Milestones (European Poetry Classics Series) - Book Review,
by Marina Tsvetaeva

Book Description Milestone is a bilingual edition of a diary in verse from one of the great Russian poets.
Language Notes Text: English, Russian (translation) Original Language: Russian
From the Back Cover Milestones is an apt title for this collection, for the eighty-four poems within show a poet passing from mere talent into mastery of her craft. Composed between January and December of 1916, these poems find the twenty-four-year-old Tsvetaeva thirsting for the fullness of life while at the same time contemplating the inevitability of death-a theme she was to revisit many times in her career. Tsvetaeva's work of the time also reflects her knowledge of (and pride in) her native culture, especially the centrality of Moscow-which was the ultimate destination of all Russians. Throughout these verses she opens up to the sensual wonders of nature-sky, forest, wind, and not least her beloved daughter Alya, who would come to figure greatly in the work and legacy of her mother. Milestones lays out a sensual feast of moods, themes, styles, and rhythms-all the ingredients that would in time reveal Tsvetaeva as one of the most daring and original poets of her time.
About the Author Marina Tsvetaeva was born in 1892 in Moscow. Educated at the Sorbonne and a series of Russian gymnasiums, she published her first collection, Evening Album, at age 18. After exile in Paris following the revolution, she returned to the USSR in 1939. She committed suicide in 1941. Her other works include The Ratcatcher, published in 2000 by Northwestern University Press, and Selected Poems (Penguin, 1994). Robin Kemball is the translator of Tsvetaeva's The Demesne of the Swans (Ardis, 1993). He lives in Switzerland.
Excerpted from Milestones (European Poetry Classics) by Marina Tsvetaeva. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Whence cometh such tender rapture? Those curls-they are not the first ones I've smoothened, and I've already Known lips-that were darker than yours. The stars have risen and faded, -Whence cometh such tender rapture?- And eyes have risen and faded In face of these eyes of mine I'd never yet hearkened unto Such songs in the depths of darkness, -Whence cometh such tender rapture?- My head on the bard's own breast Whence cometh such tender rapture? And what's to be done with it, artful Young vagabond, passing minstrel With lashes-too long to say. 18 February 1916
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