March -- Boris Pasternak

Guest poem submitted by Suresh Ramasubramanian:

(Poem #419) March The sun is hotter than the top ledge in a steam bath; The ravine, crazed, is rampaging below. Spring -- that corn-fed, husky milkmaid -- Is busy at her chores with never a letup. The snow is wasting (pernicious anemia -- See those branching veinlets of impotent blue?) Yet in the cowbarn life is burbling, steaming, And the tines of pitchforks simply glow with health. These days -- these days, and these nights also! With eavesdrop thrumming its tattoos at noon, With icicles (cachectic!) hanging on to gables, And with the chattering of rills that never sleep! All doors are flung open -- in stable and in cowbarn; Pigeons peck at oats fallen in the snow; And the culprit of all this and its life-begetter-- The pile of manure -- is pungent with ozone. -- Boris Pasternak

(attributed to Yurii Andreivich Zhivago).

Translation has rendered this poem (originally written in Russian, like the
classic novel in which it appeared) into blank verse.  It still retains much of
its original beauty.  The unusual imagery is what grabbed me - contrasting
winter (disease and suffering) with spring (health, youth).  It is a metaphor
for the whole book, I feel.

Zhivago's poems are all listed as an appendix (and there is a long note by
Pasternak in the middle of the text about how Zhivago's poems evolve in style -
from long, rambling blank verse to short, sharp poems with a staccato rhythm,
just three words to a line).  They also reflect his changing moods and fortunes.

On the whole, Zhivago is an excellent book, and the poems at the end are the
icing on the cake.  Every time I read the book (and the poems) I keep hearing
"Lara's Theme" from the David Lean movie.  Everything comes together into one
glorious whole.

Suresh.

Winter Night -- Boris Pasternak

Guest poem sent in by Anuraj

(Poem #45) Winter Night It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. As during summer midges swarm To beat their wings against a flame Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed To beat against the window pane The blizzard sculptured on the glass Designs of arrows and of whorls. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. Distorted shadows fell Upon the lighted ceiling: Shadows of crossed arms,of crossed legs- Of crossed destiny. Two tiny shoes fell to the floor And thudded. A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears Upon a dress. All things vanished within The snowy murk-white,hoary. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. A corner draft fluttered the flame And the white fever of temptation Upswept its angel wings that cast A cruciform shadow It snowed hard throughout the month Of February, and almost constantly A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. -- Boris Pasternak

     (Excerpt from Dr.Zhivago)
     (Translated into english by Bernard Guilbert Guerney)

    The whole world knows Pasternak as a great novelist,but he is one of
the greatest poets of our century as well.His poems have been widely
acclaimed.He belonged to the league of poets which include Anna
Akhmatova,Joseph Brodsky and the likes.The poets of faith,suffering and
human emotions.

   When I first read Dr.Zhivago,I was fascinated by its richness of
poetry. But most of all I liked the poems written by the hero Dr.Yuri
Zhivago, a poet and physician caught in the midst of Russian
revolution.These are given as an appendix to the novel.

   This particular poem is my favourite among the lot.It can stand by
itself.But related to the context it has more subtle dimensions.The poem
is based on a simple incident.The hero still doesen't know the heroine
Lara, but on his way home on a cold February night, Yura notices a
candle burning through a street window(In that room Lara is taking the
decision of her life).He just writes a poem on it.Little does he know
that the happenings in
that room is shaping up his destiny.

This is how Pasternak describes the incident:

"As they drove through Kamerger street Yura noticed that a candle had
melted a patch in the icy crust on one of the windows.The light seemed
to look into the street almost consciously , as if it were watching the
passing carriages and waiting for someone.

 'A candle burned on the table,a candle burned...' he whispered to
himself-the beginning of something confused,formless;he hoped that it
would take shape of itself.But nothing more came to him."

   The poem is remarkable for its simplicity,the richness of imagery and
the evocative tone.But in a more subtle way it reflects the poet's
compassion,his astounding faith and the suffering he went through.

                                                       -Anuraj