Customer Reviews

Earthly Signs

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The subtitle of _Earthly Signs_ is "Moscow Diaries, 1917 - 1922." I had taken this metaphorically, with the expectation and hope that Tsvetaeva's poems would be illuminated with a biography. Instead, the subtitle is literal, which was a disappointment; I had hoped for a different translation than Selected Poems (Tsvetaeva, Marina) (Twentieth-Century Classics), which I was unhappy with. Nonetheless, her diaries did give me some insight into the character and personality of the poet, as well as a micro-cosmic view into the chaos, uncertainty and fear that many Russians felt during the Russian Revolution and the Civil War, hence the three stars.

Tsvetaeva was a melancholy woman. This is apparent in her poetry, but it is vividly shown in her dairy. Not caught up in the romance and drama of the revolution, Tsvetaeva instead was concerned with more basic things: safety, food, and the nagging worry of the safety of her family. This is a common thread throughout the diary as she travels from the Crimea to Moscow to elsewhere. The faces, conversations and concerns of those who cross her path are meticulously documented, along with her own reflections and thoughts. One passage in particular struck me, as Tsetaeva meditates on the grief that war inflicts, writing, "A daughter whose father has been killed - is an orphan. A wife whose husband has been killed is a widow. But a mother whose son has been killed?" This is fairly representative of thoughts that occupy the majority of the book.

Much of the power of _Earthly Signs_ is the result of Tsvetaeva herself, to be sure. But I can't help but think that the translator and editor, Jamey Gambrell, also played a role in this. As Gambrell writes in the introduction, "Every translation, like every poem or novel, is a voyage of sorts. My hope is that I have managed to read these earthly signs well enough, to follow Tsvetaeva's path closely enough to repave enough of her singullar road, for English readers to be translated across the river." I believe these hopes have been realized. A pity, then, that Gambrell has not (at least yet), translated her poetry in addition to these diaries.