Dans ce monde entièrement chrétien, les poètes sont des juifs. Akhmatova Anna

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Dans ce monde entièrement chrétien, les poètes sont des juifs.
Citations de Anna Akhmatova
Anna Akhmatova

9 réponses à “Dans ce monde entièrement chrétien, les poètes sont des juifs. Akhmatova Anna”

  1. Ekaterina

    Non c'est la citation de Marina Tsvétaéva…du "Poème de la fin"

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      Marina Tsvétaéva

      « Éparpillés dans des librairies, gris de poussière,
      Ni lus, ni cherchés, ni ouverts, ni vendus,
      Mes poèmes seront dégustés comme les vins les plus rares
      Quand ils seront vieux. »

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      Marina Tsvétaéva

      « Dans mon insomnie, je t'aime
      Dans mon insomnie, je t'entends
      À l'heure où dans tout le Kremlin
      S'éveillent ceux qui sonnent. »

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      L'ouvrage récent le plus complet en français est le numéro spécial de la Revue de Belles-Lettres "Anna Akhmatova", Genève, Éditions Zoé, 1996; 1-3. Le livre contient des traductions inédites de 70 poèmes, de deux études d'Akhmatova sur Pouchkine, des études sur Anna Akhmatova et ses contemporains (Pasternak, Ossip Mandelstam, Marina Tsvetaiéva)

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      On peut lire en effet pour Marina Tsvétaéva, cet extrait

      « Dans ce monde-ci hyper-chrétien/Tous les poètes sont des Juifs »

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        Vous avez sans doute raison…
        Lu ici :
        http://www.dickinson.edu/glossen/heft6/celan.html

        However the epigraph, “All poets are Jews” is more indicative of another of Russia’s poets, one who — quite similarly to Emily Dickinson — saw herself as a “nobody” in Russian literature: Marina Tsvetayeva. Celan did not translate any of the works of this master of Russian language and lyrics, and I have never found any signs of an attempt at such a translation among his unpublished papers. As he himself admitted in a letter to the literary scholar and publisher of Mandelstam’s works, Gleb Struve, Celan thought her poems too difficult to be translated.{11} At the same time, he greatly admired Tsvetayeva’s poetry. As several of his contemporaries unanimously attest, he accorded her a status among Russian authors second only to Mandelstam.

        Why then did Celan preface his poem, one of the last long poems from the conclusion of Die Niemandsrose, with this epigraph in the Russian language and alphabet? And how is this epigraph to be understood, as obviously incorrect as it is when taken out of context? Tsvetayeva’s life circumstances and several of her poems reflecting them provide answers.

        With the aid of Celan’s personal library, which was deposited in the German Literary Archive in Marbach in 1990 and made available there for research, I was able to at least partially trace which of Tsvetayeva's texts Celan had devoted the greatest attention to. I noticed that there was one poem which had captured Celan’s particular interest: the "Poem of the End" (Po ma konca).{12} In all the copies of Tsvetayeva's works, there were notes and jottings in the margin next to her poem, many of which referred to one specific section. It is this passage which the epigraph is taken from. A comparison of the volumes reveals that Celan became acquainted with this poem by Marina Tsvetayeva one year before writing "Und mit dem Buch aus Tarussa." He seems to have read it particularly intensively in an extremely rare anthology, published in Russian in Prague in 1926, which contained representative works of the emigrants living there at that time (Marina Tsvetayeva had been on the panel of editors, but was already in Paris by the time it was published). Celan acquired the volume on June 1st, 1960.{13}

        However, the title of Celan’s poem points in another direction, namely to Tarussa, a small town outside Moscow on the Oka River, which at the time was a well-known artists‘ colony. It so happens that Tsvetayeva spent part of her childhood in Tarussa, described as an idyllic place where everything was still the way it ought to be. Half jokingly, half seriously, Tsvetayeva later (1934) came up with an inscription for her tombstone, which her daughter has passed on to us. If she could not be buried in Tarussa, then she wished a stone to be placed upon a hill overlooking the town with the epitaph carved on it: “Here Marina Tsvetayeva would like to lie.”

