Biography Tsvetaeva Marina Ivanovna
(1892 – 1941)
Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva was born in Moscow on September 26, 1892. By origin, family ties, education, it belonged to the labor scientific and artistic intelligentsia. Her father – the son of a poor rural priest, a native of the village of Talitsa of the Vladimir province – grew up in such “prosperity” that he had not seen a pair of boots before the age of twelve. Labor and talent Ivan Vladimirovich Tsvetaev struck his way in life, became a famous philologist and art historian, a professor at the Moscow University, director of the Rumyantsev Museum and founder of the Museum of Fine Arts (now the Pushkin Museum, at the entrance of which a memorial luster in honor of IV Tsvetaev is nailed) . He died in 1913. Mother – from the Russified Polish-German family, a nature artistically gifted, musician, a student of Rubinstein. She died early (in 1906), but, according to her daughter,
The childhood, youth and youth of Marina Tsvetaeva
Tsvetaeva began to write poems from six years (not only in Russian, but also in French and German), to be printed from sixteen, and two years later, in 1910, not yet having taken off her gymnasium form, secretly from the family, quite a voluminous collection – “Evening Album”. Published in the number of only 500 copies, he was not lost in the stream of poetic novelties, flooded the counters of bookstores. It was noticed and approved by such influential
The poems of the young Tsvetaeva were still very immature, but bribed with talent, a certain originality and spontaneity. But all the reviewers agreed. Bryusov contrasted Tsvetaeva to another then debutant – Ilya Ehrenburg. Strict Bryusov especially praised Tsvetaeva for her fearless introduction of poetry into “everyday life,” “direct features of life,” warning her, however, from the danger of falling into “domesticity” and exchanging her themes for “sweet trivia.” Gumilev’s response was even more favorable: “Marina Tsvetaeva is internally talented, internally unique… A lot is new in this book: a new bold (sometimes excessive) intimacy, new themes, for example children’s love, new direct, thoughtless admiration for life’s trifles…”.
Especially supported by Tsvetaeva when she entered the literature Maximilian Voloshin, with whom she soon, despite the great difference in age, became friends. Following the “Evening Album” appeared two more poems by Tsvetaeva: “The Magic Lantern” (1912) and “Of Two Books” (1913), both under the brand of the publishing house Ole Lukoie, the home of Sergei Efron, a friend of Tsvetaeva’s youth, for whom she married in 1912.
At this time, Tsvetaeva – “magnificent and victorious” – lived a very tense spiritual life. The stable life of a cozy house in one of the old-Moscow side streets, the leisurely everyday life of the professorial family – all this was the appearance, under which the “chaos” of real, not childish poetry had already begun to stir. Marina Tsvetaeva’s love for life was embodied first of all in love for Russia and for Russian speech. But just at the meeting with the native land of the poet suffered a cruel and irreparable misfortune.
The years of the First World War, the Revolution and the Civil War were the time of Tsvetaeva’s rapid creative growth. She lived in Moscow, wrote a lot, but did not publish very much, and only well-known lovers of poetry knew her. With the writer’s environment, she did not have any strong ties. In January 1916, she went to Petrograd, where she met with M. Kuzmin, F. Sologub, and S. Yesenin, and for a short time became friends with O. Mandelstam. Later, in the Soviet years, occasionally met with Pasternak and Mayakovsky, was friends with the old Balmont. Bloka saw twice, but she did not dare to approach him.
Marina Tsvetaeva did not understand and did not accept the October Revolution. In the literary world, Tsvetaeva still kept herself apart. She had almost no contact with real Soviet writers, but she also avoided that motley bourgeois-decadent environment that still set the tone in literary clubs and cafes. Soviet power magnanimously did not notice the corruption in the poems of the poetess, paid Tsvetaeva of her scanty rations, printed her books at the State Publishing House (“Versta”, “Tsar-Maiden”), and in May 1922 allowed her with her daughter Ariadna to go abroad – to my husband, who was a white officer, survived the defeat of Denikin and Wrangel, and by that time had become a Prague student.
Abroad, Tsvetaeva lived first in Berlin (not for long), then three years – in Prague; in November 1925 she moved to Paris. Life was emigrant, difficult, poor. In the capitals themselves, it was beyond their means, they had to settle in the suburbs or nearby villages. Landscapes of these and other places were reflected in the works of Tsvetaeva (“Poem of the Mountain”, “Poem of the End”, many poems), and very concretely. At first the white emigration accepted Tsvetaeva as her own. She was willingly published and praised. But soon the picture changed significantly.
