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flameinthesnow · 14h ago

#BiteSizeBallet No.5

Kitty Phetla, Joburg BalletIf I were the Indian Ocean or the Atlantic Ocean, I'd sneak bits of myself up onto the back of a cloud, and whisper sweet nothings to the wind, till it gave me a r...
flameinthesnow · 14h ago

all is translation (and every bit of us is lost in it)

Rilke (Leonid Pasternak, 1900)Image credit to Wikimedia CommonsGONGSound, no longer measurablewith the sense of hearing. As if that toneOutstripping us on every sidewere space ripening.--Rai...
flameinthesnow · 2W ago


Kecharitomene: music and musings, with many possible layers of meanings, composed and performed by Loreena McKennit.
flameinthesnow · 3W ago

two meandering poems (Maria Petrovykh)

The cold has decidedly arrived, and discovers me at my upstairs desk, perched like a hothouse orchid peering safely through the glass at the snow-covered canopy.  On a whim, I venture back i...
flameinthesnow · 3W ago

be silent until the appearance of verses - Maria Sergeevna Petrovykh

(Apologies for technical difficulties, dear Reader.) One of my favorite lines from a poem written in 1971 by Maria Petrovykh could be translated as "be silent until the appearance of verses....
flameinthesnow · 1M ago

aere perennius - of poets and posterity

Nineteenth century Russia was a radically ebullient time and place to be a poet or an artist. The Russian culture and language were raw and ready to be shaped and sculpted into utterly new s...
flameinthesnow · 1M ago

A translation by Nina Kossman

As an early birthday gift to myself, I ordered a copy of Nina Kossman's translations of Marina Tsvetaeva's poems: In the Inmost Hour of the Soul.Anyone who has attempted the translation of a...
flameinthesnow · 2M ago

when trees as gilded as bees

Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth.I had begun to translate another poem of Mandelstam's which I enjoy, but then I...
flameinthesnow · 2M ago

two Mandelstam poems

Because moods flutter onto our shoulders like cloaks and then dart away, as the young Osip Mandelstam knew well. He wrote this at around age 20, while traveling in Berlin. I am not quite hap...
flameinthesnow · 3M ago