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        Vous avez sans doute raison…
        Lu ici :
        http://www.dickinson.edu/glossen/heft6/celan.html

        However the epigraph, “All poets are Jews” is more indicative of another of Russia’s poets, one who — quite similarly to Emily Dickinson — saw herself as a “nobody” in Russian literature: Marina Tsvetayeva. Celan did not translate any of the works of this master of Russian language and lyrics, and I have never found any signs of an attempt at such a translation among his unpublished papers. As he himself admitted in a letter to the literary scholar and publisher of Mandelstam’s works, Gleb Struve, Celan thought her poems too difficult to be translated.{11} At the same time, he greatly admired Tsvetayeva’s poetry. As several of his contemporaries unanimously attest, he accorded her a status among Russian authors second only to Mandelstam.

        Why then did Celan preface his poem, one of the last long poems from the conclusion of Die Niemandsrose, with this epigraph in the Russian language and alphabet? And how is this epigraph to be understood, as obviously incorrect as it is when taken out of context? Tsvetayeva’s life circumstances and several of her poems reflecting them provide answers.

        With the aid of Celan’s personal library, which was deposited in the German Literary Archive in Marbach in 1990 and made available there for research, I was able to at least partially trace which of Tsvetayeva's texts Celan had devoted the greatest attention to. I noticed that there was one poem which had captured Celan’s particular interest: the "Poem of the End" (Po ma konca).{12} In all the copies of Tsvetayeva's works, there were notes and jottings in the margin next to her poem, many of which referred to one specific section. It is this passage which the epigraph is taken from. A comparison of the volumes reveals that Celan became acquainted with this poem by Marina Tsvetayeva one year before writing "Und mit dem Buch aus Tarussa." He seems to have read it particularly intensively in an extremely rare anthology, published in Russian in Prague in 1926, which contained representative works of the emigrants living there at that time (Marina Tsvetayeva had been on the panel of editors, but was already in Paris by the time it was published). Celan acquired the volume on June 1st, 1960.{13}

        However, the title of Celan’s poem points in another direction, namely to Tarussa, a small town outside Moscow on the Oka River, which at the time was a well-known artists‘ colony. It so happens that Tsvetayeva spent part of her childhood in Tarussa, described as an idyllic place where everything was still the way it ought to be. Half jokingly, half seriously, Tsvetayeva later (1934) came up with an inscription for her tombstone, which her daughter has passed on to us. If she could not be buried in Tarussa, then she wished a stone to be placed upon a hill overlooking the town with the epitaph carved on it: “Here Marina Tsvetayeva would like to lie.”

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    Requiem (extraits) Anna Akhmatova

    2
    Paisible coule le Don
    la lune entre dans la maison
    la lune entre sans façons,
    elle voit une ombre dans la maison.

    Cette femme est malade,
    cette femme est solitaire.

    Le mari mort, le fils est en prison
    Priez à mon attention.

    3
    Non, ce n'est pas moi, c'est une autre qui souffre.
    Moi, je ne pourrai pas. Ce qui est arrivé,
    qu'un drap noir recouvre le recouvre,
    et qu'on emporte les flambeaux…
    La nuit.

    5
    Depuis dix-huit mois je hurle : reviens !
    reviens à la maison.
    Je rampe aux pieds des assassins,
    mon effroi, mon garçon.
    Tout s'embrouille sans rémission
    et je ne sais plus trop
    qui est un fauve qui est un homme,
    Quand viendra le bourreau.
    Il n'y a que des fleurs qui fanent,
    l'odeur d'encens, des pas qui mènent
    ailleurs, vers le néant.
    Et sans répit me dévisage,
    et de mort brandit le présage
    une étoile géante.

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    A LA MORT Anna Akhmatova

    Tôt ou tard tu viendras- pourquoi pas maintenant ?
    Je suis en grand malheur et je t'appelle.
    ma lumière est éteinte, mon portrait est béant –
    Pour toi si simple et si belle.
    Tu peux prendre la forme qui te convient :
    flèche empoisonnée, trouant le vide,
    bandit, assomme-moi sur le chemin.
    Emporte-moi fièvre typhoïde.
    Ou bien encore – ta belle invention,
    pour tous, à en vomir, banale ;
    Qu'un képi bleu entre dans ma maison,
    guidé par le concierge pâle.
    Tout m'est égal. Ienisseï bouillonnant,
    L'étoile polaire brille sur moi.
    Et l'éclat bleu des yeux que j'aime tant
    se voile d'un ultime effroi.

    (19 août 1939 Leningrad)

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