Gleb Struve and M. Kantor on Sirin: Three Translations
by Paul D. Morris

There is something awkward about placing V. Sirin alongside the above enumerated poets;* he is so much above them. At the same time, however, it is tempting to contrast him with the Parisian Poets, who are bored, and who force the reader to endure their boredom. Here, finally, is someone who is definitely not bored. For Sirin, life is "a dream presented to us but once," which only "affected fools" are capable of reproaching and abusing. Clear-sightedness and perspicacity are the premises of Sirin's poetic relationship with the world.

Mir dlia sleptsov neobiasnim,
Ho zriachim vse poniatno v mire,
i ne odna zvezda v efire
byt' mozhet, ne sravnitsa s nim.

[We will not explain the world to the blind,
Although everything in the world is understandable to the sighted
and not one star in the firmament
may be compared with it.]

Odno zovet i muchit ezhechasno:
na osveshchennom ostrove stola
granenyi mrak chernnil'nitsy otkrytoi,
i belyi list, i lampy svet zabytyi
pod kuplom zelenego stekla.
I poperek lista polpustogo
moe pero, kak chernaia strela,
i nedopisannoe slovo...

[One thing beckons and torments hourly:
on the illuminated island of a table,
the cut-glass darkness of an open ink-well
and the white page, and the forgotten light of a lamp
under the cupola of green glass.
And across the half-deserted page
my pen, like a black arrow,
and an unfinished word...]

The same enchanting mastery is to be found in the poem "The Sun." ("Poet platan.../poet lavchonka.../poet portnoi, vytiagivaia nit./I zhenshchina u kruglego fontana/poet, poloshchet sinee bel'e,/i natnami lozhitsa ten platana/na kamni, na korzinu, na nee./Kak khorosho v noiushchem mire etom.../byt' russkim zabludivshimsia poetom/sred lepeta latinskogo tsikad!" [The platan sings.../the little shop sings.../the tailor drawing out a thread sings./And the woman by the round fountain/sings, rinses blue linen/and like stains, lies the shadow of the platan/on the stones, on the basket, on her./ How wonderful it is in this singing world.../to be a strayed Russian poet/amongst the Latin chatter of cicadas!]).

The very poem itself sings. And of course, here the point is not in the simple selection of "singing" alliterations. That kind of mastery, attained in the course of "an exercise in the algebra of harmony," is accessible to many a Salieri: the magic comes from Mozart. Here we come into contact with poetry's most mysterious essence.

I cannot dwell on all of the poems which V. Sirin has added to his remarkable stories. They are few in number (24 in all), although it would be possible to say a great deal about each one. The best, perhaps, are, "Razstrel [The Execution]," "Snimok [The Snapshot]," "Snovidenie [The Dream]," "Krushenie [The Wreck]," "Gost' [The Guest]" and "Komnata [The Room]." Astounding is the unusual multiformity of Sirin's artistic temperament, the unusual confidence and the light and courageous freedom with which he approaches any theme and compels any material to heed him. It is the same quality which distinguishes him as a prose writer and unmistakeably reveals in him a great writer. Sirin's prose, however, requires special discussion.

From Rossiia i slavianstvo, Nr. 68, (March 15, 1930), p. 3.

The translator would like to acknowledge the generous support and valuable editorial aid of Jeff Edmunds, who provided excellent suggestions and corrections for this project. I thank him.

* As indicated in the subtitle to his article, Struve's observations are based on various poets and poems. His selection is derived from the following works: Sbornik Soiuza molodykh poetov i pisatelei v Parizhe, v. 2: (Collection of Verses from the Union of Young Poets and Writers in Paris, v. 2) (Paris, 1929); Evgenii Shakh, Gorodskaia vesna: vtoraia kniga stikhov (City Spring: A Second Book of Verses), Paris, 1930; A. Kholchev, Smertnyi plien (Mortal Captivity), (Paris: Rodnik, 1929), V. Sirin, Stikhi 1924-1928 (Verses 1924-1928) in the collection Vozvrashchenie Chorba (The Return of Chorb), (Berlin: Slovo, 1930)