Showing posts with label Boris Pasternak. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boris Pasternak. Show all posts

Thursday, October 01, 2026

Boris Pasternak / Marina Tsvetaeva


Ian Fleming: From Russia with Love (1957)


Not many New Zealand secondary schools offered Russian as a language elective back in the 1970s. Rangitoto College, on Auckland's North Shore, was one of them. I duly studied it for five years, along with French. I wish, in retrospect, I could have learned Te Reo Māori instead, but it wasn't even on the syllabus at the time - changed days!

Here's a reminiscence from those far-off times:


•


From Russia with Love

Our Russian class 
went on a school trip 
to visit a Soviet ship
in the harbour

the sailors tried to show us around
but we stood there dumb
till I ventured a few phrases 
in Russian

the captain was much impressed
and told me I should come
to study in the worker’s republic
I lacked the aplomb

to answer in kind
a year or so later we hosted a visit
from the Russian ambassador
who offered to answer our questions

about the Soviet Union
I asked about the case of the poet
Boris Pasternak
he replied that the reason

only some of his work 
was available there
was because his later writings
lacked objectivity

Solzhenitsyn
by contrast
an enemy of the people
had been justly deported

all this was recited 
with a stone-cold glare
our teacher congratulated me later
on asking the hard questions

in this case the hard questions were the easy ones

•


I've shared this poem from my new book Tesseract (due to be launched later this year, at Masterworks Gallery in the CBD) because it seems as good a way as any of introducing two Russian poets, Boris Pasternak and his friend Marina Tsvetaeva, and the various accommodations they were forced to make with Russia's turbulent post-Revolutionary history - and with the Soviet regime.


Ronald Hingley: Nightingale Fever (1981)


If you'd like to know more about their biographies, I'd definitely recommend Ronald Hingley's classic book Nightingale Fever: Russian Poets in Revolution. In it he outlines the web of relationships between these four exceptionally talented poets:
  • Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966), brutally persecuted by the Soviet Security Services from the 1930s until a few years before her death;
  • Boris Pasternak (1890-1960), ordered by the state to renounce the Nobel Prize he'd received for his 1957 novel Doctor Zhivago;
  • Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938), who died of malnutrition in a transit camp in Siberia after daring to write a poem mocking Stalin;
  • & - perhaps the most tragic of them all - Marina Tsvetaeva (1892-1941):
After living through the Revolution and the Civil War, Tsvetaeva went into exile in Western Europe in 1922. She subsisted there, in increasing poverty, until 1939, when she was forced by the oncoming war to return to the Soviet Union.

From the moment of her arrival in Russia she was treated as a spy and a traitor. Her husband and daughter were both arrested on charges of espionage in 1941, and she herself was exiled to the distant town of Yelabuga in Tatarstan. She hanged herself there on 31st August, 1941.

She left behind a note for her son Georgy:
Forgive me, but to go on would be worse. I am gravely ill, this is not me anymore. I love you passionately. Do understand that I could not live anymore. Tell Papa and Alya, if you ever see them, that I loved them to the last moment and explain to them that I found myself in a trap.
The "trap" she refers to in her note was probably (according to Wikipedia): a demand by "the local NKVD department ... to start working as their informant." Rather than do that, she chose the only honourable alternative: killing herself.

Her husband Sergei Efron was shot in September 1941; her daughter Alya served over eight years in prison. Both were exonerated after Stalin's death in 1953.



Our class outing to see the Soviet ship must have taken place sometime around the mid-seventies: maybe 1977? The ambassador's visit was a year or so later. It was definitely pre-Glasnost, and the old attitudes were still very much in place.

I've included the poem above to underline the fact that it's easy enough to strike romantic attitudes about horrid deeds and unjust acts of persecution taking place in far-off countries, but it's very difficult to imagine the pressures that can be applied by an oppressive state if you haven't experienced them first-hand.

All these four poets - all much the same age, and all well-acquainted with each other - had to find their own individual ways to survive in impossible times. This certainly wasn't helped by their joint "nightingale fever" - a phrase coined by Osip Mandelstam for his own incurable malady of poetry-writing: “there is no hope / For heart still flushed / with nightingale fever” (“What grasshopper-clocks are singing ...")

Mandelstam, the most uncompromising among them, went first. Then came Tsvetaeva, who would quite likely have died of starvation and neglect if she hadn't chosen to take her own life instead.

Pasternak maintained an uneasy balance with the authorities, due to such early Bolshevik-friendly poems as "1905" and "Lieutenant Schmidt". His 1957 novel Doctor Zhivago pushed the boat out too far, though. He was faced not just with the loss of his livelihood, but with the pitiless persecution of his nearest and dearest when he died (from lung cancer) in 1960. However his lover Olga Ivinskaya, the original of 'Lara', was imprisoned for four years after his death, "apparently to punish her for the relationship".

Akhmatova outlived them all, and even achieved a certain official status as the last survivor of the Russian Silver Age in her final years.

The fact that their collected works are now freely available (even in Putin's Russia) might lead us to suppose that it "all worked out for the best" - that "the poetry is in the pity", and that it's their joint sufferings that makes their writing interesting. I doubt that that's the best way to read them, though - as cartoon "dissidents", the value of whose work lies in the extremity of the attitudes they struck at the time.

They would have been great poets in any era, under any government. The fact that they lived through such extraordinarily difficult times certainly did have an effect on the things they ended up writing about, but that's only a small part of their distinction. I'd like to illustrate that by examining a few of their most celebrated poems below.

I've already written posts about Akhmatova and Mandelstam - as well as one about Pasternak's novel Doctor Zhivago. I'll be focussing here more on his poetry, along with that of his close friend Marina Tsevtaeva.




•

Andrey Potapov: Poet Boris Pasternak (2019)


One of the strangest things about that very strange novel Doctor Zhivago is the annex of "Zhivago's poems" included at the back of the book. The point is that they weren't Yurii Zhivago's poems - they were Boris Pasternak's. Many of them had been written years before he started serious work on the book, and it was - to say the least - distinctly odd of him to introduce them as the compositions of a fictional character: albeit a kind of alter-ego.

The first, and most famous of them, is "Hamlet":


•

Ilya Ilf: Solitary walker (1920s)

Hamlet
Гамлет Гул затих. Я вышел на подмостки. Прислонясь к дверному косяку, Я ловлю в далёком отголоске, Что случится на моем веку. На меня наставлен сумрак ночи Тысячью биноклей на оси. Если только можно, Авва Отче, Чашу эту мимо пронеси. Я люблю твой замысел упрямый И играть согласен эту роль. Но сейчас идёт другая драма, И на этот раз меня уволь. Но продуман распорядок действий, И неотвратим конец пути. Я один, всё тонет в фарисействе. Жизнь прожить — не поле перейти. - Борис Пастернак (1946)
• Crowd's roar subsides I enter stage left leaning against a doorpost I sense in the echoing emptiness what's coming for me at last darkness comes to bear on me through the sights of opera glasses if only it were possible Father to let this bitter cup pass? I admire your stubborn design and agreed to play this role but another drama's unfolding can't I too choose denial? the sequence of acts is planned Your Will will be fulfilled I'm alone with their smug hypocrisy life's not like crossing a field

- trans. JR (22-24/9/2026)


Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (1957)

•


Pasternak's celebrated translation of Shakespeare's "Hamlet" first appeared in 1941. Perhaps that was what inspired him to write this poem, conflating his own role as an unwilling tragic hero with Hamlet's predestined part in the play. The double-focus is ingeniously maintained throughout. It had to be, really.

Like all of his later work, it was meant to convey a clear meaning to poetry lovers, while still presenting an acceptable official mask for censors and bureaucrats. It's not that Pasternak was entirely successful in this - the switch to verse translation in the latter part of his career was not accidental - but it seems to have worked just well enough to keep him alive.

The simultaneous weariness and defiance this relentless scrutiny provoked in him is wonderfully evoked in the poem, which has been a favourite among English translators since Pasternak's novel was first published.

The point is perhaps best made by contrasting this 1946 poem with an even more celebrated one, first published in his book My Sister, Life in 1922:


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Boris Pasternak: Сестра моя жизнь (1923)

My Sister Life
Сестра моя — жизнь ... Сестра моя — жизнь и сегодня в разливе Расшиблась весенним дождем обо всех, Но люди в брелоках высоко брюзгливы И вежливо жалят, как змеи в овсе. У старших на это свои есть резоны. Бесспорно, бесспорно смешон твой резон, Что в грозу лиловы глаза и газоны И пахнет сырой резедой горизонт. Что в мае, когда поездов расписанье Камышинской веткой читаешь в купе, Оно грандиозней святого писанья И черных от пыли и бурь канапе. Что только нарвется, разлаявшись, тормоз На мирных сельчан в захолустном вине, С матрацев глядят, не моя ли платформа, И солнце, садясь, соболезнует мне. И в третий плеснув, уплывает звоночек Сплошным извиненьем: жалею, не здесь. Под шторку несет обгорающей ночью И рушится степь со ступенек к звезде. Мигая, моргая, но спят где-то сладко, И фата-морганой любимая спит Тем часом, как сердце, плеща по площадкам, Вагонными дверцами сыплет в степи. - Борис Пастернак (1917)
• My sister life’s in full flood today breaking like spring rain-squalls all over us people dangle like fluffy dice garish and sour arching their fangs like vipers in the grass oldies may have their own reasons for this but your excuse is at least original during a thunderstorm lilac eyes turn grey and the horizon reeks of deep purple in May when you read the train timetable for the city rail link in your cubicle it seems far wiser than the Bible or banquettes burdened by random people and whenever the brakes screech and bark at harmless simps in some village backwater they look up from their seats is this my stop? and the setting sun ceases to matter then third time lucky the signal drifts off like a long apology sorry not here breezes waft through the blinds in the hot night and the headlands stare upstairs at a star buzzing and blinking somewhere folks are still sleeping and my girlfriend lies prone like a meteor just as my heart splashing past the threshold topples downhill through the carriage door

- trans. JR (22/9-1/10/26)


Leonid Pasternak: Boris, Josephine, Lydia & Alexander (1914)

•


Pasternak had two younger sisters: Lydia and Josephine. Lydia Pasternak Slater published a number of English translations of her brother's work, and was a poet in her own right. Josephine also published verse.

