, no - thanks to the very miracle) I live all alone (sometimes refusing to and from the visits of friends, which, however, are rare), so lonely, as I have always lived, even more lonely: sometimes in terrible build-up of what is called loneliness, carried away in the final and a pronounced stage of detachment (for earlier secluded existence in Paris, Rome, Venice - where I've lived without feeling it as such - in Spain, Tunisia, Algeria, Egypt ... in the penetration of Provence ... it was still being participation, of belonging, engagement), but Myuzot more demanding than anything led me to the hard work, a vertical leap in the open space, to the ascension of the whole earth - in me ... My dear, and what I can tell you, when you hold "Elegy" in his hands, when "Elegy" - in your hands and close your heart beating rhythms of complicity ...
These poems have been initiated (in 1912) of not less than the great solitude, was given me on the Adriatic coast, in the old (demolished in the war) Castle Duino (near Trieste), and later in Spain and Paris, came to separate lines, and all would probably , completed in 1914 in Paris, if not a great fault of the world, plunged me into unconsciousness and inaction. Years. Have something to me to save in the long winter of the soul, I do not know this when I finally managed to flee to Switzerland (1919), on the ground, where. natural and without rancor was still enough ... I found it only in 1921 Myuzot, that first quiet lonely, when in my restrained by their nature, the spirit of a few weeks, there was an unprecedented growth in first "Orpheus" (each part - in three days!), then the "Elegy" he reveals the fullness of maturation, leading me, powerfully, almost devastating, through the passion of the eruption, but also with so much tenderness and tact that no one (oh my!), no row that arose before, was not proved not to the point where it would not be a natural step and a voice among the voices. It was so healing, past with a fairly age-old breaks so accurately and intimately approached the fire, re-ignited because of this neighborhood and endless relationship that there was not a visible seam! The joy and victory, Marina, incredible! That's why there is a surplus was the loneliness in all its deadliness. But then, perhaps because I have, over past events, reached over and tried to continue the impossible conditions of increasing detachment (not out of stubbornness or so to try to snatch some more to my favor, but because when we were sticking to the "other", live from the him and for him, immediately (or immediately thereafter "immediately"), there are conflicts and problems, which I should be afraid of in those days, when I then just did, to simply change the occupation), because if (for work itself, to our great exciting work - not vindictive, and even when it breaks through us, leaving us exhausted and depleted, but overturned the reward), or because I was too long, inertia, bore such here the specific conditions of his seclusion in This heroic valleys, under almost angry sky from the sun the grape country - the first time in my life - suddenly it insidious way my loneliness turned against me, I became a physical sting, making me-being-alone-with-self-with-boy into something questionable and dangerous, into something more frightening because of the bodily disharmony, which is now destroyed what was long for me to primordial silence. That's why I'm here today in the Val-Monet, for the third time (after two more brief here pobyvok in 1924 and 1925.), Because it was the same, and my long stay in Paris (from January until mid-August 1925), where I think I really allowed myself to all sorts of anti-games and anti-theses prohibited Myuzot life - in all their manifestations, and bends, here are my hesitation, but not close for me again with my on me which went down and I thrive in danger -- in its strong tower ... What do doctors say? Disease of the nerve, which is called the «Grand Sympathique» *, that big beautiful tree nerve, which is if not our fruits, yet, apparently, the most brilliant flowers of our being ... Violations of the more subjective than the actual material or organically fixed by gender (at least for now), bodily harm to himself-not-feeling, from which arises spontaneously from the fusion of our physical souchastlivostyu (to themselves), the differences within the body, which makes me so helpless that I have, ever since a true revolution in my life (it happened in 1899 - 1900. at the time of my stay in Russia), used to living without a doctor, being in such perfect harmony with my body, which often would take his for the creation of his soul: a light and useful, as it was, and misleading with him to the depths of the spiritual, often abolishing itself, endowed with a weight of only courtesy and visible only to frighten them invisible! Such is my sincerely, my friend, my actual carrier, the backbone of my heart; accomplice of all my joys, not degrading any of them, each of digesting in a special way, granting them to me in the heart of the intersection of my feelings. How is my creation - always ready for me and to my servant, as a creation to the creation - higher than me with all the reliability and the magnificence of origin of genius, bred for centuries, magnificent in the bright innocence of his not-self, touching in his desire to remain faithful to "I" in all its transitions and vibrations. Naive and wise. What I have just owe him, if by its very nature it has strengthened my admiration and fruit, and the wind, and walking on the grass. If because of it I rock with an impervious, which can not break, affinity with the aspirations arising from me. And: thanks to its severity communion stars. So: this quarrel with him - grief, and grief is still too new to be with him already reconciled. A doctor can not understand why these vices that covered all my body, and therefore seem to be tolerant, I was so universal, so is profoundly mar ...
