Boris Pasternak

Boris Pasternak

1890–1960 · lived 70 years RU RU

Boris Pasternak was a highly acclaimed Russian poet, novelist, and translator, best known for his epic novel "Doctor Zhivago." His work often explores profound themes of love, nature, and the human condition, set against the backdrop of tumultuous historical events in Russia. Pasternak's lyrical and evocative poetry earned him international recognition, culminating in the Nobel Prize in Literature, though its acceptance led to significant personal and political turmoil. His literary contributions are marked by a deep engagement with Russian culture and a unique blend of modernist experimentation and traditional lyrical sensibility.

n. 1890-02-10, Moscovo · m. 1960-05-30, Peredelkino

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Without A Title

Without A Title

So aloof, so meek in your ways,
Now you're fire, you're pure combustion.
Only let me lock up your beauty
Deep, deep down in a poem's dungeon.


See how wholly transformed they are
By the fire in the glowing lampshade;
Edge of wall, edge of window-pane,
Our own figures and our own shadows.


There you sit on cushions, apart,
Legs tucked under you, Turkish fashion.
In the light or in the shadow,
Childlike, always, the way you reason.


Dreaming, now you thread on a string
Beads that lie on your lap in profusion.
Far too sad is your mien, too artless
Is the drift of your conversation.


Yes, love's truly a vulgar word.
I'll invent something else to supplant it,
Just for you, the whole world, all words
I will gladly rename, if you want it.


Can your sorrowful mien convey
All your hidden orebearing richness,
All that radiant seam of your heart?
Why d'you fill your eyes with such sadness?
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Full name: Boris Leonidovich Pasternak. Pseudonyms or heteronyms: Not widely known. Date and place of birth: April 10, 1890, Moscow, Russian Empire. Date and place of death: February 2, 1960, Peredelkino, Moscow Oblast, Russian SFSR, Soviet Union. Family background, social class, and cultural context of origin: Born into an intellectual and artistic family; his father, Leonid Pasternak, was a renowned painter, and his mother, Rosa Kaufman, a concert pianist. The family was of Jewish heritage but later converted to Orthodox Christianity. His upbringing was steeped in art, literature, and intellectual discourse, with frequent visits from prominent cultural figures. Nationality and language(s) of writing: Russian. Historical context in which they lived: Lived through the Russian Revolution, World War I, the Stalinist era, and World War II. His life and work were profoundly shaped by these tumultuous periods, particularly the political and social changes in the Soviet Union.

Childhood and education

Family background and social environment: Grew up in a culturally rich environment in Moscow, influenced by his artist father and pianist mother, surrounded by intellectuals and artists. Formal education and self-education: Initially pursued music, then studied philosophy at Moscow University, followed by philosophy at the University of Marburg in Germany. He also studied law. Early influences (readings, culture, religion, politics): Early influences included Symbolist poetry, German philosophy (especially Kant and Hegel), and Russian classical literature. His father's artistic milieu and his mother's musical background were also significant. Literary, philosophical, or artistic movements absorbed: Initially drawn to Futurism, but later developed his own distinct style. Influenced by Symbolism and by German Expressionism. Significant events in youth: His fascination with music, his philosophical studies in Germany, and his initial alignment with avant-garde movements.

