Marya Zaturenska, from Pandora’s Casket; The Collected Poems of M. Zaturenska
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"she laves her green-gold hair / unveils her rose-pale limbs / on the thin seashell / and floats to stronger waves”
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“Then arise at their command from wind and wave
Divas, Peris, water-pale Undines
And mist-veiled weeping queens.”
— Marya Zaturenska, from “The Collected Poems of M. Zaturenska; The World of Salamanders”, published. c. 1902.
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interstellar (2014) dir. christopher nolan // a dot in the universe - yayoi kusama // your illustrated guide to becoming one with the universe - yumi sakugawa // city night - cath read // the roofs in the moonlight - makeda bizuneh // the flower, the universe - marya zaturenska
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— Mary’s Zaturenska, from “Cold Morning Sky”, Selected Poems (1965)
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Like an immense white flower in a dream,
You rise from a vast sleep,
Forever floating on a coral sea,
The sirens weep—
But now these glassy tears commemorate
All that denied by fate
Sweeps softly on the shunned, the outcast's door
And pleads for one joy more.
Siren Music by Marya Zaturenska
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Laughter, softness, sweetness and surprise,
Marya Zaturenska, Children of the Island
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— “the recall of eurydice” by marya zaturenska
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Half-sun, half, wine-dark.
Wild to be understood.
- Marya Zaturenska (Excerpt from The Casket of Pandora) (The Collected Poems) (via)
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THE warriors, tigers, flowers of Delacroix
Painted upon the walls ablaze with light
Pure light, cloud blanched, that unstained white,
Queen of the colors, whom all other tints destroy,
Color of the dwindling moon.
Or white lightning, seascapes of Chateaubriand
Shores the dramatic ocean beats upon,
Where the lone hero, gloomy on the wild strand
Sees friends and lovers and companions gone,
Hawk, gull, and heron flying.
White-capped mountains, peaks of dazzling snow
Cloud-pointed Alps, sharp unclimbable heights
Burning effulgence of the northern lights
Toward whose clear radiance, our desire grows,
White heat of the infinite.
The intense young lady seen in a dream long gone
Ringleted, lonely in her villa by the sea
Peers through a misted window, sees the floating swan,
Wild geese whiten the sky, lighten the fir tree
Shrill, sound-shattering solitude.
White-gowned in the thin, nocturnal air
She throws her book aside and her fine ear
Hears flying catches of joy, the ecstatic fear,
Whiteness of the abyss; through her soul's precipice
Dark flows the midnight of her hanging hair.
She through a deep hallucination seeing
Strong waves from sheer, salt oceans, drowned lovers
Pallid and proud. The white blank mind discovers
Figures rising from waterfalls, appearing, fleeing
Into damp creeks, into the steep ravines.
All hearts have their precipices, Alps, white peaks
Moments when the white bird with the deep wound must come
To sing and swoon upon enchanted willows,
The heart disguises its symbols, peers through the hid ravines
Steep-gaping between wars.
Lightning for Atmosphere by Marya Zaturenska
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Memories (Lower New York City At Noon Hour) by Marya Zaturenska
There is a noise, and then the crowded herd
Of noon-time workers flows into the street.
My soul, bewildered and without retreat,
Closes its wings and shrinks, a frightened bird.
Oh, I have known a peace, once I have known
The joy that could have touched a heart of stone--
The heart of holy Russia beating still,
Over a snow-cold steppe and on a hill:
One day in Kiev I heard a great church-bell
Crying a strange farewell.
And once in a great field, the reapers sowing
Barley and wheat, I saw a great light growing
Over the weary bowed heads of the reapers;
As growing sweeter, stranger, ever deeper,
From the long waters sorrowfully strong,
Came the last echoes of the River Song.
Here in this alien crowd I walk apart,
Clasping remembered beauty to my heart!
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Once water lilies floated on this pool.
Now they are gone, only their phantoms sigh,
Marya Zaturenska, from Water Lilies: A Nocturne; The Collected Poems of M. Zaturenska
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“water pale undines, and mist-veiled weeping queens"
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That Sun of life, that moves, that still recalls
The changing world's delight
Rose-dipped and golden flame
O love above all loves it is your name!
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“The vampire moon with yellow streams of light
Drains the dim waters, sucks the moist air dry,
Casts cloudy spectres on the window pane—
The dead arise and walk again.”
— Marya Zaturenska, from “The Collected Poems of M. Zaturenska ; The Lunar Tides”, published. c. 1902.
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Star-pale, celestial, neither flesh nor blood.