But of course the poem isn't about either of them: the real "sister" here is life itself - though the "girlfriend" he mentions towards the end is presumably Elena Vinogradova, whom he was courting assiduously in the months leading up to the October Revolution.

The poems he wrote during this period had a huge effect on Russian poetry. Pasternak never abandoned the rhyming quatrains and regular metres of traditional verse - he was no Mayakovskian Futurist, no Khlebnikovian experimentalist - but the extraordinary flights of language of which he alone was capable still seemed to burst through the confines of the page.

These effects can not really be reproduced in English, but I've done my best to convey a little of his immense exuberance at this moment when (in Wordsworth's words about the French Revolution):
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive
But to be young was very heaven!
- before the immense disillusionment of the famine and the brutal Civil War.


We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
- Wordsworth, "Resolution and Independence" (1802)

Marina Tsvetaeva, too, had her golden time - in the years leading up to the First World War. After studying abroad, she began to publish verse in 1910, and quickly earned a reputation as an up-and-coming poet. But, just as Anna Akhmatova was the muse of St. Petersburg, so Tsvetaeva was strongly identified with the culture of Russia's older capital, Moscow. Pasternak too was born in Moscow, which may explain some of the closeness they always felt: in their lives as well as their work.

Despite her early marriage with the young cadet Sergei Efron, Tsvetaeva continued to have affairs with women as well as men - including the young Osip Mandelstam. Her pre-war verse was already more doom-laden than the love poems Akhmatova was writing at the same time, however.

Here's an example of her early manner:


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Osip Mandelstam (1914)

To Osip Mandelstam
Осипу Мандельштаму Приключилась с ним странная хворь, И сладчайшая на него нашла оторопь. Всё стоит и смотрит ввысь, И не видит ни звёзд, ни зорь Зорким оком своим — отрок. А задремлет — к нему орлы Шумнокрылые слетаются с клёкотом, И ведут о нём дивный спор. И один — властелин скалы — Клювом кудри ему треплет. Но дремучие очи сомкнув, Но уста полураскрыв — спит себе. И не слышит ночных гостей, И не видит, как зоркий клюв Златоокая вострит птица. - Марина Цветаева (20/3/1916)
• A strange illness comes over him a sweet stupor possesses him he stands staring upwards seeing nothing neither stars nor dawn despite the sharp eyes of youth as he nods off stiff-pinioned eagles swoop down with raucous cries squabbling over his liver till one the lord of the wings pecks nonchalantly at his curls heavy-lidded with lips slightly parted he sleeps on oblivious to his nightly guests unaware that that golden-eyed bird is sharpening its cruel beak

- trans. JR (22/9-1/10/2026)



This "illness" she diagnoses in her lover - soon to become, instead, a lifelong friend - is clearly an early bout of the dreaded Nightingale Fever. And the "golden-eyed bird" sharpening its beak can presumably be seen as the oncoming menace of history.

When the second Russian Revolution broke out in October 1917, Efron immediately joined the anti-Bolshevik White Guard. Tsvetaeva was left behind to endure the terrible Moscow famine with their two young children:
With no immediate family to turn to, she had no way to support herself or her daughters. In 1919, she placed both her daughters in a state orphanage, mistakenly believing that they would be better fed there. Alya became ill, and Tsvetaeva removed her, but Irina died there of starvation in 1920. The child's death caused Tsvetaeva great grief and regret. In one letter, she wrote, "God punished me."
Tsvetaeva felt that their only way to survive was to leave the country:
In May 1922, Tsvetaeva and Ariadna left Soviet Russia and were reunited in Berlin with Efron, who she had thought had been killed by the Bolsheviks.

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Marina Tsvetaeva: Insomnia and Other Poems (2011)

from Insomnia


Бессонница, 3 В огромном городе моём — ночь. Из дома сонного иду — прочь. И люди думают: жена, дочь, —А я запомнила одно: ночь. Июльский ветер мне метёт — путь, И где-то музыка в окне — чуть. Ах, нынче ветру до зари — дуть Сквозь стенки тонкие груди́ — в грудь. Есть чёрный тополь, и в окне — свет, И звон на башне, и в руке — цвет, И шаг вот этот — никому — вслед, И тень вот эта, а меня — нет. Огни — как нити золотых бус, Ночного листика во рту — вкус. Освободите от дневных уз, Друзья, поймите, что я вам — снюсь. - Марина Цветаева (17/7/1916)
• Falling on my vast echoing city night walking out from my quiet house late a woman all alone no common sight drawn by one thing the night the summer winds sweep a path for me music wafts from a window faintly yes that wind will blow until dawn steadily straight to this aching heart cruelly black poplar there from the window light bells ring in the tower my hand grasps a flower tight not following anyone down this street shadows back there but I’m out of sight streetlights like a beaded necklace gleaming fallen leaf lights on my tongue tart-tasting breaking free at last from the day’s false seeming friends I’m just a dream you’re dreaming

- trans. JR (22-1/10/2026)


Wassily Kandinsky: Moscow (1916)

•


Like Pasternak, Tsvetaeva was a devotee of traditional verse forms. Unlike him, though, she took great pleasure in playing with intricate patterns of abrupt, inlaid lines - telegraphese, or nursery rhyme-style. She, too, was a revolutionary in her use of language, but this devotion to form as a way of unmasking deeper truths makes her effects even harder to convey in an uninflected language such as English.

One thing's for certain, though: all the energy and vitality of her earlier work can't disguise the deeper sense of anxiety lurking beneath it. This feeling would, if anything, grow even greater during her years of exile in Central and Western Europe.

From Berlin the family moved to Prague, but things weren't much easier there:
"We are devoured by coal, gas, the milkman, the baker... the only meat we eat is horsemeat." When offered an opportunity to earn money by reading her poetry, she had to beg a simple dress from a friend to replace the one she had been living in.
In 1925, like so many other Russian émigrés, they settled in Paris, where they would stay until 1939:
Tsvetaeva did not feel at all at home in Paris's predominantly ex-bourgeois circle of Russian émigré writers. Although she had written passionately pro-'White' poems during the Revolution, her fellow émigrés thought that she was insufficiently anti-Soviet, and that her criticism of the Soviet régime was altogether too nebulous.
Her husband Sergei Efron had meanwhile started to work for the NKVD, the Soviet Security Services. Both he and her daughter Alya, who shared his views, returned to the USSR in 1937:
Tsvetaeva does not seem to have known that her husband was a spy, nor the extent to which he was compromised. However, she was held responsible for his actions and was ostracised in Paris because of the implication that he was involved with the NKVD. World War II had made Europe as unsafe and hostile as the USSR.
This bald chronicle of distress shouldn't, however, blind us to her immense productivity during these years. She wrote a series of long poems, including Poem of the End (1924) and Poem of the Air (1927); plays, including Ariadne (1924) and Phaedra (1927); and much of her most important prose, including the major autobiographical pieces of the late 1930s.

Which brings us to her last, desperate months back in Russia:
In Stalin's USSR, anyone who had lived abroad was suspect, as was anyone who had been among the intelligentsia before the Revolution ... Tsvetaeva found that all doors had closed to her. She got bits of work translating poetry, but otherwise the established Soviet writers refused to help her, and chose to ignore her plight.
The last fragments of verse she composed make sad reading:

Ушёл — не ем ... Ушёл — не ем: Пуст — хлеба вкус. Всё — мел. За чем ни потянусь. …Мне хлебом был, И снегом был. И снег не бел, И хлеб не мил. - Марина Цветаева (23/1/1940)
• Gone can't eat bread gone stale chalky white all round me you were my bread you were the snow soiled snow loveless bread

- trans. JR (22-30/9/2026)


•


Годы твои — гора ... — Годы твои — гора, Время твоё — 'царей.' Дура! любить — стара. — Други! любовь — старей: Чудищ старей, корней, Каменных алтарей Критских старей, старей Старших богатырей - Марина Цветаева (24/1/1940)
• Your years the mountains your times cold Tsars fool too old for love? love’s older still older than the Minotaur than roots older than Cretan stone altars older than the oldest gods and heroes

- trans. JR (22/9-1/10/2026)



It's a terribly sad story, and - presented like this - it might have the effect of inclining us to pity rather than admire Marina Tsvetaeva. But the sheer volume and mastery of the work she produced both in her early years in Russia, and during her two decades in Europe, tell a very different story.


Pasternak, Tsvetaeva & Rilke: Letters: Summer 1926 (1985)

Writing poetry is in itself translating, from the mother tongue into another, whether French or German should make no difference. No language is the mother tongue. Writing poetry is rewriting it.
- Marina Tsvetaeva to Rainer Maria Rilke (July 6th, 1926)

Perhaps the most luminous testimonial to her achievements in those years abroad is the three-way correspondence between her, Boris Pasternak, and the dying Rainer Maria Rilke. She more than held her own with her fellow-poets, moving as easily from Russian to German to French as the other two cosmopolitan writers. And the words quoted above should give heart to any translator foolhardy enough to try to follow in their footsteps ...

