One of Tsvetaeva’s best-loved poems was written 109 years ago today. Russians who don’t know the poem know the song, set to music by Mikael Tariverdiev for the 1974 film
The Irony of Fate, a perennial New Year’s Eve favorite (which I don’t happen to like). Here’s a rendition of the song with shots from the 2013 biopic
Mirrors (which I haven’t seen):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=prWg...tart_radio =1.
It’s nice to know that you don’t ache for me,
it’s nice to know that I don’t ache for you,
that never will the heavy globe slip free
and leave us, heels upended, in the blue.
It’s nice that I can laugh and be at ease,
let down my hair, not play with words or blush—
a stifling rush of crimson—if our sleeves,
in passing, momentarily should touch.
It’s nice that in my presence you feel free
to take another in your arms, nor do
you promise me infernal agony
because the one I’m kissing isn’t you.
It’s nice that you, my dearest, never say
my dearest name by day or night—in vain—
that never, in a church’s hush, will they
rain hallelujahs on us in refrain!
I’m thankful, as my heart and hand attest,
to know that—even though you’re unaware!—
you love me so: for nights of peaceful rest,
for twilight trysts so mercifully rare,
for strolls beneath the moon that weren’t to be,
for sunlight beaming on some other two,
for showing you don’t ache—alas!—for me,
for knowing I don’t ache—alas!—for you.
3 May 1915
Edits
S1L3: give way > slip free
S1L7: wave > rush
Crib
I like it that you’re not [love]sick over me,
I like it that I’m not [love]sick over you,
that never will the heavy globe of Earth
swim away beneath our feet.
I like it that I can be funny—
loose/unrestrained—and not play with words,
and not blush in a suffocating wave,
having slightly touched sleeves [with you].
I like it that you, in my presence,
can calmly embrace another,
that you don’t consign me to burn
in hellfire because the one I’m kissing isn’t you.
That my tender name, you, my tender [one],
don’t mention by night or day—in vain …
That never in the quiet of a church
will they sing hallelujah over us!
Thanks to you, both heart and hand,*
for—not knowing it yourself!—
loving me so: for my nighttime peace,
for the rareness of encounters in twilight hours,
for our non-strolling beneath the moon,
for the sun over not-our heads,
for the fact that you’re not [love]sick— alas!—over me,
for the fact that I’m not [love]sick—alas!—over you!
* To thank someone “heart and hand” is not a Russian idiom and seems to be a conflation of “thanking from the heart” and “asking for someone’s hand and heart.” The poem was addressed to Mauritius Mints, who couldn’t ask for Tsvetaeva’s hand because she was married and he was engaged to her sister.
The rhyme scheme, which I was unable to duplicate, is AbAbAbAb CdCdCdCd AbAbAbAb, lowercase letters being feminine rhymes.
Original
Мне нравится, что Вы больны не мной,
Мне нравится, что я больна не Вами,
Что никогда тяжелый шар земной
Не уплывет под нашими ногами.
Мне нравится, что можно быть смешной —
Распущенной — и не играть словами,
И не краснеть удушливой волной,
Слегка соприкоснувшись рукавами.
Мне нравится еще, что Вы при мне
Спокойно обнимаете другую,
Не прочите мне в адовом огне
Гореть за то, что я не Вас целую.
Что имя нежное мое, мой нежный, не
Упоминаете ни днем, ни ночью — всуе…
Что никогда в церковной тишине
Не пропоют над нами: аллилуйя!
Спасибо Вам и сердцем и рукой
За то, что Вы меня — не зная сами! —
Так любите: за мой ночной покой,
За редкость встреч закатными часами,
За наши не-гулянья под луной,
За солнце не у нас над головами,
За то, что Вы больны — увы! — не мной,
За то, что я больна — увы! — не Вами!
The only portrait done of Tsvetaeva during her lifetime (Magda Nakhman, 1913)