Who is Zabolotsky

Who is Nikolai Zabolotsky?

Nikolai Zabolotsky was a much admired Russian poet of the 20th century. He was prominent during the Soviet period and made his literary debut in 1929 with the publication of his first book of poetry, Scrolls. It was a remarkable collection of descriptions of urban life in Leningrad during the first years of the Soviet era. The poems created a sensation and Zabolotsky was severely criticized for his satirical view of life and pessimistic tone. As a result, many of the copies of the edition of 1,100 were confiscated and destroyed.

As the political situation steadily worsened, the authorities had enough of his strange brand of pessimism and parody and he was arrested in 1938 and sentenced to seven years in an NKVD labour camp. In 1946 he was released and allowed to return to Moscow; he continued to write poems, but now in a more classical form of nature poetry. He died in 1958.

A note about Zabolotsky's later poetry

A note about Zabolotsky's later poetry

Following Zabolotsky's expressionistic poems about Petersburg during the 1920s, he was led to a larger poetry exploring man's place in nature. An idealist at heart, his philosophical tone and ecological vision of nature is particularly relevant for us today.

Zabolotsky fell victim to the Stalinist purges and did not write any poetry until his release in 1946, whereupon he began to write with his earlier intensity. His work, from the early avant-garde pieces to the later classical lyrics, is unified: the poems add up to an epic about man's place in the scheme of creation

Sunday, January 15, 2012

At Dante's Tomb

Florence was my stepmother,
But I came to rest in Ravenna,
Passer-by, speak not of betrayal,
Let death seal such events.

Above my white-washed tomb
A pigeon coos, sweet bird,
I dream only of my city,
To her alone keep my word.
                                                                                          Songs played with a broken lute
Sound different on foreign trips,
Tuscany, my sorrow,
Why kiss my orphaned lips.

The pigeon flees from my roof-top,
Fearing something in the sky,
An evil shadow of enemy wings
Circles above where I lie.

Sound the alarm, bell-ringer!
Remember, the world still foams with blood!
I came to rest in Ravenna,
But I'll find no peace in this mud.

1958
Posted by at

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Rainy Weather

A vague anticipation,
A vague regret.
Outside, an empty tree-lined lane
Rustles in the semi-dark.
Every evening by the gate
The willows weep and wane.
Is it autumn yet?
Or just the sadness of the trees?
No, autumn is still distant,
This shower will soon abate.
Everywhere you look
It's summer.
Nature all around displays
Its multi-colored gloss.
But the rain brings
Moisture and cooler days.
Hail grey clouds
And my own unhappy weather!
Rather look forward to joy
Than lament its loss.

1957
Posted by at