It might still be thought, however, that Pasternak doesn't show up particularly well in any account of Tsvetaeva's last years. The two were, after all, friends, and he doesn't appear to have done much to help her on her return to Russia. Given the state of communications in the Soviet Union in wartime, however - especially after Hitler's surprise invasion in June 1941 - it's hard to see exactly what he could have done.

He never forgave himself for his inaction, though, viewing her death as "one of the greatest sorrows of his life."
He had helped pack her suitcase for her fateful return to Russia in 1939, reportedly giving her rope to tie it — a coincidence that later haunted him with unbearable guilt.
Certainly it's not for us to judge him: he seems to have castigated himself more than anyone else could already. His final poetic tribute to her is perhaps the only possible conclusion to this very sad story - one great poet's farewell to another.

Life, after all, is not like crossing a field:


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Memorial Plaque to Marina Tsvetaeva (1892-1941)

In Memory of Marina Tsvetaeva
Памяти Марины Цветаевой Хмуро тянется день непогожий. Безутешно струятся ручьи По крыльцу перед дверью прихожей И в открытые окна мои. За оградою вдоль по дороге Затопляет общественный сад. Развалившись, как звери в берлоге, Облака в безпорядке лежат. Мне в ненастьи мерещится книга О земле и её красоте. Я рисую лесную шишигу Для тебя на заглавном листе. Ах, Марина, давно уже время, Да и труд не такой уж ахти, Твой заброшенный прах в реквие́ме Из Елабуги перенести. Торжество твоего переноса Я задумывал в прошлом году На снегами пустынного плеса, Где зимуют баркасы во льду. * * * Мне так же трудно до сих пор Вообразить тебя уме́ршей, Как скопидомкой мильонершей Средь голодающих сестёр. Что сделать мне тебе в угоду? Дай как-нибудь об этом весть. В молчаньи твоего ухода Упрёк невысказанный есть. Всегда загадочны утраты. В безплодных розысках в ответ Я мучаюсь без результата: У смерти очертаний нет. Тут всё — полуслова и тени, Обмолвки и самообман, И только верой в воскресенье Какой-то указатель дан. Зима — как пышные поминки: Наружу выйти из жилья, Прибавить к сумеркам коринки, Облить вином — вот и кутья. Пред домом яблоня в сугробе. И город в снежной пелене — Твоё огромное надгробье, Как целый год казалось мне. Лицом повернутая к Богу, Ты тянешься к Нему с земли, Как в дни, когда тебе итога Ещё на ней не подвели. - Борис Пастернак (1943)
• Dank blustery day drags on inconsolably runnels flow over the porch by the hall door down past my open window beyond the fence along the road the water overflows our local park clouds sprawl like vermin conspiring in the dark in this foul weather I try to picture our black earth bound up into a book I sketch a forest-green dryad for you but the cover stays blank Ah Marina it’s not that I forgot I’ve lived through an ocean of time since you laid down your ashes there Yelabuga I’ve owed you this requiem I want it to share the blind beauty of the new grave they dug you last year in a snow-bound reach of the river where barges lie frozen all winter * it’s still just as hard for me to work out how to picture you dead while their sisters are dying of hunger richniks lie tucked up in bed please tell me what to say to you anything farewell? would that do? the way you left us in silence still aches like a bitter blow a reproach even loss is a mystery I search everywhere to comprehend blaming myself blaming others death deals with an open hand all that’s left here is shadows the detritus of my self-regard not the slightest faith in rebirth just an obstinate debt that's still owed winter has laid us a banquet your wake is a blanket of snow iced wine the berries of twilight add up to a meagre show our apple tree’s buried deep in drifts the village is shrouded in white your cinderblock gravestone oppresses us a surfeit of love chokes the light but your face has turned away now as you stretch out your arms in the earth as it was then in the beginning when you saw the immutable truth

- trans. JR (22-1/10/2026)


Boris Chaliapin: Portrait of Marina Tsvetaeva (1933)



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Boris Pasternak (1958)

Борис Леонидович Пастернак
[Boris Leonidovich Pasternak]

(1890-1960)


Books I own are marked in bold:
    Poetry:

  1. Близнец в тучах [Twin in the Clouds] (1914)
  2. Поверх барьеров: Вторая книга стихов [Over the Barriers] (1916)
  3. Сестра моя жизнь: Стихи. Лето 1917 года [My Sister, Life] (1922)
  4. Темы и варьяции: Четвёртая книга стихов [Themes and Variations] (1923)
  5. Избранные стихи [Selected Poems] (1926)
  6. 1905 год. Девятьсот пятый год [1905] (1927)
  7. Две книги: Стихи [Two Books] (1927)
  8. Поверх барьеров: Стихи разных лет [Over the Barriers: Early Poems] (1929)
  9. Спекторский [Spektorsky] (1931)
  10. Второе рождение: Стихи [Second Birth] (1932)
  11. Грузинские лирики [Selected Lyrics] (1935)
  12. На ранних поездах [On Early Trains] (1943)
  13. Когда разгуляется, цикл стихотворений [When the Weather Clears] (1959)
  14. Poems 1955-1959 (1959)
    • Poems 1955-1959. 1959. Trans. Michael Harari. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1960.
  15. Стихотворения и поэмы [Verses & Poems] (1961)
    • Стихотворения и Поэмы. 1976. Библиотека Поэта. Ленинград: Ленинградское отделение, 1977.
  16. In the Interlude: Poems 1945–1960 (1962)
    • In the Interlude: Poems 1945-1960. Trans. Henry Kamen. Foreword by Sir Maurice Bowra. Notes by George Katkov. Oxford Paperbacks. London: Oxford University Press, 1962.
  17. Poems (1963)
    • Poems. Trans. Lydia Pasternak Slater. 1963. Unwin Paperbacks. London: George Allen & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd., 1984.
  18. The Poems of Doctor Zhivago (1971)
    • The Poems of Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans Eugene M. Kayden. Introduction by James Morgan. Illustrated by Bill Greer. Hallmark Crown Editions. Kansas City, Missouri: Hallmark Cards, Inc., 1971.
  19. Selected Poems (1983)
    • Selected Poems. Trans. Jon Stallworthy & Peter France. 1983. The Penguin Poets. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984.
  20. Поэзия: Стихотворения / Поэмы / Переводы (2003)
    • Поэзия: Стихотворения / Поэмы / Переводы. Екатеринбург: У-Фактория, 2003.

  21. Prose

  22. Рассказы [Stories] (1925)
    1. Апеллесова черта [Il Tratto di Apelle] (1915)
    2. Детство Люверс [The Childhood of Luvers] (1918)
    3. Письма из Тулы [Letters from Tula] (1918)
    4. Воздушные пути [Aerial Ways] (1924)
    • Included in: The Collected Prose Works. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Russian Literature Library. London: Lindsay Drummond Ltd., 1945.
    • Included in: Safe Conduct: An Early Autobiography and Other Works. Trans. Alec Brown / Five Lyric Poems. Trans. Lydia Pasternak-Slater. 1958. London: Elek Books Limited / Toronto: The Ryerson Press, 1959.
    • Included in: Prose & Poems. Revised Edition. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Trans. Beatrice Scott, Robert Payne & J. M. Cohen. Introduction by J. M. Cohen. London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1959.
  23. Охранная грамота [Safe Conduct] (1931)
    • Included in: The Collected Prose Works. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Russian Literature Library. London: Lindsay Drummond Ltd., 1945.
    • Included in: Safe Conduct: An Early Autobiography and Other Works. Trans. Alec Brown / Five Lyric Poems. Trans. Lydia Pasternak-Slater. 1958. London: Elek Books Limited / Toronto: The Ryerson Press, 1959.
    • Included in: Prose & Poems. Revised Edition. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Trans. Beatrice Scott, Robert Payne & J. M. Cohen. Introduction by J. M. Cohen. London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1959.
    • Included in: The Voice of Prose. Volume One: Early Prose and Autobiography. Ed. Christopher Barnes. Polygon Russian Series. Edinburgh: Polygon Books, 1986.
  24. Повесть [The Last Summer] (1934)
    • The Last Summer. 1934. Trans. George Reavey. London: Peter Owen Limited, 1959.
    • The Last Summer. 1934. Trans. George Reavey. 1959. Introduction by Lydia Slater. 1960. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961.
  25. The Collected Prose Works (1945)
    • The Collected Prose Works. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Russian Literature Library. London: Lindsay Drummond Ltd., 1945.
  26. An Essay in Autobiography (1956)
    • An Essay in Autobiography. 1956. Trans. Manya Harari. Introduction by Edward Crankshaw. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1959.
  27. Доктор Живаго [Doctor Zhivago] (1957)
    • Доктор Живаго. 1957. Milano: Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore, 1961.
    • Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans. Max Hayward & Manya Harari. 1958. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1959.
    • Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans. Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky. Introduction by Richard Pevear. 2010. Vintage Classics. London: Random House, 2011.
    • Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans. Nicolas Pasternak Slater. Illustrated by Leonid Pasternak. Introduction by Ann Pasternak Slater. 2019. 2 vols. London: The Folio Society, 2020.
  28. Safe Conduct: An Early Autobiography and Other Works / Five Lyric Poems (1958)
    • Safe Conduct: An Early Autobiography and Other Works. Trans. Alec Brown / Five Lyric Poems. Trans. Lydia Pasternak-Slater. 1958. London: Elek Books Limited / Toronto: The Ryerson Press, 1959.
  29. Prose & Poems: Revised Edition (1959)
    • Prose & Poems. Revised Edition. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Trans. Beatrice Scott, Robert Payne & J. M. Cohen. Introduction by J. M. Cohen. London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1959.
  30. The Voice of Prose. Volume One: Early Prose and Autobiography (1986)
    1. Safe Conduct (1931)
    2. The Apelles Mark (1915)
    3. Suboctave Story (1916-17)
    4. Zhenya Luvers' Childhood (1918)
    5. Letters from Tula (1918)
    6. Without Love (1918)
    7. Three Dramatic Fragments (1917)
    8. The Quintessence (1922)
    • The Voice of Prose. Volume One: Early Prose and Autobiography. Ed. Christopher Barnes. Polygon Russian Series. Edinburgh: Polygon Books, 1986.