But that's me all about yourself - dear Marina, forgive me! Sorry also for the opposite - if you suddenly forced'll clam, do not let that prevent you continue to write to me, once again you will want to "fly". Your German - no, "stumble" has nothing to do with it, sometimes it seems too heavy, as steps to who goes on a stone staircase with steps of different depths, so that the descent is not in a position to compare the, when his leg will support - right now or somewhere there, suddenly, a lot further down than he thought. What power you possess, poet, and failing in that language to carry out their desire to be accurate and to be themselves! Your move, sounding the steps, your tone, you. Your facility, your ruling or the donee weight.
But you know, it turns out I overestimated myself. It is therefore overestimated, even ten years ago, Goncharova read in Russian, almost without a dictionary, that the Russian letters are relatively easy to read and sometimes I suddenly sees some of that light that seems as if all the languages - it is one language (and Your Russian is already so close to becoming a universal !)... your books, despite the fact that you are my guide in unfamiliar places, for me, hard, for too long I did not read regularly, only sporadically, such as (in Paris), poems by Boris, one of the anthologies. If, Marina, I could read you the same way as you did! Still two small booklet accompanying me from the table to the bed, having a great advantage over all those that I read normally.
From sending you my passport photo abstention is not out of vanity, but from an understanding of randomness instant flash of magnesium. However, I put this picture next to your: habit until this, okay?
Rainer
Soon I'll go one day in Myuzot, find it for you a few small, more or less reflect the reality of their shots before last year. I avoid pictures and pose for artists: Noises did not take off me.
Send me as soon as possible is one of his photograph.
* Big sympathetic (Fr.).
Val-Mont, Glion-sur-Terry (In)
Switzerland
May 17, 1926
- Marina, Thank you for the world !»...
Marina, so your daughter could you say such and such hard times! (In a child in the days of my childhood - at least in Austria, in Bohemia - could find an inner rush soponimaniya, so to say that ?)...
... My daughter probably could say this, if the word and his appeal would have been more vital to her, but, in fact, the only time I really was with her at all even preceded all of literature, from its birth to its first anniversary: then everything connected with home, family and the resistance is gone, and because it arose partly against my will, also married, though never officially been dissolved, faded away (after nearly two years of age), returning I was a natural for me to loneliness, so Paris has begun: it was in 1902. Now my daughter is long married, living somewhere in the Saxon name that I do not know, but my granddaughter, Christine, whom I also represent only a small multiple images, in November crossed the line second year and has since grown into its third year .. . But all this is an entirely different plane than that on which the Myuzot where I am since 1921 (I managed to find it and settle here because of the wonderful circumstances, no - thanks to the very miracle) I live all alone (sometimes refusing to and from the visits of friends, which, however, are rare), so lonely, as I have always lived, even more lonely: sometimes in terrible build-up of what is called loneliness, carried away in the final and a pronounced stage of detachment (for earlier secluded existence in Paris, Rome, Venice - where I've lived without feeling it as such - in Spain, Tunisia, Algeria, Egypt ... in the penetration of Provence ... it was still being participation, of belonging, engagement), but Myuzot more demanding than anything led me to the hard work, a vertical leap in the open space, to the ascension of the whole earth - in me ... My dear, and what I can tell you, when you hold "Elegy" in his hands, when "Elegy" - in your hands and close your heart beating rhythms of complicity ...
