Владимир Набоков К России

 

Владимир Набоков
К России

Отвяжись, я тебя умоляю!
Вечер страшен, гул жизни затих.
Я безпомощен. Я умираю
От слепых наплываний твоих.

Тот, кто вольно отчизну покинул,
Волен выть на вершинах о ней,
Но теперь я спустился в долину,
И теперь приближаться не смей.

Навсегда я готов затаиться
И без имени жить. Я готов,
Чтоб с тобой и во снах не сходиться,
Отказаться от всяческих снов;

Обезкровить себя, искалечить,
Не касаться любимейших книг,
Променять на любое наречье
Всё что есть у меня, — мой язык.

Но зато, о Россия, сквозь слёзы,
Сквозь траву двух несмежных могил,
Сквозь дрожащие пятна берёзы,
Сквозь всё то, чем я смолоду жил,

Дорогими слепыми глазами
Не смотри на меня, пожалей,
Не ищи в этой угольной яме,
Не нащупывай жизни моей!

Ибо годы прошли и столетья,
И за горе, за му́ку, за стыд, —
Поздно, поздно! — никто не ответит,
И душа никому не простит.

1939. Paris

 

Vladimir Nabokov
To Russia

Let me go; set me free of my shackles!
In the dark, when commotion subsides,
I'm dying; I'm drained by the battles
Within dreams of you, flowing like tides.

Let the ones who at will have abandoned
Their motherland wail and complain,
They're on top; I've already descended —
Don't you dare approach me again.

I'll abandon the books I revere;
I'm ready to live in a cave;
So that you from my dreams disappear,
Every dream I'm ready to waive.

And degrade my own self to damnation,
Drop my name and be stripped to the bone,
For the dialect of any nation
Trade my tongue — the last asset I own.

For this sacrifice, Russia, through tears
through the grass on my parents' tombs,
through the memories of my young years,
through the catkins of birch trees in bloom,

Don't you look at me; I beg for mercy;
In this pit all is burnt to the core,
It is void; your blind search is unworthy.
Don't you try my past life to restore!

It's too late; years, ages have vanished,
For the shame and the grief in my soul,
For its torment — no one will be punished,
And no one will be ever absolved.

Vladimir Nabokov
To Russia

Let me go; set me free of my shackles!
In the dark, when commotion subsides,
I'm dying; I'm drained by the battles
Within dreams of you, flowing like tides.

Let the ones who at will have abandoned
Their motherland wail and complain,
They're on top; I've already descended —
Don't you dare approach me again.

I'll abandon the books I revere;
I'm ready to live in a cave;
So that you from my dreams disappear,
Every dream I'm ready to waive.

And degrade my own self to damnation,
Drop my name and be stripped to the bone,
For the dialect of any nation
Trade my tongue — the last asset I own.

For this sacrifice, Russia, through tears
through the grass on my parents' tombs,
through the memories of my young years,
through the catkins of birch trees in bloom,

Don't you look at me; I beg for mercy;
In this pit all is burnt to the core,
It is void; your blind search is unworthy.
Don't you try my past life to restore!

It's too late; years, ages have vanished,
For the shame and the grief in my soul,
For its torment — no one will be punished,
And no one will be ever absolved.

Vladimir Nabokov
To Russia

Let me go; set me free of my shackles!
In the dark, when commotion subsides,
I'm dying; I'm drained by the battles
Within dreams of you, flowing like tides.

Let the ones who at will have abandoned
Their motherland wail and complain,
They're on top; I've already descended —
Don't you dare approach me again.

I'll abandon the books I revere;
I'm ready to live in a cave;
So that you from my dreams disappear,
Every dream I'm ready to waive.

And degrade my own self to damnation,
Drop my name and be stripped to the bone,
For the dialect of any nation
Trade my tongue — the last asset I own.