  31. Plays:

  32. Слепая красавица (1960 / 1969)
    • The Blind Beauty: A Play. 1960. Trans. Max Hayward & Manya Harari. Foreword by Max Hayward. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1969.

  33. Translations:

    Playwrights

  34. [Shakespeare] / Уильям Шекспир:
    • Ромео и Джульетта
    • Гамлет
    • Отелло
    • Король Лир
    • Макбет
    • Антоний и Клеопатра
    • Генрих IV, часть 1
    • Генрих IV, часть 2
  35. [Goethe] / Иоганн Вольфганг фон Гёте:
    • Фауст (2 части)
  36. [Schiller] / Фридрих Шиллер:
    • Мария Стюарт
  37. [Calderon] / Педро Кальдерон:
    • Стойкий принц
  38. [Jonson] / Бен Джонсон:
    • Алхимик
  39. [Kleist] / Генрих фон Клейст:
    • Роберт Гискар
    • Разбитый кувшин
    • Принц Фридрих Гомбургский

  40. Poets

  41. [Verlaine] / Поль Верлен
  42. [Shakespeare] / Уильям Шекспир
  43. [Byron] / Джордж Гордон Байрон
  44. [Shelley] / Перси Биши Шелли
  45. [Keats] / Джон Китс
  46. [Swinburne] / Алджернон Чарльз Суинбёрн
  47. [Rilke] / Райнер Мария Рильке
  48. [Goethe] / Иоганн Вольфганг фон Гёте
  49. [Sachs] / Ганс Сакс
  50. [Jonson] / Георг Гейм
  51. [Becher] / Иоганнес Роберт Бехер
  52. [Petyofi] / Шандор Петёфи
  53. [Tagore] / Рабиндранат Тагор
  54. [Alberti] / Рафаэль Альберти
  55. [Slovatski] / Юлиуш Словацкий
  56. [Lessman] / Болеслав Лесьмян
  57. [Nezval] / Витезслав Незвал
  58. [Baratashvili] / Николоз Бараташвили
  59. [Grishashvili] / Иосиф Гришашвили
  60. [Vazha-Shavela] / Важа-Пшавела
  61. [Tabidze] / Тициан Табидзе
  62. [Yashvili] / Паоло Яшвили
  63. [Leonidze] / Георгий Леонидзе
  64. [Shevchenko] / Тарас Шевченко

  65. Letters:

  66. Letters to Georgian Friends (1967)
    • Letters to Georgian Friends. 1967. Trans. David Magarshack. 1968. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971.
  67. The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak with Olga Freidenberg (1981)
    • The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak with Olga Freidenberg. Ed. Elliott Mossman. 1981. Trans. Elliott Mossman & Margaret Wettlin. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book. New York & London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, Inc. 1982.
  68. [with Marina Tsvetayeva & Rainer Maria Rilke] Letters Summer 1926 (1983)
    • [with Marina Tsvetayeva & Rainer Maria Rilke] Letters Summer 1926. 1983. Ed. Evgeny Pasternak, Elena Pasternak & Konstantin M. Azadovsky. Trans. Margaret Wettlin & Walter Arndt. 1985. Oxford Letters & Memoirs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988.

  69. Secondary:

  70. Conquest, Robert. Courage of Genius. The Pasternak Affair: A Documentary Report on its Literary and Political Significance. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1961.
  71. Payne, Robert. The Three Worlds of Boris Pasternak. 1961. London: Robert Hale Limited, 1962.
  72. Bolt, Robert. Doctor Zhivago: The Screenplay. Based on the Novel by Boris Pasternak. 1958. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1965.
  73. Davie, Donald, & Angela Livingstone, ed. Pasternak. With Verse Translations by Donald Davie. Modern Judgements. Ed. P. N. Furbank. London: Macmillan and Co Ltd, 1969.
  74. The Memoirs of Leonid Pasternak. 1975. Trans. Jennifer Bradshaw. Introduction by Josephine Pasternak. London: Quartet Books Limited, 1982.
  75. Gladkov, Alexander. Meetings with Pasternak: A Memoir. 1973. Trans. & ed. Max Hayward. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1977.
  76. Gifford, Henry. Pasternak: A Critical Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977.
  77. Ivinskaya, Olga. A Captive of Time: My Years with Pasternak. The Memoirs of Olga Ivinskaya. 1978. Trans. Max Hayward. 1978. Fontana / Collins. London: William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1979.
  78. De Mallac, Guy. Boris Pasternak: His Life and Art. 1981. London: Souvenir Press, 1983.
  79. Hingley, Ronald. Nightingale Fever: Russian Poets in Revolution. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1981.
  80. Hingley, Ronald. Pasternak: A Biography. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson Ltd., 1983.
  81. Pasternak, Evgeny. Boris Pasternak: The Tragic Years, 1930-60. Trans. Michael Duncan. Poetry trans. Craig Raine & Ann Pasternak Slater. 1990. London: Collins Harvill, 1991.
  82. Finn, Peter, & Petra Couvée. The Zhivago Affair: The Kremlin, the CIA, and the Battle over a Forbidden Book. 2014. Harvill Secker. London: Random House, 2014.


Boris Pasternak: The Collected Prose Works (1945)



•

Petra Shumova: Marina Tsvetaeva (Paris, 1925)

Мари́на Ива́новна Цвета́ева
[Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva]

(1892-1941)

Books I own are marked in bold:
    Poetry collections:

  1. Вечерний альбом [Evening Album] (1910)
  2. Волшебный фонарь [Magic Lantern] (1912)
  3. Из двух книг [from two books] (1913)
  4. Юношеские стихи, 1913—1915 [Youthful Verses] (1915)
    • Youthful Verses. Trans. Christopher Whyte (2021)
  5. Стихи к Блоку (1916—1921) [Verses to Blok] (1922)
  6. Конец Казановы [The End of Casanova] (1922)
  7. Царь-девица [Tsar-Maiden] (1920)
  8. Вёрсты [Versts] (1921)
    • "Starry Sky to Starry Sky (Miles)". Trans. Mary Jane White (1988)
    • Milestones (1922). Trans. Christopher Whyte (2015)
  9. Лебединый стан [The Swans' Camp] (1921)
    • The Demesne of the Swans: Bilingual Edition. Trans. Robin Kemball (1980)
  10. Разлука [Parting] (1922)
  11. Переулочки [Alleys] (1922)
  12. Ремесло [Craft] (1923)
  13. Психея. Романтика [Psyche: A Romance] (1923)
  14. Мо́лодец [Young lad] (1924)
  15. После России [After Russia] (1928)
    • After Russia. Trans. Michael Nayden (1992)
    • After Russia: The First Notebook. Trans. Christopher Whyte (2017)
    • After Russia: The Second Notebook. Trans. Christopher Whyte (2018)
  16. сборник 1940 года [1940 Collection] (1940)

  17. Longer poems:

  18. Чародей [The Sorcerer] (1914)
  19. На Красном Коне [On the Red Horse] (1921)
    • Included in: Poem of the End: Six Narrative Poems. Trans. Nina Kossman (2021)
  20. Поэма Горы [Poem of the Mountain] (1924)
    • Included in: Poem of the End: Six Narrative Poems. Trans. Nina Kossman (2021)
  21. Поэма Конца [Poem of the End] (1924)
    • Included in: Poem of the End: Six Narrative Poems. Trans. Nina Kossman (2021)
  22. Крысолов [The Pied Piper] (1925)
    • The Ratcatcher: A Lyrical Satire. Trans. Angela Livingstone (2000)
  23. С моря [From the Sea] (1926)
  24. Попытка комнаты [An Attempt at a Room] (1926)
    • Included in: Poem of the End: Six Narrative Poems. Trans. Nina Kossman (2021)
  25. Поэма Лестницы [Poem of the Stairs] (1926)
  26. Новогоднее [New Year's Greetings] (1927)
    • Included in: Poem of the End: Six Narrative Poems. Trans. Nina Kossman (2021)
  27. Поэма Воздуха [Poem of the Air] (1927)
    • Included in: Poem of the End: Six Narrative Poems. Trans. Nina Kossman (2021)
  28. Красный бычок [Red Bull] (1928)
  29. Перекоп [Perekop] (1929)
  30. Сибирь [Siberia] (1930)

  31. Unfinished poems:

  32. Егорушка [Egorushka]
  33. Несбывшаяся поэма [Unfinished Poem]
  34. Певица [The Singer]
  35. Автобус [Bus]
  36. Поэма о Царской Семье [Poem about the Tsar's Family]