Literary trajectory

Beginning of writing (when and how it started): Began writing poetry in his early twenties, initially influenced by Futurism. His first collection, "A Childish Year," was published in 1917. Development over time (phases, changes in style): His early work was experimental, but he gradually moved towards a more lyrical and personal style. The period of the 1940s and 1950s saw the development of his most mature and celebrated works, including "Doctor Zhivago" and the "Poems of Yuri Zhivago." Chronological evolution of the work: Moved from youthful experimentation to a deeply personal, philosophical, and historically engaged lyrical voice. His prose writing, particularly "Doctor Zhivago," became internationally famous. Contributions to magazines, newspapers, and anthologies: Published extensively in literary journals. Activity as a critic, translator, or editor: Was a prolific and highly respected translator, translating works by Shakespeare, Goethe, Rilke, and others into Russian. His translations were considered literary achievements in themselves.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works with dates and context of production: "A Childish Year" (1917), "My Sister, Life" (1922), "Themes and Variations" (1923), "The Second Birth" (1932), "On Early Trains" (1943), "Doctor Zhivago" (1957), "When the Storm Clears: New Poems" (1959). "Doctor Zhivago" was written during the 1940s and 1950s and published abroad due to censorship. Dominant themes — love, death, time, nature, identity, homeland, spirituality, etc.: Profound exploration of love (romantic and spiritual), the ephemeral nature of time, the beauty and resilience of nature, the search for individual identity amidst historical upheaval, the complex relationship with the homeland, and a deep spiritual quest. Form and structure — use of the sonnet, free verse, fixed forms, metrical experimentation: Masterful use of free verse, but also adept at traditional forms and metrical experimentation, often creating a unique musicality. Poetic devices (metaphor, rhythm, musicality): Renowned for his rich imagery, complex metaphors, striking juxtapositions, and a highly musical, almost song-like quality in his verse. Tone and poetic voice — lyrical, satirical, elegiac, epic, ironic, confessional: Primarily lyrical, confessional, and elegiac, with moments of epic scope and profound philosophical reflection. Poetic voice (personal, universal, fragmented, etc.): Often personal and confessional, yet reaching for universal truths and experiences. Language and style — vocabulary, imagery density, preferred rhetorical devices: Rich, evocative vocabulary, dense imagery, often drawing from nature and everyday life to convey profound meaning. Preferred rhetorical devices include metaphor, simile, personification, and striking contrasts. Formal or thematic innovations introduced into literature: Blended modernist techniques with a deeply humanistic and lyrical sensibility, creating a unique voice that resonated widely. His prose in "Doctor Zhivago" also showcased a poetic approach to narrative. Relationship with tradition and modernity: Sought to reconcile the traditions of Russian poetry with the challenges and innovations of modernism. Associated literary movements (e.g., symbolism, modernism): Associated with Russian Futurism early on, but developed a style that transcended specific movements, often seen as a bridge between Symbolism and later modernist poetry. Lesser-known or unpublished works: Numerous poems, early drafts, and extensive correspondence.

Cultural and historical context

Relationship with historical events (wars, revolutions, regimes): Directly experienced and profoundly depicted the Russian Revolution, the Civil War, and the Stalinist era. His novel "Doctor Zhivago" is a critical portrayal of these events and their impact on individuals. Relationship with other writers or literary circles: Associated with poets like Mayakovsky and Blok in his early career, but also maintained complex relationships with official literary circles, often facing criticism and ostracization. Generation or movement to which they belong (e.g., Romanticism, Modernism, Surrealism): Often considered part of the Silver Age of Russian poetry, straddling Symbolism and Futurism, and a key figure in Russian modernism. Political or philosophical stance: Initially drawn to revolutionary ideals but became increasingly disillusioned with the Soviet regime and its suppression of artistic freedom. His work reflects a deep humanism and a belief in individual conscience over state ideology. Influence of society and culture on the work: Russian society and culture, particularly its turbulent history and rich artistic heritage, were central to his work. Dialogues and tensions with contemporaries: Engaged in debates with other writers, particularly regarding artistic responsibility during times of political change. Critical reception during life vs. posthumous recognition: Received significant critical acclaim during his life, but also faced persecution from the Soviet authorities. Posthumously, his international fame, especially for "Doctor Zhivago," grew immensely.

Personal life

Significant emotional and family relationships and how they shaped the work: His complex relationships, particularly with women like Zinaida Nikolaevna Rikhter and Marina Tsvetaeva, influenced his intensely personal and lyrical poetry. His marriage to Zinaida was a central aspect of his life. Friendships and literary rivalries: Maintained friendships with many prominent cultural figures, but also experienced tensions and rivalries within the literary establishment. Personal experiences and crises, illnesses, or conflicts: Experienced periods of intense creative output interspersed with personal struggles, illness, and the constant pressure of living under a totalitarian regime. Parallel professions (if they did not live solely from poetry): Worked as a translator and, for a period, in various administrative roles within the literary world. Religious, spiritual, or philosophical beliefs: Explored spiritual and philosophical questions deeply, moving from a more secular outlook to a profound engagement with Christian themes, particularly in "Doctor Zhivago." Political positions and civic engagement: Initially sympathetic to the revolution but became a vocal critic of Soviet repression and censorship, leading to his ostracization and exile from the official literary world.

