„Чем выше мы поднимаемся, тем меньше и ничтожнее кажемся тем, кто не может взлететь.”
~ Фридрих Ницше, “Так говорил Заратустра”
Author: Veronica
Hello, lovely stranger! My name is Veronika Sizova, and I am currently studying in Canada.
Since early childhood, I have been mesmerized by the literary art. The words – exquisite, intricately intertwined, sophisticated, magnificently powerful and fragile simultaneously, – remind me of the oceanic waves, and poetry hides in their unfathomable depths.
This place is meant to become a sanctuary for the tortured souls, aflame with a passion for literature.
Portrait de la jeune fille en feu (2019) ★★★★★
“The higher we soar, the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.“
~ Friedrich Nietzsche, “Thus Spoke Zarathustra“
A Haunted House
Courtesy of the Cliff House Project.
The sultry honey aroma of wild apple trees haunts you, while the darkness of a tangy spring fog envelops the world. Fragile pearl threads stretch from the sky, penetrating the warmth of your skin, leaving dusky traces on the defenseless clothes. You run away, seeking shelter, and return to the house, a black shadow looming over your silhouette, over the luscious garden, over the whole Earth.
Continue reading “A Haunted House”Волны
***
Волны укроют меня поцелуями,
Бархатом синим прижмутся к губам.
Стиснут запястья мне пальцами-струями,
Пеной пьянящей стекут по щекам.
Тело моё увенчает сиянием
Тейя, богиня безмолвных ночей.
Скованы веки холодным признанием,
Призраком прежних моих палачей.
Лёгкие стали пустыней измученной,
Жадно вдыхаю - и пламя дрожит,
Вьётся потоком и алыми тучами,
В сердце мучительно нежно горит.
Так две стихии во мне, две истории
Переплетаются, словно венки.
Листья лавровые - иглы терновые,
Жажда падения - страх высоты.
“Vita & Virginia” (2018) ★★★★★
“Vita and Virginia” is a captivating biographical drama by a British director, Chanya Button. This film portrays the intricate relationship between two literary icons of the twentieth century, Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West, played by Elizabeth Debicki and Gemma Arterton.
My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 4
***
You were too lazy to get dressed,
Too lazy to rise from the armchair.
- Although Your next day could be blessed
With my pure gaiety and laughter.
You were embarrassed most of all
To walk at night amid the snowfall.
- Although Your hours could be bold
With my excitement - jolly, youthful.
My darling, You have meant no harm,
So irreversibly benign.
- You were all innocence and charm,
I was the youth that passed You by.
October 25, 1914
My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 3
Picture Editing: Pascale Clerie
***
I’ve spent all day beside the window,
The snow was melting everywhere.
My mind was sober, bosom - tender,
Again I live without care.
I don’t know why. It must be languor,
The mere exhaustion of the soul,
I simply couldn’t bear to handle
My pencil - riotous and bold.
And so I stood - the foggy valance -
Concealed both evil and caress,
My finger gently broke the silence
By tapping on the fragile glass.
My spirit’s neither worse, nor better
Than any stranger - whom I’ve met, -
Than puddles of pearlescent glitter,
The mirrored sky above my head,
Than bird in flight, so free and dauntless,
Than racing dog with fluffy ears,
And even the impoverished songstress
No longer can bring me to tears.
The charming art of sweet oblivion
I’ve memorized from the start.
Today a feeling worth a million
Was slowly melting in my heart.
October 24, 1914
My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 2
***
Under the plush plaid's tender softness
I lie, remembering last night.
Was it a dream? - Who broke the fortress? -
Who lost the fight?
Again comes bitter rumination,
And suffering hits me anew.
Words can't define this revelation -
Do I love you?
Who was the hunter? - Who - the victim?
The devil has reversed it all!
What purring, wise Siberian kitten
May now recall?
In that self-willed and fervent duel,
Who held the shield, and who - the sword?
Whose heartbeat - Yours or mine - was cruel,
And raced, and soared?
What - after all - was our story?
What do I long for and regret?
Still wondering: was this my glory?
Or my death-bed?
October 23, 1914
My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 1
***
Aren’t you happy? No! You would hardly tell me!
So - let it be!
You’ve kissed too many, and you’ve loved too many,
In misery.
All of the tragic heroines of Shakespeare
I see in You,
Although nobody saved my lady - young, drear -
Out of the blue!
You are exhausted by repeating blindly
The words of love!
The ring, cast-iron, on your hand - frail, whitely, -
Reveals enough!
I love You. - Deadly sins, like clouds of thunder, -
Above you rest -
For all of Your causticity and candour,
You are the best,
For all the differences left between us -
In shades of gloom,
For Your seductiveness, inspired by Venus,
And stormy doom.
To You, my highbrow, otherworldly demon,
I’ll say goodbye,
For You, the most remarkable of women, -
Will surely die!
For all this sudden trembling - and confusion -
Is this a dream? -
For the ironic, wonderful conclusion -
That you’re not “him.”
October 16, 1914
We will meet… In a Thousand Years
You will not see these tender verses,
The message from my fragile hand.
We’re farther than the universes,
Though closer than the grains of sand.
Your trace
is vanishing
away:
The words,
The moments,
Nights and days.
You. Are. Not. Here. Anymore.
Towards infinity you soar,
And to the stars say “I adore…”
Not me,
Not me,
Not me,
Not me –
You have no place on Earth to be!
And when the world comes to an end,
Through time and space I’ll hold your hand.
Oh, but you won’t remember me!
In dreams, if dreams there ever be,
You will unknowingly repeat
That in a thousand years…
We’ll meet.
A silly overwhelming lie!
How dare you keep me up at night?
Oh, how can I this voice forget?
I wish I could, without regret,
Leave all the memories behind…
“Be gone! Come back to me!” – I cried.
“Forever, I will be with you!” –
Alas, these words cannot be true.
You’ve told me, holding back the tears:
“We will meet…
In a thousand years.”
I will be here! I will abide –
Your answer in my heart will hide.
Let recollections disappear,
For neither time nor death I fear.
And when the somber glow is near,
Your answer I’ll repeat, my dear:
“We will meet…
In a thousand years.”
The Waves of Poetry 