  37. Poetry in Translation:

  38. Selected Poems. Trans. Elaine Feinstein (1971)
    • Selected Poems. Trans. Elaine Feinstein. Foreword by Max Hayward. 1971. Penguin Modern European Poets. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974.
    • Selected Poems. Trans. Elaine Feinstein. 1971. Rev. ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981.
  39. Selected Poems. Trans. David McDuff (1987)
    • Selected Poems. Trans. David McDuff. Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Bloodaxe Books Ltd., 1987.
  40. In the Inmost Hour of the Soul: Poems by Marina Tsvetayeva. Trans. Nina Kossman (1989)
  41. Black Earth. Trans. Elaine Feinstein (1992)
  42. Poem of the End: Selected Narrative and Lyrical Poems: Bilingual Edition. Trans. Nina Kossman (1998)
  43. Bride of Ice: New Selected Poems. Trans. Elaine Feinstein (2009)
  44. "To You – in 10 Decades". Trans. by Alexander Givental & Elysee Wilson-Egolf (2012)
  45. Moscow in the Plague Year. [1918-1920]. Trans. Christopher Whyte (2014)
  46. Head on a Gleaming Plate: Poems 1917-1918. Trans. Christopher Whyte (2022)
  47. Three by Tsvetaeva. Trans. Andrew Davis (2024)
  48. Vega's Fugitive: Poems. Trans. Alyssa Gillespie (2026)

  49. Plays:

  50. Червонный валет [Jack of Hearts] (1918)
  51. Метель [The Snowstorm] (1918)
  52. Фортуна [Fortune] (1918)
  53. Приключение [Adventure] (1918—1919)
  54. Пьеса о Мэри [A Play about Mary] [incomplete] (1919)
  55. Каменный Ангел [The Stone Angel] (1919)
  56. Феникс [Phoenix] (1919)
  57. Ариадна [Ariadne] (1924)
  58. Федра [Phaedra] (1927)
    • Phaedra: A Drama in Verse; with New Year's Letter and Other Long Poems. Trans. Angela Livingstone (2012)

  59. Prose:

  60. Живое о живом [A Living Word about a Living Man: Voloshin] (1933)
  61. Пленный дух [A Captive Spirit] (1922)
  62. Мой Пушкин [My Pushkin] (1937)
  63. Пушкин и Пугачёв [Pushkin and Pugachev] (1937)
  64. Искусство при свете совести [Art in the Light of Conscience] (1931)
  65. Поэт и время [The Poet and Time] (1932)
  66. Эпос и лирика современной России [Epic and lyrical poetry of modern Russia] (1932-33)
  67. воспоминания об Андрее Белом, Валерии Брюсове, Максимилиане Волошине, Борисе Пастернаке и др. Мемуары [memories of Andrei Bely, Valery Bryusov, Maximilian Voloshin, Boris Pasternak, and others] (1925-34)
  68. Мать и музыка [Mother and Music] (1934)
  69. Сказка матери [A Mother's Tale] (1934)
  70. История одного посвящения [The Story of an Initiation] (1931)
  71. Дом у Старого Пимена [The House at Old Pimen] (1931)
  72. Повесть о Сонечке [The Tale of Sonechka] (1937)
  73. A Captive Spirit: Selected Prose. Trans. J. Marin King (1994)
    • A Captive Spirit: Selected Prose. Ed. & trans. J. Marin King. 1980. Introduction by Susan Sontag. London: Virago Press Limited, 1983.

  74. Works:

  75. Избранное [Selections]. Ed. Вл. Орлова (1961)
  76. Вечерний альбом [Evening Album] (1988)
  77. Стихотворения. Поэмы [Поэтическая Россия]. [Verses and Poems]. Ed. А. М. Туркова & А. А. Саакянц (1988)
  78. Собрание стихотворений, поэм и драматических произведений [Collected Verses, Poems, and Dramatic Works]. 3 vols. Ed. А. Саакянц & Л.Мнухина (1990—1993)
  79. Сочинение: в 2 т. [Works in 2 vols] Ed. А. Саакянц (1988)
    1. Стихотворения, Поэмы [Verses, Poems]
    2. Проза [Prose]
  80. Стихотворения и поэмы [Б-ка поэта. Большая сер.] [Verses and Poems]. Ed. Е. Б. Коркиной (1990)
  81. Стихотворения; Поэмы; Драматические произведения [Классики и современники. Поэтич. б-ка]. [Verses, Poems, and Dramatic Works]. Ed. Е. Евтушенко & Т. Толстая (1990)
  82. Собрание cочинение: в 7 т. [Collected Works in 7 vols.]. Ed. А. Саакянц & Л. Мнухина (1994—1995)
    1. Стихотворения 1906—1920 [Poetry 1906-20]
    2. Стихотворения 1921—1941 [Poetry 1921-40]
    3. Поэмы. Драматические произведения [Poems, Dramatic Works]
    4. Воспоминания. Записи. Интервью [Memories. Records. Interviews]
    5. Автобиографическая проза. Эссе. Критические статьи [Autobiographical Prose, Essays, Critical articles]
    6. Письма 1905—1941 [Letters I]
    7. Письма 1905—1941 [Letters II]
  83. Неизданное. Сводные тетради [Unpublished Works & Notebooks]. Ed. Е. Б. Коркиной и И. Д. Шевеленко (1997)
  84. Стихи и Проза [Poems & Prose] (2004}
    • Стихи и Проза. Москва: Издателъство «Эксмо», 2004.
  85. Лирика [Lyrics]. Ed. В. Мишина (2006}

  86. Letters & Journals:

  87. [with Boris Pasternak & Rainer Maria Rilke] Letters: Summer 1926 (2001)
  88. Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries, 1917–1922. Ed. & trans. Jamey Gambrell (2002)

  89. Secondary:

  90. Feinstein, Elaine. A Captive Lion: The Life of Marina Tsvetayeva. London: Century Hutchinson Ltd., 1987.
  91. Hingley, Ronald. Nightingale Fever: Russian Poets in Revolution. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1981.
  92. Schweitzer, Viktoria. Tsvetaeva. 1988. Trans. Robert Chandler and H. T. Willetts. Poetry translated by Peter Norman. Ed. Angela Livingstone. 1992. London: The Harvill Press, 1995.



•


Friday, November 06, 2020

Doctor Zhivago Revisited



Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (2020)
Boris Pasternak. Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans. Nicolas Pasternak Slater. Illustrated by Leonid Pasternak. Introduction by Ann Pasternak Slater. 2019. 2 vols. London: The Folio Society, 2020.
For my birthday this year I asked for the book above, the beautifully bound and illustrated new translation of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago by his nephew Nicolas Pasternak Slater.



Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (Limited Edition: Folio Society, 2019)


The book actually first came out last year as a limited edition, but there was so much demand for it that the Folio Society decided to reissue a slightly scaled-down version of it for less wealthy readers (such as myself).



Boris Pasternak: Доктор Живаго (1957)
Пастернак, Борис. Доктор Живаго. 1957. Milano: Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore, 1961.

For those of you unfamiliar with the book's history, the Russian text was first published in Italy, from a smuggled typescript, then reprinted in translations in various languages throughout the world.



Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (1958)
Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans. Max Hayward & Manya Harari. 1958. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1959.

As you can see from the dustjacket of the English version, above, it won Boris Pasternak the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958 - or, rather, earned him the offer of the prize. Pasternak was threatened with the imprisonment of some of his nearest and dearest if he didn't turn it down, and he spent the short remainder of his life - he died in 1960 - in deep disgrace with the Soviet Regime.



As the poet's niece, literary critic Ann Pasternak Slater, has explained:
The dangers originally posed by Pasternak's prose are inconceivable to the modern reader. In the 70s, I met a Russian who told me, rather sourly, that he'd served six years in the camps for possessing a samizdat chunk of Doctor Zhivago. Ten pages of blurry carbon copy. "Oh dear," I said; "I hope it was worth it." "Worth it! A chapter of nature description?"


David Lean, dir.: Doctor Zhivago (1965)
Doctor Zhivago, dir. David Lean, writ. Robert Bolt – with Omar Sharif, Julie Christie, Alec Guinness – (USA, 1965).

So is that what the book is actually like? Those of you more familiar with the film version above will certainly find quite a few surprises in it. It's far less melodramatic and far more meditative - as befits a poet as complex as Pasternak - than you'd ever expect from the David Lean epic.



Robert Bolt: Doctor Zhivago: The Screenplay (1966)
Robert Bolt. Doctor Zhivago: The Screenplay. Based on the Novel by Boris Pasternak. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1965.

That's not to say that Robert Bolt didn't do a great job of adapting it for the screen - it may not quite match his screenplay for Lawrence of Arabia, but then, what does? There were, however, certain elements of Pasternak's slow-moving and poetic text that were bound to take a backseat in this switch to another medium.



Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (1968)
Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans Max Hayward & Manya Harari. 1958. Fontana Modern Novels. London: Collins Fontana, 1974.