First of all, for Tsvetaeva herself came a severe sobering. The reality did not leave a stone in stone from the myth of the “Russian Vendee”. Tsvetaeva’s husband, S. Ya. Efron, who, with the white army, passed all her ignominious and criminal way, obeying the voice of honor and conscience, radically revised her views. He told Tsvetaeva the truth about the “white movement”, and she could not help but admit this harsh truth. It is significant that the political topics to which Tsvetaeva paid a generous tribute in the verses of 1917-1921 are gradually being weathered from her work of the emigrant period. The following fact is also characteristic: Tsvetaeva brought with her from Soviet Russia a manuscript of a whole collection of poems (“The Swan Mill”) dedicated to the “Russian Vendee”; making sure that behind everything she wrote about here, there was neither historical nor human truth,
Gradually, Tsvetaeva’s connections with the white emigration are increasingly weakening and, at last, almost bursting. It is being printed less and less. She writes a lot, but written for years does not go to print or even remains in the author’s desk. If in 1922-1923 years. she managed to publish five books abroad, then in 1924 – only one, and then there comes a break until 1928, when the last lifetime collection of Tsvetaeva “After Russia” was published, which includes poems of 1922-1925. Her big things are Poem of the Mountain, Poem of the End, Pied Piper, Poem of the Staircase, From the Sea, Room Attempt, New Year, Poem of the Air, the drama The Snowstorm, Fortune, , “The End of Casanova” (“Phoenix”), “Adventure”, “Theusi” (“Ariadne”),
Tsvetaeva’s poetry was monumental, courageous and tragic. The shallow water of emigrant literature was to her foot. She thought and wrote only about the great – about life and death, about love and art, about Pushkin and Goethe… Tsvetaeva’s independence, her bold experiments with verse, the very spirit and direction of her work irritated and rebuilt against her the majority of emigre writers. One of them, a critic who was considered the arbiter of taste, spoke bluntly in the press about “our not sympathy” for Tsvetaeva’s poetry, about her “complete, profound and irrevocable unacceptability for us.”
In the work of Tsvetaeva, satirical notes are becoming stronger. What is worth one “Praise the rich!”. In the same row there are such powerful poems as “The Poem of the Outpost”, “The Train”, “The Poloter”, “The Ode to the Walking”, poems from the cycle “Table”, “They Have Not Left Anywhere…”, “Readers of Newspapers” separate stanzas of the “Poem of the Mountain,” in which a truly burning “lava of hatred” flows to the miserable “kingdom of mollusks”, and, of course, entirely – such fiercely anti-petty-bourgeois, anti-bourgeois things as “Pied Piper” and “Poem of the Stairs”.
Important for understanding the position of Tsvetaeva, which she took to the 30th year, has a cycle “Poems to her son” (1932). Here she speaks loudly about the Soviet Union as a new world of new people, as a country of a very special kind and a special destiny, uncontrollably rushing forward – into the future. In the darkness of the battling old world, the very sound of the USSR sounds to the poet as a call to salvation and a message of hope.
Personal drama Tsvetaeva intertwined with the tragedy of the century. She saw the bestial grin of fascism – and managed to curse him. The victory of Hitlerism in Germany, the death of the Spanish Republic, the Munich treason – all this caused a passionate protest in Tsvetaeva’s soul. Close to her people – husband and daughter – left for the Soviet Union. Marina Ivanovna and her son were preparing to leave. The last thing Tsvetaeva wrote in emigration is the cycle of angry anti-fascist verses about the trampled Czechoslovakia, which she tenderly and faithfully loved (she had nowhere to publish these poems).
In 1939, Tsvetaeva restored her Soviet citizenship and returned to her homeland. It was hard for her seventeen years, spent in a foreign land. Her personal circumstances were bad: her husband and daughter were subjected to unreasonable repression. Tsvetaeva settled in Moscow, started translating, prepared a collection of selected poems. The war broke out. Conversion of the evacuation was abandoned Tsvetaeva first in Chistopol, then in Elabuga. This is where the “loneliness of the supreme hour”, about which she spoke with such deep feeling in her poems, caught up with her. Exhausted, lost her will, on August 31, 1941, Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva committed suicide.
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