#a portrait of pushkin's wife that my grandma has on her wall was staring at me the entire time I wrote this lmao

[myname-isnia]

Ever since I first read Eugene Onegin two years ago, and even more now that I had to reread it for school recently, I've been saying that I've never related to a fictional character more than I relate to Tatyana Larina (not counting my own characters, that is, as they are intentional projections). Particularly the verses about Tatyana's childhood hit very close to home. I've been wanting to talk about it for a while but couldn't find a translation of the book that I liked. So, instead of sleeping, I spent 2 hours absolutely torturing my own brain by coming up with my own translation and I'm way too proud not to share.

Eugene Onegin, chapter 2, verses 25, 26 and 27, translated with the original temp and rhyming scheme intact, by yours truly <3

—

XXV

And so, her sister's named Tatyana.

She seldom catches someone's gaze,

Lacks Olga's beauty, lacks her glamour,

The pink-cheeked freshness of her face.

She's almost feral, quiet with woe,

So quick to startle, like a doe.

And even in her family home

She seemed a child not quite their own.

She hardly ever showed affection,

Both mom and dad would often say.

By window she would spend her day

Alone but for her own reflection,

She judged the children running wild,

Though she herself was still a child.

XXVI

Imagination was her close friend

From infancy. As village days

Kept dragging on without an end,

She'd get lost in her fantasies.

Needle and thread she too avoided,

Fabric was never once embroidered

By her unblemished fingers, for

She found needlework a bore.

An average girl would take her doll,

Sit down with it and start to talk,

Prepare it for the time to walk

Into an upper class grand ball –

To silent dolls during these sessions

Young girls repeat their mothers' lessons.

XXVII

Tatyana never had discussions

With dolls, nor did she play with them;

She never told them of the fashions,

Of city news, and even then

Of toys and games she was quite wary,

She'd rather read of something scary.

In winters, in the dead of night,

Her heart learned how to take a fright.

When for young Olga their old nanny

Would gather up the neighbours' kids

To run and play out in the fields,

Tatyana would act most uncanny:

She never played or ran around,

And found their laughter far too loud.

—

#a portrait of pushkin's wife that my grandma has on her wall was staring at me the entire time I wrote this lmao #judging me for butchering her husband's work probably #okay self depreciation aside I think I did pretty well. considering I am very much not a poet #the rhyming scheme absolutely kills me. you have to think like 3 lines ahead with every line you translate. pushkin the genius that you are #I took some creative liberties in places but for the most part I tried to stick as close to the original as possible. and again. #pretty damn proud of myself for this one :) apparently I know some things about poetry. at least enough to keep the beat intact #okay it's 3 a.m I should probably go to bed now. good night)) #eugene onegin #tatyana larina #alexander pushkin #russian literature #russian lit #idk how else to tag this lmao #tatyana wins award for pushkin's most autistic character. argue with a wall