What about the English translation itself? How good was it? In her review of the 2010 retranslation of the novel by industrious duo Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Ann Pasternak Slater fills in the background a bit:
Doctor Zhivago was first translated, at great speed, by Max Hayward and Manya Harari in 1958. I remember Max saying he would read a page in Russian, and then write it down in English, without looking back. This sounds incredible – even though a page of the large-faced Russian typescript they worked from is roughly equivalent to only half a page of their Collins text. I can, though, readily believe that he did this with paragraphs and sentences. Of course both translators then cross-checked and agreed their combined version against the original. Nevertheless, it's perfectly true that there are negligible omissions which are made good in the Volokhonsky-Pevear translation.
The reason for this almost indecent haste was the perceived need - mainly for reasons of Cold War politics - to get this novel into the hands of readers as soon as humanly possible. In her own review of the 2019 Folio Society version, Harvard librarian Christine Jacobson comments:
In their translators’ note, Hayward and Harari expressed their wish to see the novel appear in Russian and, eventually, to “fall into the hands of a translator whose talent is equal to that of its author.” This note may sound charmingly self-deprecating to readers, but Hayward and Harari had been given just three months to translate Pasternak’s lengthy text. They were, as they say in their introduction, under no illusions that they had done justice even remotely to the original.


All of which brings us back to the subject of tne translation team of Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. It's perhaps, now, the central controversy for readers of classic Russian books in English. What do you think of them? If you look up their numerous versions of Chekhov, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Turgenev online, you'll find a chorus of superlatives about the pair.

Nor has Pevear, in particular, been backward in criticising the shortcomings of earlier translations - by such luminaries as Constance Garnett, David Magarshack, Michael Glenny, and Max Hayward - of the works the two of them have put out in tandem.

Apparently this applies to French literature as well as Russian. Pevear comments in the preface to his version of Alexandre Dumas' The Three Musketeers that most modern translations available today are 'textbook examples of bad translation practices' which 'give their readers an extremely distorted notion of Dumas' writing.'



On the other hand, their work has not been without its critics. Czech psychoanalyst and art critic Janet Malcolm [née Jana Wienerová] said of the two in 2016 that Pevear and Volokhonsky 'have established an industry of taking everything they can get their hands on written in Russian and putting it into flat, awkward English'. Slavonic Studies Academic Gary Saul Morson wrote in Commentary in 2010 that Pevear and Volokhonsky translations 'take glorious works and reduce them to awkward and unsightly muddles.'

I touched on this matter once before, in a post extolling the merits of Constance Garnett's translations from the Russian:
Another important thing to remember about translation in general is that the texture of the translator's prose is probably more important in creating an impression on the reader than the actual literal accuracy of each phrase. The latest translation of a book is not necessarily the best.
While I didn't include Pevear / Volokhonsky's translation in my comparative table of versions of the opening passage of Anna Karenina, I was aware of the existence of their recent re-translation of Bulgakov's Master and Margarita, which does not (in my opinion, at any rate) live up to the hype surrounding it. Since it's the only one of their books I own, it seemed impertinent to offer any further views on the matter at the time.



Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago, trans. Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky (2010)


So, anyway, to make a long story short, in 2010 Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky decided to turn their attention to Boris Pasternak's famous novel, due - as usual - to the alleged shortcomings of the existing English version. In fact, as their Amazon.com page declares:
Pevear and Volokhonsky masterfully restore the spirit of Pasternak's original — his style, rhythms, voicings, and tone — in this beautiful translation of a classic of world literature.
So far, so good. Unfortunately for them, the Pasternak family has many branches, including a large and literate set of descendants resident in the UK. One of these, Ann Pasternak Slater, found the tone of their version far from impressive. She concluded her Guardian review of it as follows:
Not inaccurate, and lacking everything.
Her views are worth considering at more length, however, based as they are on so much concentrated familial as well as scholarly expertise:



Leonid Pasternak: 'Lara', from Doctor Zhivago (Limited Edition: Folio Society, 2019)

Larissa Volokhonsky and Richard Pevear's recent translations of Tolstoy have been universally acclaimed. They come to Doctor Zhivago with an enviable reputation. Harvill Secker's publicity material promises that in "this stunning new translation" they "have restored material omitted from the original translation, as well as the rhythms, tone, precision, and poetry of Pasternak's original". A vague and daunting claim. Can it be sustained? ...

On a first reading, one is distracted by locutions that are somehow not quite right – often not strikingly, but continuously and insidiously so. They just don't sound English. The terrorist "was serving at hard labor". "Pavel had gone to bathe in the river and had taken the horses with him for a bath." (Hayward-Harari have "Pavel had gone off to bathe in the river and had taken the horses with him.") He "fell to thinking" ("stood thoughtfully"). "The spouses went rolling off" ("The couple drove off").

Sustained, low-level unease is intensified by un-English word-order. "Yura was pleased that he would again meet Nika." Inversions (ubiquitous in early Conrad) are natural to foreigners speaking English and a mistake in translators. The inversion of subject and verb, aggravated by an invasive parenthesis, is an elementary translator's error. "At the turn there would appear, and after a moment vanish, the seven-mile panorama of Kologrivovo." It is quickly apparent that Volokhonsky-Pevear follow the Russian very closely, without attempting to reconfigure its syntax or vocabulary into a more English form.

This misguided literalism is disastrous in dialogue. "Yes, yes, it's vexing in the highest degree that we didn't see each other yesterday" ("Oh, I wish I'd seen you yesterday").

Russian is liberal with knee-jerk invocations and imprecations. Volokhonsky-Pevear solemnly translate word for word; Hayward-Harari naturalise. "As God is my witness, I'd spit on you all" ("I'd chuck the lot of you, honest to God I would"). In Russian, "mne naplivat' na ..." literally means "I spit on", but conveys, more weakly, "I don't give a toss", "too bad about ..." Not so for Volokhonsky-Pevear: "Ah, spit on the rugs and china, let it all go to hell" ("Do stop worrying about rugs ..."). ...

It's instructive to check Volokhonsky-Pevear's English against the Russian. Its painful ineptitudes can regularly be defended by a Russian source. Yet the original isn't inept. It's simply been badly translated. Pasternak's Russian is packed, concise, colloquial and muscular. Volokhonsky-Pevear's English is prosaic, flabby and verbose. It often renders Pasternak's more philosophical passages incomprehensible. It's far worse than the compact, natural and always lucid prose of Hayward and Harari.

These differences prompt questions about accuracy. When Volokhonsky-Pevear write: "Having performed his traveling ablutions in pre-war comfort", they translate the Russian word for word, and it sounds absurd. Hayward-Harari turn what it implies into easy English ("He washed and shaved in pre-war comfort"). This was certainly one of Pasternak's principles as a translator. In his great translations of Shakespeare he cut, compressed, paraphrased and invented freely. He wrote Shakespeare in Russian.

It is, perhaps, too easy to criticise Volokhonsky and Pevear. What about the sustained liberties taken by Hayward and Harari? Are they justified? Here we come to Pasternak's obscurity.

A small example. Volokhonsky-Pevear introduce us to a showy figure at the station, enigmatically wearing "an expensive fur coat trimmed with railway piping". What does that mean? The unusual Russian adjective, "puteiskii", suggests the function of a railway engineer. Hayward-Harari hazard an explanation: "an expensive fur-lined coat on which the piping of the railway uniform had been sewn". The italicised words have no textual basis. Which is better? To trip up the reader on a trivial enigma, or to try to make sense of it? ...

Turning to Zhivago's poems, I have to declare an interest. My mother translated her brother's poems. Boris's poetry is formally rich, regularly rhymed, and metrically precise. It is full of delectable assonances, at once musical and wholly natural. My mother's first priority was to reproduce his aural effects. She did. This difficult demand inevitably exacted its own price. Her English is flawed – it sounds Russian. But it sings, as Pasternak's poetry does. Its quaintness is authentic, like Garnett's period translations of Tolstoy.

There are many bad translations of Pasternak's poems. Volokhonsky and Pevear's are no worse than the rest. They're what Nabokov called his translation of Pushkin's Onegin – "a pony". A humble pack-horse. A prose crib, dutifully set out in pointless short lines mimicking the original.


Leonid Pasternak: 'Yuri', from Doctor Zhivago (Limited Edition: Folio Society, 2019)


Of course, there may be such a thing as being too close to your subject. Certainly Ann Pasternak Slater is right to 'declare an interest.' After all, plenty of other readers seem to have enjoyed the new translation.

On the other hand, there is the old 'if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck' principle to be considered. Going back to Janet Malcolm's pitiless demolition of the Volokhonsky-Pevear cottage translation industry ('Socks' - New York Review of Books, June 23, 2016), we see much the same set of complaints coming up in relation to their 2000 translation of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina:



Leonid Pasternak: Illustration for Doctor Zhivago (2020)

In Anna Karenina, the day after the fateful ball, resolved to forget Vronsky and resume her peaceful life with her son and husband (“my life will go on in the old way, all nice and as usual”), Anna settles herself in her compartment in the overnight train from Moscow to St. Petersburg, and takes out an uncut English novel, probably one by Trollope judging from references to fox hunting and Parliament. Tolstoy, of course, says nothing about a translation — educated Russians knew English as well as French. In contrast, very few educated English speakers have read the Russian classics in the original and, until recent years, they have largely depended on two translations, one by the Englishwoman Constance Garnett and the other by the English couple Louise and Aylmer Maude, made respectively in 1901 and 1912. The distinguished Slavic scholar and teacher Gary Saul Morson once wrote about the former:
I love Constance Garnett, and wish I had a framed picture of her on my wall, since I have often thought that what I do for a living is teach the Collected Works of Constance Garnett. She has a fine sense of English, and, especially, the sort of English that appears in British fiction of the realist period, which makes her ideal for translating the Russian masterpieces. Tolstoy and Dostoevsky were constantly reading and learning from Dickens, Trollope, George Eliot and others. Every time someone else redoes one of these works, reviewers say that the new version replaces Garnett; and then another version comes out, which, apparently, replaces Garnett again, and so on. She must have done something right.
Morson wrote these words in 1997, and would recall them bitterly. Since that time a sort of asteroid has hit the safe world of Russian literature in English translation. A couple named Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky have established an industry of taking everything they can get their hands on written in Russian and putting it into flat, awkward English. Surprisingly, these translations, far from being rejected by the critical establishment, have been embraced by it and have all but replaced Garnett, Maude, and other of the older translations. When you go to a bookstore to buy a work by Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Gogol, or Chekhov, most of what you find is in translation by Pevear and Volokhonsky.