Recognition and reception

Place in national and international literature: Considered one of the greatest Russian poets of the 20th century and an internationally renowned novelist. Awards, distinctions, and institutional recognition: Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1958 for "Doctor Zhivago." Critical reception at the time and over time: Received mixed reception within the Soviet Union, with official condemnation alongside underground admiration. Internationally, his work, especially "Doctor Zhivago," was widely celebrated. Popularity vs. academic recognition: Highly popular internationally, particularly after the film adaptation of "Doctor Zhivago," and also a subject of extensive academic study.

Influences and legacy

Authors who influenced them: Alexander Pushkin, Mikhail Lermontov, Fyodor Tyutchev, Symbolist poets (e.g., Andrei Bely), Rainer Maria Rilke, Goethe, Shakespeare. Poets and movements they influenced: Greatly influenced subsequent generations of Russian poets, as well as poets internationally, particularly those exploring lyrical depth, complex imagery, and the intersection of personal experience with historical events. Impact on national and world literature and on later generations of poets: His work is a cornerstone of 20th-century Russian literature and has had a lasting impact on world literature through its profound humanism and artistic integrity. Inclusion in the literary canon: Universally included in the canon of Russian and world literature. Translations and international dissemination: Widely translated into numerous languages. Adaptations (music, theater, film): "Doctor Zhivago" has been adapted into a highly successful film (1965) and a television series. Academic studies dedicated to the work: Extensive academic scholarship exists on his poetry, prose, and translations.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Possible readings of the work: "Doctor Zhivago" has been interpreted as a critique of the Soviet system, a celebration of individual spirit and artistic freedom, and a profound meditation on fate and history. His poetry is analyzed for its complex interplay of nature, love, and spirituality. Philosophical and existential themes: Explores themes of free will versus determinism, the search for meaning in a chaotic world, the nature of suffering, and the enduring power of love and beauty. Controversies or critical debates: The most significant controversy surrounded the Nobel Prize and his subsequent denunciation by Soviet authorities, leading to intense debate about artistic freedom and political engagement.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Lesser-known aspects of personality: Despite his profound lyrical gifts, he could be intensely private and sometimes stubborn. Contradictions between life and work: The contrast between the deeply spiritual and humanistic themes in his work and the often harsh, politically charged reality of his life in the Soviet Union. Significant or anecdotal episodes that illuminate the author’s profile: His refusal to participate in the denunciation of Akhmatova, his later difficult relationship with the state, and his eventual forced acceptance of exile in spirit, if not entirely in body. Objects, places, or rituals associated with poetic creation: The dacha at Peredelkino became a symbolic space for his later work. Writing habits: Known for intense periods of work, often revising extensively. Curious episodes: His son, Alexander Pasternak, was a notable artist and art critic. Manuscripts, diaries, or correspondence: His extensive correspondence provides deep insights into his life and thoughts.

Death and memory

Circumstances of death: Died of lung cancer. Posthumous publications: Numerous posthumous collections of his poetry and prose, including further works related to "Doctor Zhivago" and collections of his letters.

Poems

62

Your Picture

Your Picture

It's with your laughing picture that I'm living now,
You whose wrists are so slender and crackle at the joints,
You who wring your hands yet are unwilling to go,
You whose guests stay for hours sharing sadness and joys.


You who'll run from the cards and Rakoczy bravura,
From the glass of the drawing-room and from the guests
To the keyboard on fire, unable to endure
Bones and roses and dice and rosettes and the rest.


You will fluff up your hair, and a reckless tea-rose,
Smelling of cigarettes, pin to your bright-red sash,
And then waltz to your glory, your sadness and woes
Tossing off like a scarf, beaming, breathless and flushed.


You will crumple the skin of an orange and swallow
Cooling morsels again and again in your haste
To return to the hall, to the whirling and mellow
Lights, and air with the sweet sweat of fresh waltzes laced.


Defying steam and scorching breath
The way a whirlwind dies,
The way a murid faces death
With wide unflinching eyes.


Know all: not mountains' noise and hush,
And not a purebred steed-
The reckless roses in your sash
Are riding at full speed.


No, not the clatter of the hoofs
And not the mountains' hush,
But only she who stands aloof
With flowers in her sash.


