In the Noonday Hour – M. Lokhvitskaya

Russian Silver Age poetry translation series, 56/?

This one was the longest of the poems that I translated for that Mirra Lokhvitskaya project application. It shows Lokhvitskaya’s religious devotion, and also her mysticism.

In the Noonday Hour

And Adam was tempted at the noonday hour, when the angels leave to worship God’s throne. 
— From the Apocalypse of Moses

Fear, fear the high road in the noonday hour
At that time the angels leave to bow before God’s power.
Spirits vile and human-hating, whose lot earth to roam is,
Turn the faithful’s eyes that hour from fair Heaven’s promise. 

I sat lonely by the window, my head hanging low.
Thunder was approaching and skies breathed a heavy glow.
Like a fiery moon the sun in the red haze was drifting.
Not expected, he stepped to me, silently and swiftly. 

Whispered he, “Come to the road, it’s the noonday hour,
At that time, the angels leave to bow before God’s power.
At that time we spirits free roam without a care
And we mock the truth and life and heaven bright and fair. 

The road lies, a boring stripe, grey and dull and pale,
But I’ll show you wonders there untold in any tale.”
And the stranger led me by the road and to a field,
And I followed and obeyed Satan’s will to yield. 

Clouds of dust curl on the high road to the heavy beat of
An endless chain of captives chained striking with their feet as
On it stretches without end, a snake of human races,
All are grim, all animal, all dull-brute the faces.

The Carthage temple’s gloomy halls await the prisoners’ bringing,
Dancing priestesses, their ecstasies, sweetness of their singing,
And inexorable priests, like gods coldly cruel,
And the fiery maw of the colossus scorching for its fuel. 

“To be priestess of Baal,” he whispered, “is that your desire?
Would you glorify the idol with the drum and lyre?
Burn him myrrh and cinnamon in a censer gleaming
And take pleasure in warm blood and the dying screaming?”

“Monsters, blasphemers,” said I, “get ye all behind!
“I surrender to the mercy of the Lord all-kind!”
And at once the vision vanished. Just the black cloud flows
Circled over, a dread legion of the carrion crows.

Fear, fear the high road at the noonday hour,
At that time the angels leave to bow before God’s power. 
And the devil’s armies then do such strength assemble
That even at heaven’s door faithful souls should tremble!

1899 ; translation by Tamara Vardomskaya, January 2020

Saviour, I see Your mansion’s height – M. Lokhvitskaya

Russian Silver Age poetry translation series, 55/?

In January 2020, I applied for a literary translation residency program at the Banff Centre, for a project to translate Mirra Lokhvitskaya’s poetry into English. I argued that this collection would show English readers a fascinating and brilliant woman who communicated her own emotional life as a woman, lover, wife, mother, and devout believer, rather than serving any ideology of masculine priorities, and who had been unjustly scorned and neglected for over a century. 

I did not get in. But then the entire residency program was cancelled because it was 2020, and my own life circumstances changed so much that I would be unlikely to attend a residency in the next few years. I am now adding the new poem translations I created for that application to my own website to share with the world.

This one, I like for its parallels with George Herbert’s “Love Bade Me Welcome.” I am not sure whether Lokhvitskaya was aware of that poem.

***

Saviour, I see Your mansion’s height,

With all Your glory its walls glitter.

But I lack dress proper and fit to

Enter it, so I have no right. 

Giver of light and of belief,

Enlighten this soul’s garb of mine,

And in Your kingdom’s glory shining

Save me from sorrow and from grief.

1893; translation by Tamara Vardomskaya, January 2020.

“Thunder coming…” – M. Lokhvitskaya

Russian Silver Age poetry translation series, 43/?

I was looking through short poems on Wikisource today, and stumbled upon this one by Mirra Lokhvitskaya, whom I had translated before. (https://vardomskaya.com/2016/08/04/some-wait-for-joy-some-seek-ovations-m-lokhvitskaya/ ) Again, this is quick and sensual, but I love the details she describes, that a hundred and twenty years later still occur before summer storms.

***

Thunder coming soon! I know it
In the poplars’ quivering tight,
In the alleys’ stifling gloam,
In the heavy wet half-light,
In the strength of white-hot glows
Clouds conceal in the skies,
In the weary dragging closed
Of your so-beloved eyes.

1896-1898; translation by Tamara Vardomskaya, September 5, 2019

“Some wait for joy, some seek ovations…” – M. Lokhvitskaya

Russian Silver Age poetry translations, 24/?

I mentioned Mirra Lokhvitskaya (1869-1905) before in connection to her correspondence with Konstantin Balmont. As much of her side of the conversation was destroyed, we know of their relationship through a series of poems they dedicated to each other. There was much speculation as to whether their relationship was sexual, but most reliable sources believe that it was platonic — despite the sensuality of her poems, Lokhviskaya lived a quiet life married to Eugene Gibert (a second-generation French immigrant who worked as a civil engineer) and raising five sons.
 
She was born Maria Alexandrovna Lokhvitskaya, in a large family. Her younger sister Nadezhda would grow up to be the satirist and memoirist with the pseudonym Teffi, whom I have already mentioned in connection to her reminiscences of Zinaida Gippius. Apparently, all the children in the family wrote poetry but got mercilessly teased by each other for doing it; there are several conflicting stories that Maria took the pen name Mirra from a poem or poetic translation of her brother’s that was the object of family mockery.
 
In her heyday she was the first notable female Silver Age poet, paving the way for Anna Akhmatova and Maria Tsvetaeva. She was also among the most commercially successful poets of any gender: her collections sold well where most others’ sold poorly. Her contemporaries observe, though, that she was often underestimated because she was small and beautiful, so people didn’t notice anything other than her looks. Unfortunately, she died at the young age of 35, apparently of heart disease.

Most of her poems on Wikisource, though full of lyric imagery, are tricky to translate. She was fond of using very strictly formal verse, such as the triolet, which, like a villanelle, is structured around repeating lines; I would have a hard enough time composing one of those on any topic, much less convey the same meaning with one. This poem is thankfully simpler, and fits our mini-theme of love.

***

Some wait for joy, some seek ovations,
Some look for honours in the field,
Some yearn for mad gratification,
Some for reply to prayers appealed.

While I — all visions false, mistaken,
Like bygone dreams fever-distressed,
I’ll trade now for the bliss of waking,
Oh dear friend, upon your breast.

Mirra Lokhvitskaya, 1896—1898; translation by Tamara Vardomskaya, August 2016.