In an article in the July/August 2010 issue of Commentary entitled “The Pevearsion of Russian Literature,” Morson used the word “tragedy” to express his sense of the disaster that has befallen Russian literature in English translation since the P & V translations began to appear. To Morson “these are Potemkin translations — apparently definitive but actually flat and fake on closer inspection.” Morson fears that “if students and more-general readers choose P & V … [they] are likely to presume that whatever made so many regard Russian literature with awe has gone stale with time or is lost to them.”

In the summer of 2015 an interview with the rich and happy couple appeared in The Paris Review. The interviewer — referring to a comment Pevear had made to David Remnick in 2005 — asked him: “You once said that one of your subliminal aims as a translator was ‘to help energize English itself.’ Can you explain what you mean?” Pevear was glad to do so:
It seemed to me that American fiction had become very bland and mostly self-centered. I thought it needed to break out of that. One thing I love about translating is the possibility it gives me to do things that you might not ordinarily do in English. I think it’s a very important part of translating. The good effect of translating is this cross-pollination of languages. Sometimes we get criticized — this is too literal, this is a Russianism — but I don’t mind that. Let’s have a little Russianism. Let’s use things like inversions. Why should they be eliminated? I guess if you’re a contemporary writer, you’re not supposed to do it, but as a translator I can. I love this freedom of movement between the two languages. I think it’s the most important thing for me — that it should enrich my language, the English language.
This bizarre idea of the translator’s task only strengthens one’s sense of the difficulty teachers of Russian literature in translation face when their students are forced to read the Russian classics in Pevear’s “energized” English. I first heard of P & V in 2007 when I received an e-mail from the writer Anna Shapiro:
I finished the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation of Anna Karenina a few weeks ago and I’m still more or less stewing about it. It leaves such a bad taste; it’s so wrong, and so oddly wrong, turning nourishment into wood. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. I’ve always maintained that Tolstoy was unruinable, because he’s such a simple writer, words piled like bricks, that it couldn’t matter; that he’s a transparent writer, so you can’t really get the flavor wrong, because in many ways he tries to have none. But they have, they’ve added some bad flavor, whereas even when Garnett makes sentences like “Vronsky eschewed farinaceous foods” it does no harm … I imagine Pevear thinking he’s CORRECTING Tolstoy; that he’s really the much better writer.


Leonid Pasternak: Illustration for Doctor Zhivago (2020)


Ouch! No-one ever accused Janet Malcolm of pulling her punches when it comes to literary controversy ...

Mind you, one obvious reponse would be to say that if you're so smart, why don't you do better? If there are inaccuracies in some of the older translations of Russian literature, why be so critical of Pevear / Volokhonsky's attempts to correct them?

And while Malcolm may treat with scorn Richard Pevear's view that a few added Russianisms might enrich the flat contemporary dullness of English literary idioms, this is a standard argument offered in favour of such classic translations as The King James Bible (1611), North's Plutarch (1579) and even John Florio's Montaigne (1603). The comparison may seem grotesque, but each of those versions has been praised for making a strong contribution to English literature and the English language.



Leonid Pasternak: Self-portrait (1900)


Unfortunately for Pevear and Volokhonsky, the Pasternak family, in particular, has not taken this challenge lying down. The new Folio Society translation of Doctor Zhivago by the poet's nephew, Nicolas Pasternak Slater, is nothing if not a family affair. It includes illustrations by his grandfather - Boris's father - Leonid Pasternak, selected by his mother Maya Slater, as well as an introduction by his sister Ann Pasternak Slater. The question, however, must still remain whether or not it's any better than Pevear and Volokhonsky's - let alone Max Hayward and Manya Harari's rushed version of 1958?

While I (alas) am not really qualified to say, the same is not true of Russophile and assistant curator of Modern Books and Manuscripts at Harvard University’s Houghton Library Christine Jacobson, who reviewed it earlier this year in the LA Review of Books (5/3/20):



[The] second translation was done by the husband-and-wife team Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky for the 50th anniversary of Pasternak’s death in 2010. Unfortunately, justice still eluded Zhivago. While the Hayward-Harari version has long been criticized for its divergence from Pasternak’s original prose, Pevear and Volokhonsky demonstrated another flaw — slavish devotion to its Russian syntax. Consequently, the novel’s reputation in the West has suffered. Zhivago is now part of Russia’s 11th-grade school curriculum, but many Slavic departments in the West gave up on the novel long ago, siding with Nabokov, who dismissed it as a “clumsy, trivial, and melodramatic” book. ...

Pasternak Slater’s translation definitively wooed me when I reached my favorite part of the novel. Having not seen Lara Antipova since they served together as medical volunteers in World War I, Yuri Zhivago spots her from across the room in a small-town library on the edge of the Ural Mountains. Several years have passed since he last saw her; the Russian Revolution has driven him and his family from Moscow to his wife Tonya’s former estate near Yuriatin, the town where, unbeknownst to Yuri, Lara lives. As a librarian, I can’t resist the romance of this serendipitous encounter in a library reading room. Unfortunately, the Pevear-Volokhonsky version is confounding:
He saw her almost from behind, her back half turned. She was wearing a light-colored checkered blouse tied with a belt, and was reading eagerly, with self-abandon, as children do, her head slightly inclined towards her right shoulder. Now and then she lapsed into thought, raising her eyes to the ceiling or narrowing them and peering somewhere far ahead of her, and then again, propped on her elbow, her head resting on her hand, in a quick sweeping movement she penciled some notes in her notebook.
This passage raises several questions. How does one see another person “almost from behind”? If Yuri can hardly see her, how can he observe her raising and narrowing her eyes? And why does Lara seem to be pantomiming the act of reading? Hayward and Harari’s version is even more confusing, alleging that Yuri sees her “side-face, almost from the back.” Pasternak Slater makes this scene much clearer:
He could see her profile, half turned away from him. She was wearing a light-coloured check blouse with a belt, and was immersed in what she was reading, oblivious of everything else, like a child. Her head was bent a little to one side, towards her right shoulder. From time to time she looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought, or screwed up her eyes and stared straight ahead; then she would lean her elbows back on the table, prop her head on one hand and copy something down into her notebook with a brisk, sweeping flourish of her pencil.


Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (2020)


I've decided to supplement Jacobson's choice of these two translations of this particular passage (from the 'Varykino' chapter in part two of the novel) with the original version by Max Haywood and Manya Harari:
He saw her side-face, almost from the back. She wore a light check blouse with a belt and she sat, lost in her book, utterly absorbed in it, like a child, her head bent slightly over her right shoulder. Occasionally she stopped to think, looked up at the ceiling or straight in front of her, then again propped her cheek on her hand and wrote in her notebook with a swift, sweeping movement of her pencil.
The first thing that strikes me about these three versions of the same paragraph is the comparative wordiness of both of the new translations. Haywood-Harari clock in at 76 words; Pevear-Volokhonsky at 86; Pasternak Slater at a record-breaking 101.


What, then, of Boris Pasternak himself?
Он видел ее спины, вполоборота, почти сзади. Она была в светлой клетчатой блузе, перехваченной кушаком, и читала увлеченно, с самозабвением, как дети, сколнив голову немного набок, к правому плечу. Иногда она задумывалась, поднимая глаза к потолку или, щурась, заглядывалась куда-то вдаль перед собой, а потом снова облокачивалась, подпирала голову рукой, и быстрым размашистрым движением записывала карандашом в тетрадь выноски из книги.
Pasternak's 'packed, concise, colloquial and muscular' Russian prose (in Ann Pasternak Slater's phrase) gets the whole thing done in 61 words. How does he do it? Let's look at the passage in a bit more detail:
Он видел ее спины, вполоборота, почти сзади.

On videl yeye spiny, vpoloborota, pochti szadi.

[He saw her back, half-turned, almost from behind.]

Она была в светлой клетчатой блузе, перехваченной кушаком, и читала увлеченно, с самозабвением, как дети, сколнив голову немного набок, к правому плечу.

Ona byla v svetloy kletchatoy bluze, perekhvachennoy kushakom, i chitala uvlechenno, s samozabveniyem, kak deti, skolniv golovu nemnogo nabok, k pravomu plechu.

[She was in a light checked blouse, divided by a sash, and read with enthusiasm, with abandon, as children do, tilting her head a little to one side, to her right shoulder.]

Иногда она задумывалась, поднимая глаза к потолку или, щурась, заглядывалась куда-то вдаль перед собой, а потом снова облокачивалась, подпирала голову рукой, и быстрым размашистрым движением записывала карандашом в тетрадь выноски из книги.

Inogda ona zadumyvalas', podnimaya glaza k potolku ili, shchuras', zaglyadyvalas' kuda-to vdal' pered soboy, a potom snova oblokachivalas', podpirala golovu rukoy, i bystrym razmashistrym dvizheniyem zapisyvala karandashom v tetrad' vynoski iz knigi.