These poems have been initiated (in 1912) of not less than the great solitude, was given me on the Adriatic coast, in the old (demolished in the war) Castle Duino (near Trieste), and later in Spain and Paris, came to separate lines, and all would probably , completed in 1914 in Paris, if not a great fault of the world, plunged me into unconsciousness and inaction. Years. Have something to me to save in the long winter of the soul, I do not know this when I finally managed to flee to Switzerland (1919), on the ground, where. natural and without rancor was still enough ... I found it only in 1921 Myuzot, that first quiet lonely, when in my restrained by their nature, the spirit of a few weeks, there was an unprecedented growth in first "Orpheus" (each part - in three days!), then the "Elegy" he reveals the fullness of maturation, leading me, powerfully, almost devastating, through the passion of the eruption, but also with so much tenderness and tact that no one (oh my!), no row that arose before, was not proved not to the point where it would not be a natural step and a voice among the voices. It was so healing, past with a fairly age-old breaks so accurately and intimately approached the fire, re-ignited because of this neighborhood and endless relationship that there was not a visible seam! The joy and victory, Marina, incredible! That's why there is a surplus was the loneliness in all its deadliness. But then, perhaps because I have, over past events, reached over and tried to continue the impossible conditions of increasing detachment (not out of stubbornness or so to try to snatch some more to my favor, but because when we were sticking to the "other", live from the him and for him, immediately (or immediately thereafter "immediately"), there are conflicts and problems, which I should be afraid of in those days, when I then just did, to simply change the occupation), because if (for work itself, to our great exciting work - not vindictive, and even when it breaks through us, leaving us exhausted and depleted, but overturned the reward), or because I was too long, inertia, bore such here the specific conditions of his seclusion in This heroic valleys, under almost angry sky from the sun the grape country - the first time in my life - suddenly it insidious way my loneliness turned against me, I became a physical sting, making me-being-alone-with-self-with-boy into something questionable and dangerous, into something more frightening because of the bodily disharmony, which is now destroyed what was long for me to primordial silence. That's why I'm here today in the Val-Monet, for the third time (after two more brief here pobyvok in 1924 and 1925.), Because it was the same, and my long stay in Paris (from January until mid-August 1925), where I think I really allowed myself to all sorts of anti-games and anti-theses prohibited Myuzot life - in all their manifestations, and bends, here are my hesitation, but not close for me again with my on me which went down and I thrive in danger -- in its strong tower ... What do doctors say? Disease of the nerve, which is called the «Grand Sympathique» *, that big beautiful tree nerve, which is if not our fruits, yet, apparently, the most brilliant flowers of our being ... Violations of the more subjective than the actual material or organically fixed by gender (at least for now), bodily harm to himself-not-feeling, from which arises spontaneously from the fusion of our physical souchastlivostyu (to themselves), the differences within the body, which makes me so helpless that I have, ever since a true revolution in my life (it happened in 1899 - 1900. at the time of my stay in Russia), used to living without a doctor, being in such perfect harmony with my body, which often would take his for the creation of his soul: a light and useful, as it was, and misleading with him to the depths of the spiritual, often abolishing itself, endowed with a weight of only courtesy and visible only to frighten them invisible! Such is my sincerely, my friend, my actual carrier, the backbone of my heart; accomplice of all my joys, not degrading any of them, each of digesting in a special way, granting them to me in the heart of the intersection of my feelings. How is my creation - always ready for me and to my servant, as a creation to the creation - higher than me with all the reliability and the magnificence of origin of genius, bred for centuries, magnificent in the bright innocence of his not-self, touching in his desire to remain faithful to "I" in all its transitions and vibrations. Naive and wise. What I have just owe him, if by its very nature it has strengthened my admiration and fruit, and the wind, and walking on the grass. If because of it I rock with an impervious, which can not break, affinity with the aspirations arising from me. And: thanks to its severity communion stars. So: this quarrel with him - grief, and grief is still too new to be with him already reconciled. A doctor can not understand why these vices that covered all my body, and therefore seem to be tolerant, I was so universal, so is profoundly mar ...
But that's me all about yourself - dear Marina, forgive me! Sorry also for the opposite - if you suddenly forced'll clam, do not let that prevent you continue to write to me, once again you will want to "fly". Your German - no, "stumble" has nothing to do with it, sometimes it seems too heavy, as steps to who goes on a stone staircase with steps of different depths, so that the descent is not in a position to compare the, when his leg will support - right now or somewhere there, suddenly, a lot further down than he thought. What power you possess, poet, and failing in that language to carry out their desire to be accurate and to be themselves! Your move, sounding the steps, your tone, you. Your facility, your ruling or the donee weight.
But you know, it turns out I overestimated myself. It is therefore overestimated, even ten years ago, Goncharova read in Russian, almost without a dictionary, that the Russian letters are relatively easy to read and sometimes I suddenly sees some of that light that seems as if all the languages - it is one language (and Your Russian is already so close to becoming a universal !)... your books, despite the fact that you are my guide in unfamiliar places, for me, hard, for too long I did not read regularly, only sporadically, such as (in Paris), poems by Boris, one of the anthologies. If, Marina, I could read you the same way as you did! Still two small booklet accompanying me from the table to the bed, having a great advantage over all those that I read normally.
From sending you my passport photo abstention is not out of vanity, but from an understanding of randomness instant flash of magnesium. However, I put this picture next to your: habit until this, okay?
Rainer
Soon I'll go one day in Myuzot, find it for you a few small, more or less reflect the reality of their shots before last year. I avoid pictures and pose for artists: Noises did not take off me.
Send me as soon as possible is one of his photograph.
* Big sympathetic (Fr.).
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