And only that is really It
What makes our ears ring,
And what the whirlwind-chasing feet,
Soul, tulle and silk sash bring.


Until sides split the jokes are cracked,
We're rolling in the aisles,
The envy of the romping sacks-
Until somebody cries.
545

Without A Title

Without A Title

So aloof, so meek in your ways,
Now you're fire, you're pure combustion.
Only let me lock up your beauty
Deep, deep down in a poem's dungeon.


See how wholly transformed they are
By the fire in the glowing lampshade;
Edge of wall, edge of window-pane,
Our own figures and our own shadows.


There you sit on cushions, apart,
Legs tucked under you, Turkish fashion.
In the light or in the shadow,
Childlike, always, the way you reason.


Dreaming, now you thread on a string
Beads that lie on your lap in profusion.
Far too sad is your mien, too artless
Is the drift of your conversation.


Yes, love's truly a vulgar word.
I'll invent something else to supplant it,
Just for you, the whole world, all words
I will gladly rename, if you want it.


Can your sorrowful mien convey
All your hidden orebearing richness,
All that radiant seam of your heart?
Why d'you fill your eyes with such sadness?
520

Winter Nears

Winter Nears

Winter nears. Once more
the bear’s secret retreat
will vanish under mud’s floor,
to a child’s fretful grief.

Huts will wake in the water,
reflecting paths of smoke,
circled by autumn’s tremor
lovers meet by the fire to talk.

Denizens of the harsh North
whose roof is the clear air,
‘In this sign conquer’, set forth,
marks each unreachable lair.

I love you, provincial haunts,
off the map, the road, past the farms,
the more tired and faded the book,
the greater for me its charms.

Slow files of carts lumbering by
you spell out an alphabet flowing
from meadow to meadow. And I
found you always my favourite reading.

And it’s suddenly written again,
here in first snow is the spider’s
cursive script, runners of sleighs,
where ice on the page embroiders.

A silvered hazel October.
Pewter glow since frost began.
Autumn twilight, of Chekhov,
Tchaikovsky, and Levitan.
550

Winter Sky

Winter Sky

Ice-chips plucked whole from the smoke,
the past week’s stars all frozen in flight,
Head over heels the skater’s club goes,
clinking its rink with the peal of night.


Step slow, slower, slow-er, skater,
pride carving its trace as you race by.
each turn’s a constellation cut there,
scratched by a skate in Norway’s sky.


The air is fettered in frozen iron.
Oh, skaters! There – it’s all the same,
that, like snake’s eyes set in ivory,
night’s on earth, a domino game:


that moon, a numb hound’s tongue
is there, frozen tight: that mouths like
the forgers of coins’ – are stung,
filled with lava of breathtaking ice.
543

Wet Paint

Wet Paint

'Look out! Wet paint.' My soul was blind,
I have to pay the price,
All marked with stains of calves and cheeks
And hands and lips and eyes.


I loved you more than luck or grief
Because with you in sight
The old and yellowed world became
As white as painters' white.