[Sometimes she meditated, raising her eyes to the ceiling or squinting, peering into the distance in front of her, and then leaning back again, propping her head up with her hand, and with a quick sweeping movement wrote down quotes from the book with a pencil in her notebook.]
English is a far more wordy language than Russian, due - in part - to such differences as the need for definite and indefinite articles and frequent reiterations of personal pronouns in the former. Russian, as an inflected language, can maintain clarity through its system of declensions and cases. Even an almost completely literal translation, like the one in square brackets above, takes 89 words to express the 61 words of Pasternak's original.

More to the point, though, note how the three sentences in the paragraph start off simply, then build into a crescendo of detail. This is one of the crucial moments in the novel, and a lot of careful attention has clearly been lavished on it. The first, most concise sentence has 7 words, the second 22, and the third - with its interpolated subordinate phrases - 32: a textbook example of incremental repetition, a technique perhaps more familiar in ballad poetry than in literary prose.



Leonid Pasternak: Moscow sunset (1914)

What do our three sets of translators do with this aspect of the paragraph? Here's Haywood-Harari (1958):
He saw her side-face, almost from the back. [8]

She wore a light check blouse with a belt and she sat, lost in her book, utterly absorbed in it, like a child, her head bent slightly over her right shoulder. [31]

Occasionally she stopped to think, looked up at the ceiling or straight in front of her, then again propped her cheek on her hand and wrote in her notebook with a swift, sweeping movement of her pencil. [37]
Here's Pevear-Volokhonsky (2010):
He saw her almost from behind, her back half turned. [10]

She was wearing a light-colored checkered blouse tied with a belt, and was reading eagerly, with self-abandon, as children do, her head slightly inclined towards her right shoulder. [28]

Now and then she lapsed into thought, raising her eyes to the ceiling or narrowing them and peering somewhere far ahead of her, and then again, propped on her elbow, her head resting on her hand, in a quick sweeping movement she penciled some notes in her notebook. [48]
And here's Pasternak Slater (2019):
He could see her profile, half turned away from him. [10]

She was wearing a light-coloured check blouse with a belt, and was immersed in what she was reading, oblivious of everything else, like a child. [25]

Her head was bent a little to one side, towards her right shoulder. [13]

From time to time she looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought, or screwed up her eyes and stared straight ahead; then she would lean her elbows back on the table, prop her head on one hand and copy something down into her notebook with a brisk, sweeping flourish of her pencil. [53]
The only one of these three translations to depart significantly from the syntactic structure of the original is Nicolas Pasternak Slater's. He abandons the gradual layering of the sentences in favour of a rather clearer double short-long alternation.

Which of them is the best? It's a very subjective question. The smoothest to read is probably Haywood-Harari's. However, I agree with Christine Jakobson that Pasternak Slater's makes the best sense. The weakest of the three is Pevear-Volokhonsky's.

Though the actual difference, in this case, is pretty slight, it's also cumulative. If you want to savour the intricacies of this long novel by one of Russia's greatest poets, you should definitely try to find a copy of Nicolas Pasternak Slater's new translation. If, however, you just want a quick read, then Hayward-Harari's still reads surprisingly satisfactorily after all these years.

Perhaps, as in the case of Constance Garnett, that's because it's contemporary with the novel itself: written from a similar sensibility, in that, now, long-ago era when every piece of 'dissident' literature from Russia was guaranteed an immediate sale to lovers of freedom of speech everywhere. The actual quality of the books in question - widely variable, alas - was of far less consequence.



Leonid Pasternak: Boris Pasternak Writing (1919)



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Leonid Pasternak: Boris Pasternak

Boris Leonidovich Pasternak
(1890-1960)


    Poetry:

  1. Пастернак, Борис. Стихотворения и Поэмы. 1976. Библиотека Поэта. Ленинград: Ленинградское отделение, 1977.

  2. Pasternak, Boris. Поэзия: Стихотворения / Поэмы / Переводы. Екатеринбург: У-Фактория, 2003.

  3. Pasternak, Boris. Poems 1955-1959. 1959. Trans. Michael Harari. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1960.

  4. Pasternak, Boris. In the Interlude: Poems 1945-1960. Trans. Henry Kamen. Foreword by Sir Maurice Bowra. Notes by George Katkov. Oxford Paperbacks. London: Oxford University Press, 1962.

  5. Pasternak, Boris. Poems. Trans. Lydia Pasternak Slater. 1963. Unwin Paperbacks. London: George Allen & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd., 1984.

  6. Pasternak, Boris. Selected Poems. Trans. Jon Stallworthy & Peter France. 1983. The Penguin Poets. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984.

  7. Pasternak, Boris. Prose & Poems. Revised Edition. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Trans. Beatrice Scott, Robert Payne & J. M. Cohen. Introduction by J. M. Cohen. London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1959.

  8. Pasternak, Boris. The Poems of Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans Eugene M. Kayden. Introduction by James Morgan. Illustrated by Bill Greer. Hallmark Crown Editions. Kansas City, Missouri: Hallmark Cards, Inc., 1971.

  9. Prose:

  10. Pasternak, Boris. The Collected Prose Works. Ed. Stefan Schimanski. Russian Literature Library. London: Lindsay Drummond Ltd., 1945.

  11. Pasternak, Boris. Safe Conduct: An Early Autobiography and Other Works. Trans. Alec Brown / Five Lyric Poems. Trans. Lydia Pasternak-Slater. 1958. London: Elek Books Limited / Toronto: The Ryerson Press, 1959.

  12. Pasternak, Boris. The Voice of Prose. Volume One: Early Prose and Autobiography. Ed. Christopher Barnes. Polygon Russian Series. Edinburgh: Polygon Books, 1986.

  13. Pasternak, Boris. The Last Summer. 1934. Trans. George Reavey. London: Peter Owen Limited, 1959.

  14. Pasternak, Boris. The Last Summer. 1934. Trans. George Reavey. 1959. Introduction by Lydia Slater. 1960. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961.

  15. Пастернак, Борис. Доктор Живаго. 1957. Milano: Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore, 1961.

  16. Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans. Max Hayward & Manya Harari. 1958. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1959.

  17. Doctor Zhivago. 1957. Trans Max Hayward & Manya Harari. 1958. Fontana Modern Novels. London: Collins Fontana, 1974.

  18. Robert Bolt. Doctor Zhivago: The Screenplay. Based on the Novel by Boris Pasternak. 1958. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1965.

  19. An Essay in Autobiography. 1959. Trans. Manya Harari. Introduction by Edward Crankshaw. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1959.

  20. Plays:

  21. Pasternak, Boris. The Blind Beauty: A Play. 1960. Trans. Max Hayward & Manya Harari. Foreword by Max Hayward. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1969.

  22. Letters:

  23. Pasternak, Boris. Letters to Georgian Friends. 1967. Trans. David Magarshack. 1968. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971.

  24. Mossman, Elliott, ed. The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak with Olga Freidenberg. 1981. Trans. Elliott Mossman & Margaret Wettlin. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book. New York & London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, Inc. 1982.

  25. Pasternak, Boris, Marina Tsvetayeva & Rainer Maria Rilke. Letters Summer 1926. 1983. Ed. Evgeny Pasternak, Elena Pasternak & Konstantin M. Azadovsky. Trans. Margaret Wettlin & Walter Arndt. 1985. Oxford Letters & Memoirs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988.

  26. Secondary:

  27. Bradshaw, Jennifer, trans. The Memoirs of Leonid Pasternak. 1975. Introduction by Josephine Pasternak. London: Quartet Books Limited, 1982.

  28. Carlisle, Olga. Poets on Street Corners: Portraits of Fifteen Russian Poets. New York: Random House, 1968.

  29. Davie, Donald, & Angela Livingstone, ed. Pasternak. With Verse Translations by Donald Davie. Modern Judgements. Ed. P. N. Furbank. London: Macmillan and Co Ltd, 1969.

  30. De Mallac, Guy. Boris Pasternak: His Life and Art. 1981. London: Souvenir Press, 1983.

  31. Finn, Peter, & Petra Couvée. The Zhivago Affair: The Kremlin, the CIA, and the Battle over a Forbidden Book. 2014. Harvill Secker. London: Random House, 2014.

  32. Gifford, Henry. Pasternak: A Critical Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977.

  33. Gladkov, Alexander. Meetings with Pasternak: A Memoir. 1973. Trans. & ed. Max Hayward. London: Collins and Harvill Press, 1977.

  34. Hingley, Ronald. Nightingale Fever: Russian poets in Revolution. New York: New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1981.

  35. Hingley, Ronald. Pasternak: A Biography. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson Ltd., 1983.

  36. Ivinskaya, Olga. A Captive of Time: My Years with Pasternak. The Memoirs of Olga Ivinskaya. 1978. Trans. Max Hayward. 1978. Fontana / Collins. London: William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1979.

  37. Mandelstam, Nadezhda. Hope Against Hope. Trans. Max Hayward. Introduction by Clarence Brown. 1970. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1975.

  38. Mandelstam, Nadezhda. Hope Abandoned: A Memoir. 1972. Trans. Max Hayward. 1973. London: Collins & Harvill Press, 1974.

  39. Pasternak, Evgeny. Boris Pasternak: The Tragic Years, 1930-60. Trans. Michael Duncan. Poetry trans. Craig Raine & Ann Pasternak Slater. 1990. London: Collins Harvill, 1991.

  40. Payne, Robert. The Three Worlds of Boris Pasternak. 1961. London: Robert Hale Limited, 1962.

  41. Raine, Craig. History: The Home Movie. London: Penguin, 1994.




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Boris Pasternak: Doctor Zhivago (2020)