For this sacrifice, Russia, through tears
through the grass on my parents' tombs,
through the memories of my young years,
through the catkins of birch trees in bloom,

Don't you look at me; I beg for mercy;
In this pit all is burnt to the core,
It is void; your blind search is unworthy.
Don't you try my past life to restore!

It's too late; years, ages have vanished,
For the shame and the grief in my soul,
For its torment — no one will be punished,
And no one will be ever absolved.

Vladimir Nabokov
To Russia

Let me go; set me free of my shackles!
In the dark, when commotion subsides,
I'm dying; I'm drained by the battles
Within dreams of you, flowing like tides.

Let the ones who at will have abandoned
Their motherland wail and complain,
They're on top; I've already descended —
Don't you dare approach me again.

I'll abandon the books I revere;
I'm ready to live in a cave;
So that you from my dreams disappear,
Every dream I'm ready to waive.

And degrade my own self to damnation,
Drop my name and be stripped to the bone,
For the dialect of any nation
Trade my tongue — the last asset I own.

For this sacrifice, Russia, through tears
through the grass on my parents' tombs,
through the memories of my young years,
through the catkins of birch trees in bloom,

Don't you look at me; I beg for mercy;
In this pit all is burnt to the core,
It is void; your blind search is unworthy.
Don't you try my past life to restore!

It's too late; years, ages have vanished,
For the shame and the grief in my soul,
For its torment — no one will be punished,
And no one will be ever absolved.

Russian christmas songs

 

Kasperov

 

Jazz russian

 

953105

 

Russian soup

 

Russian cartoon

 

Russian Jews

 

 

a moving grove

take all your belongings
everything that’s yours
split lips cut knees
the cracked jar of a head from which
memory slowly seeps and all you can
leave just leave behind

One year after Russia's invasion of Ukraine, poet Iryna Shuvalova proposes an aesthetics of escape.

Read the poem, translated from the Ukrainian by Uilleam Blacker

Russian love song

 

Russian jazz

 

Mikhail Lermonov “The Sail”

 

3. Mikhail Lermonov “The Sail” 

Mikhail Lermontov by Peter Zabolotsky

School students, as a rule, love Lermontov for his romanticism, and for the fact that many poems are quite... short!

Public domain

Amid the blue haze of the ocean
A sail is passing, white and frail.
What do you seek in a far country?
What have you left at home, lone sail?

The billows play, the breezes whistle,
And rhythmically creaks the mast.
Alas, you seek no happy future,
Nor do you flee a happy past.

Below the mirrored azure brightens,
Above the golden rays increase —
But you, wild rover, pray for tempests
As if in tempests there was peace!

Translated by Vladimir Nabokov

🌍Lawyers’ Socialism by kausky

 🌍

Lawyers’ Socialism

(excerpt)

---

First published: Juristen-Sozialismus, "Die Neue Zeit", Heft 2, Jahrgang 1887;
Source: Marx and Engels On Religion, Progress Publishers, 1957;
Transcribed: by Andy Blunden.

---

The world outlook of the Middle Ages was substantially theological. The unity of the European world which actually did not exist internally, was established externally, against the common Saracen foe, by Christianity.

The unity of the West-European world, which consisted of a group of nations developing in continual intercourse, was welded in Catholicism. This theological welding was not only in ideas, it existed in reality, not only in the Pope, its monarchistic centre, but above all in the feudally and hierarchically organized Church, which, owning about a third of the land in every country, occupied a position of tremendous power in the feudal organization. The Church with its feudal landownership was the real link between the different countries; the feudal organization of the Church gave a religious consecration to the secular feudal state system. Besides, the clergy was the only educated class. It was therefore natural that Church dogma was the starting-point and basis of all thought. Jurisprudence, natural science, philosophy, everything was dealt with according to, whether its content agreed or disagreed with the doctrines of the Church.

