Poems Found in Translation- Pushkin- by A Z Foreman

Poems Found in Translation: “Pushkin: Daemon (From Russian)” plus 1 more

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Pushkin: Daemon (From Russian) Posted: 08 Feb 2015 10:18 PM PST In this poem of Pushkin's, the Christian notion of the demon as an evil tempter that leads souls away from God is fused with a daimon of the classical Socratic sort, a skeptical familiar spirit who impels the erstwhile idealist poet toward cynical doubt in the existence of a higher order. The key theme is doubt, and the terror of it. Contrary to the hallucinations of the Russian diaspora and post-Soviet Russian nationalists (and the fabrications of contemporaries who either wanted to deflect charges against his character or dragoon him into serving their own ends), Pushkin for the most part never really took Russian Orthodoxy, or its God, very seriously. This was not unusual for someone of his social class with liberal leanings. It would have been strange had he done otherwise, given how completely fused the institution of Russian Orthodoxy was with that of imperial autocracy. Pushkin, a man who prized individualism at times to the point of infantility, had every reason to be skeptical of an institution which legitimized the Tsar - eventually his own personal censor - as quite literally God’s anointed regent on earth, charged to use his autocratic powers to defend Orthodoxy and preserve the morals of the Russian people. Whether Pushkin ever went through periods of his life during which he doubted the existence of God altogether, we will never know, as atheism in the strict sense was taboo in Pushkin's social circles. However, Pushkin did very strongly believe that things happen for a reason. In recovering alcoholic terms, he believed in a Higher Power which guided a person, had particular designs for individuals, and which it was dangerous and self-destructive to resist or defy. "Luck" and "Chance" were merely the labels attached to the instruments of Fate and Providence. Neither something so mundane as winning a hand at cards, nor something so exalted as inspiration to poetry, nor yet the fate of a nation, were accidental to Pushkin.  The daemon-induced doubt depicted in this poem is a temporary loss of faith, not in God per se, but in Providence, beauty and ideals, doubt of any higher order that gives meaning to life or to nature and so stifles the creative instinct itself. In the chill of an icy rationalism all things are seen to lose their purpose; beauty is mere fancy in the eye of the beholder, the notion of inspiration becomes an absurd joke. The individualism and freedom to pursue his own destiny have become meaningless in the absence of a coherent destiny at all. Daemon By A.S. Pushkin Translated by A.Z. Foreman Click to hear me recite the original Russian In days gone by, when all of life's Impressions offered me new thrills: A murmurous grove, a maiden's eyes, The nightingale in twilit hills.... When my sublimest aspirations For freedom, glory, love and art Instilled of holy inspiration, So stirred the blood and spurred the heart,  Then were the days of bliss and promise With wakeful anguish overcast, As secretly a wicked Genius Began to visit me unasked. Grim were the meetings that we had: His witching glance, the grins he stole, The sting of every word he spat Infused cold poison through my soul. With indefatigable slander He tempted Providence, and smiled.  Beauty he called a simple fancy, And inspiration he reviled.  He doubted freedom, love, salvation And turned on life a sneering gaze, As there was naught in all Creation He cared to bless with any praise. The Original: Демон А.С. Пушкин Ð’ те дни, когда мне были новы Все впечатленья бытия — И взоры дев, и шум дубровы, И ночью пенье соловья — Когда возвышенные чувства, Свобода, слава и любовь И вдохновенные искусства Так сильно волновали кровь, — Часы надежд и наслаждений Тоской внезапной осеня, Тогда какой-то злобный гений Стал тайно навещать меня. Печальны были наши встречи: Его улыбка, чудный взгляд, Его язвительные речи Вливали в душу хладный яд. Неистощимой клеветою Он провиденье искушал; Он звал прекрасное мечтою; Он вдохновенье презирал; Не верил он любви, свободе; На жизнь насмешливо глядел — И ничего во всей природе Благословить он не хотел.

Lermontov: The Angel (From Russian) Posted: 08 Feb 2015 10:50 PM PST The Angel By Mikhail Lermontov Translated by A.Z. Foreman Click to hear me recite the original Russian Across the dark sky came the angel in flight Who sang a soft song through the night. And stars and the moon and the clouds in their throng Gave ear to that glorious song. He sang of immaculate spirits that rove In bliss in the Heavenly Grove, He sang of the Lord of All Things, every phrase Unfeigned in that purest of praise. He bore in his arms a young soul toward its birth, To sorrow and tears on this earth. And in that young soul the great sound of his song Remained without words now, but strong. And long did it languish on earth in its time Replete with a yearning sublime, A soul that knew sounds of the heavenly race No dull song of earth could replace. The Original: Ангел Михаил Лермонтов По небу полуночи Ангел летел, И тихую песню он пел. И месяц, и звезды, и тучи толпой Внимали той песне святой. Он пел о блаженстве безгрешных духов Под кущами райских садов, О боге великом он пел, и хвала Его непритворна была... Он душу младую в объятиях нес Для мира печали и слез, И звук его песни в душе молодой Остался, без слов, но живой... И долго на свете томилась она, Желанием чудным полна. И звуков небес заменить не могли Ей скучные песни земли...

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