I swear my friend, my gloom-it will
One day still whiter gleam,
Than lampshades, than a bandaged brow,
Than a delirious dream.


~~~~~~~~~~~


Не трогать


'Не трогать,
свежевыкрk
2;шен', &#
1044;уша не
береглась,
И память - в
пятнах икр
и щек,
И рук, и губ, и
глаз.


Я больше
всех удач и
бед
За то тебя
любил,
Что
пожелтелыl
1; белый свет
С тобой &#
1073;елей
белил.


И мгла моя,
мой друг,
божусь,
Он станет
как-нибудь
Белей, чем
бред, чем
абажур,
Чем белый



бинт на лбу!
476

White Night

White Night

I keep thinking of times that are long past,
Of a house in the Petersburg Quarter.
You had come from the steppeland Kursk Province,
Of a none-too-rich mother the daughter.


You were nice, you had many admirers.
On that distant white night we were sitting
On your window-sill, looking from high on
On the phantom-like scene of the city.


The street-lamps, like gauze butterflies fluttering,
Had been touched by the chill of the morning.
My soft words, as I opened my heart to you,
Matched the slumbering vistas before us.


We were plighted with timid fidelity
To the very same nebulous mystery
As the cityscape spreading unendingly
Far beyond the Neva, through the distances.


In that far-off impregnable wilderness,
Wrapped in springtime twilight ethereal,
Woodland glades and dense thickets were quivering
With mad nightingales' thunderous paeans.


Crazy resonant warbling ran riot,
And the voice of this plain-looking songster
Sowed derangement, ecstatic delight
In the depth of the mesmerised copsewood.


To those parts Night, a barefoot vagabond,
Stole its way along ditches and fences.
From our window-sill, after it tagging,
Was the trail of our cooed confidences.


To the words of this colloquy echoing
In the orchards beyond the tall palings
Spreading branches of apple and cherry trees
Swathed themselves in their pearly-white raiment.


And the trees, like so many pale phantoms,
Waved their farewell, along the road thronging,
To White Night, that all-seeing enchanter,
Who was now to North Regions withdrawing.
631

Unique Days

Unique Days

How I remember solstice days
Through many winters long completed!
Each unrepeatable, unique,
And each one countless times repeated.


Of all these days, these only days,
When one rejoiced in the impression
That time had stopped, there grew in years
An unforgettable succession.


Each one of them I can evoke.
The year is to midwinter moving,
The roofs are dripping, roads are soaked,
And on the ice the sun is brooding.


Then lovers hastily are drawn
To one another, vague and dreaming,
And in the heat, upon a tree
The sweating nesting-box is steaming.


And sleepy clock-hands laze away
The clockface wearily ascending.
Eternal, endless is the day,
And the embrace is never-ending.
549

To the Memory of Demon

To the Memory of Demon

Used to come in the blue
Of the glacier, at night, from Tamara.
With his wingtips he drew
Where the nightmares should boom, where to bar them.


Did not sob, nor entwine
The denuded, the wounded, the ailing…
A stone slab has survived
By the Georgian church, at the railings.


Hunchback shadows, distressed,
Did not dance by the fence of the temple.
Soft, about the princess
The zurna did not question the lamplight,


But the sparks in his hair
Were aglitter and bursting phosphorous,
And the giant did not hear
The dark Caucasus greying for sorrow.
547

Three Variants

Three Variants

1

When in front of you hangs the day with its
Smallest detail-fine or crude-
The intensely hot cracking squirrel-sounds
Do not cease in the resinous wood.


The high line of pine-trees stands asleep,
Drinking in and storing strength,
And the wood is peeling and drip by drip
Is shedding freckled sweat.


2


From miles of calm the garden sickens,
The stupor of the angered glen
Is more alarming than an evil
Wild storm, a frightful hurricane.


The garden's mouth is dry, and smells of
Decay, of nettles, roofing, fear…
The cattle's bellowing is closing
Its ranks. A thunderstorm is near.


3


On the bushes grow the tatters
Of disrupted clouds; the garden
Has its mouth full of damp nettles:
Such - the smell of storms and treasures.


Tired shrubs are sick of sighing.
Patches in the sky increase. The
Barefoot blueness has the gait of
Cautious herons in the marshes.


And they gleam, like lips that glisten,
When the hand forgets to wipe them:
Supple willow-switches, oak-leaves,
And the hoofprints by the horsepond.
522

To Anna Akhmatova

To Anna Akhmatova

I think I can call on words
that will last: you are there.
But if I can’t, no matter –
I’ll persist, I won’t care.


I hear the muttering of wet roofs,
pale eclogues from stones and kerb.
From the opening lines, that city,
is alive in each sound, each word.


You can’t leave town though it’s spring,
and your customers won’t wait.
Dawn glows, by lamplight sewing
with unbowed back, eyes wet.


Breathing the calm of far-off Ladoga,
stumbling towards the water.
There’s no relief from such trips.
The shallows smell mustier, darker.


The wind dances, it’s a walnut shell,
a glitter, the warm wind blows
branches and stars, lights, and views,
as the seamstress watches the flow.


Eyesight can be sharp, differently,
form be precise in varying ways,
but a solvent of acid power’s
out there under the white night’s blaze.



That’s how I see your face and look.
Not that pillar of salt, in mind,
in which five years ago you fixed
our fears of looking behind.

From your first verses where grains
of clear speech hardened, to the last,
your eye, the spark that shakes the wire,
makes all things quiver with the past.
685

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