But in the womb of feudalism the power of the bourgeoisie was developing. A new class appeared in opposition to the big landowners. The city burghers were first and foremost and exclusively producers of and traders in commodities, while the feudal mode of production was based substantially on self-consumption of the product within a limited circle, partly by the producers and partly by the feudal lord. The Catholic world outlook, fashioned on the pattern of feudalism, was no longer adequate for this new class and its conditions of production and exchange. Nevertheless, this new class remained for a long time a captive in the bonds of almighty theology. From the thirteenth to the seventeenth century all the reformations and the struggles carried out under religious slogans that were connected with them were, on the theoretical side, nothing but repeated attempts of the burghers and plebeians in the towns and the peasants who had become rebellious by contact with both the latter to adapt the old theological world outlook to the changed economic conditions and the condition of life of the new class. But that could not be done. The flag of religion waved for the last time in England in the seventeenth century, and hardly fifty years later appeared undisguised in France the new world outlook which was to become the classical outlook of bourgeoisie, the juristic world outlook.

It was a secularization of the theological outlook. Human right took the place of dogma, of divine right, the state took the place of the church. The economic and social conditions, which had formerly been imagined to have been created by the Church and dogma because they were sanctioned by the Church, were now considered as founded on right and created by the state. Because commodity exchange on a social scale and in its full development, particularly through advance and credit, produces complicated mutual contract relations and therefore demands generally applicable rules that can be given only by the community — state-determined standards of right — it was imagined that these standards of right arose not from the economic facts but from formal establishment by the state. And because competition, the basic form of trade of free commodity producers, is the greatest equalizer, equality before the law became the main battle-cry of the bourgeoisie. The fact that this newly aspiring class’s struggle against the feudal lords and the absolute monarchy then protecting them, like every class struggle, had to be a political struggle, a struggle for the mastery of the state, and had to be fought on juridical demands contributed to strengthen the juristic outlook.

We explore the phenomenon of ballet dancers using Russian names

 

We explore the phenomenon of ballet dancers using Russian names

It’s not a secret that Russian ballet is considered by most to be the creme de la creme of the ballet world. But there were - and still are - plenty of non-Russian ballet dancers that also wow the crowds… But why did some of the most famous insist on changing their names to Russian ones? Find out in this week’s feature history report. Contrary to popular belief, Russians do not have vodka in their blood! And it’s also not their favorite drink… And while it’s still a party pleaser, it turns out there is much more use to vodka than simply drinking it! Read our newest listicle on life hacks using vodka (preferably sober!). While many countries around the world are finally opening up after 2+ years of travel and border restrictions, there are still some lingering questions as to what is needed before traveling. We walk you through the latest developments regarding being able to visit Russia in our latest Q&A.

BLAZH - Трюмы кораблей

 Кабина лифта везет меня на дно

Читаю надпись про то, что жизнь дерьмо И лампа сверху горит одна во тьме Зайди в крартиру, не думай обо мне Здесь все похоже, как в старом том кино Завесив шторы, не дай шагнуть в окно Включи приемник, сделай громче звук Я слышу шепот, я слышу в сердце стук В этом мире одиноких людей Я спрячу тебя в квартире своей Мы как крысы, бегущие прочь от огней Мы живем в трюмах кораблей В этом мире одиноких людей Я спрячу тебя в квартире своей Мы как крысы, бегущие прочь от огней Мы живем в трюмах кораблей Свет фонаря разрезал ночь, словно маслом нож Ты куришь на балконе, и словно что-то ждешь На кухне остывает дешевый сладкий чай Не торопи здесь время, не торопи печаль Твоя душа открыта на седьмой главе Зайди и выбрось все песни обо мне Пусть выбьет пробки у всех здесь, ну и пусть Уйми внутри себя свою немую грусть В этом мире одиноких людей Я спрячу тебя в квартире своей Мы как крысы, бегущие прочь от огней Мы живем в трюмах кораблей

russian alphabet

Russian Christmas

Russian Salad

Serbian alphabet