Name: Yelena Moskovich
Hometown: Kharkiv, Ukraine (former-USSR) and Milwaukee, Wisconsin (US), and a bit in Kiriat-Ata & Tsfat, Israel
Current city: Paris, France
Occupation: Writer and artist
Age: 34
What does poetry mean to you?
A holy tear on a profane cheek.
Who is your favorite poet?
Many, many, many – and Marina Tsvetaeva. Particularly, “Nights without the beloved…”.
It's been on my mind recently quite a bit, perhaps because I also use part of it to open my second novel, Virtuoso (which came out recently, early 2019).
Why do you like this poem?
It’s about that longing that exists between devotion and disbelief, between innocence and skepticism.
It speaks so acutely of loneliness for me. Loneliness for love, for heroism, for a nation.
The poem is small enough to fit into your bedroom on a quiet solo evening, yet it unfolds centuries of nights.
When I recite the poem, I feel that I’m somehow accompanied in that loneliness, in that fall from faith in life, and in the simultaneous call for newfound hope.
“Nights without the beloved…”
Translated into English by Yelena Moskovich
Nights without the beloved - and nights
With the one you don’t love, and huge stars
Above the feverish head, and hands,
Reaching out to the one
Who hasn’t for ages existed – and won’t exist –
Who cannot exist – and must exist…
And the child’s tear for the hero,
And the hero’s tear for the child,
And massive, bouldering mountains
On the chest of the one who must - descend…
I know all that was, all that will be,
I know the deaf and dumb mystery,
That the dim and tangled
Tongue of the people calls – Life.
-July 6th, 1918
(Marina Tsvetaeva)
The original:
Ночи без любимого — и ночи
С нелюбимым, и большие звезды
Над горячей головой, и руки,
Простирающиеся к Тому —
Кто от века не был — и не будет,
Кто не может быть — и должен быть.
И слеза ребенка по герою,
И слеза героя по ребенку,
И большие каменные горы
На груди того, кто должен — вниз...
Знаю всё, что было, всё, что будет,
Знаю всю глухонемую тайну,
Что на темном, на косноязычном
Языке людском зовется — Жизнь.
-6 июля 1918
(Марина Цветаева)