~Marya Zaturenska /The Seven Shadows
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When for a long time I contemplate this box
Carved so cunningly by the hand of a god
Glittering with withheld treasure
I take no delight in my eye's light, the body's pleasure .
How many times awake, or in sleep, a voice
Through the open window, from the earth or the shore,
Says, “This thing, this thing, you must not explore.”
The shade of evil falls on the pure grass;
It shoots up from my life's root, its face
Troubling the emptiness of clear water.
And somewhere in my dream, the sound of pain and slaughter.
Then waking in my room, the casket gleams;
The maiden pallor of the morning light
Pierces my heart with an unnatural night
For in my world it is always morning;
The dew refreshes the mind, the early flowers
Hint of a delicate spring, foretell a green summer.
Now always at my door, the step of a newcomer
Whose face I never see though I open the door,
Thought I look through sun-struck windows,
Though I peer through the enchanted dawn.
Then I touch the casket's lid, jewel-bright as dew on the lawn,
Locked, locked as a scent in a closed flower's heart,
O, to open the glittering box, to shut my ears
To the small voice that seems to sound from a tree.
Through my window the tree takes shape, has a face I cannot see,
High, marvelous tree! half-sun, wine-dark.
I feel the murmur run through your sap like blood
Eager for the deed to be done, wild to be understood!
The Casket of Pandora by Marya Zaturenska
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if not, winter - sappho tr. anne carson eros, the bittersweet - anne carson the bakkhai - euripides tr. anne carson
@aequour also said: seduction of the minotaur - anais non cassandra - christa wolf circe - madeleine miller the new selected poems of marya zaturenska persephones song of welcome - gregory orr similar to anne carson’s work!!
@fagpacket also said: my favorite anne carson work is "an oresteia" and probably the most popular is "if not, winter". ive only read her translations though so i would inquire about her original works online!
y’all are the true heroes here 💕💕 tysm!! i will add these to my summer reading list!!
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It Only Rains in December, Never Snows
✳ Beauty: Dark lip gloss. Light blush. Peppermint lip balm. Brown eyeshadow. Moisturiser. Merlot colored nail polish. Braided hair. Claw clips. Thin foundation. Brow brushes. Matte lipsticks. Loose curls. Light frizz.
✳ Fashion: Soft scarves. Nightgowns. Block heels. Black belts. Brown leather boots. Tear drop earrings. Grey stockings. Hair ribbons. Maroon sweaters. Oxfords. Cowl necklines. Washed out jeans. Ankle length skirts. Bell sleeves. Chelsea collars. Embroidered hems. Teacup shoes.
✳ Food: Chocolate cake. Raspberries. Snicker doodles. Caramels. White chocolate. Mandarins. Black tea. Peppermints. Candied ginger. Stews. Pasta alfredo. Braided donuts. Roasted chicken. Vanilla milk. Black coffee. White tea. Cinnamon toast.
✳ Writers: Margaret Atwood. Mary Shelley. Virginia Woolf. Dylan Thomas. Lang Leav. V. E Schwab. The Bronte Sisters. Philip K. Dick. Marya Zaturenska. Leo Tolstoy. Sade Andria Zabala. Neil Gaiman. Carlos Ruis Zafon.
✳ Activities: Baking cookies. Knitting. Cleaning the yard. Quilting. Watercolors. Taking inventory. Writing cards. Cleaning dressers. Cooking soups. Buying a new umbrella. Dusting picture frames. Writing in a journal. Throwing away old receipts. Organizing the bookshelf. Making coffee. Walking the dog. Keeping the shades closed. Watching old movies. Finding random socks. Mopping up mud.
✳ Books: Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker. Macbeth by William Shakespeare. A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness. The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender by Leslye Walton. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. Wintersong by S. Jae-Jones.
✳ Movies: La Belle et La Bête (2014). The Shape of Water. A Royal Affair. Black Swan. The Prestige. The Imitation Game. Jane Eyre (2011). Prisoners. Pan's Labyrinth. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. In the Mood For Love. Anna Karenina. Mary Poppins.
✳ Flowers: Primroses. Snowdrops. Pansies. Hellebornes. Viburnums. Winter flowering cherry. Irises. Jasmine. Violas.
✳ Music: Ceremonials by Florence + the Machine. Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky. If You Leave by Daughter. All My Demons Greet Me as Friends by Aurora. The Theory of Everything by Johanns Johannson. Vespertine by Bjork. I Speak Because I Can by Laura Marling. Unknown Rooms by Chelsea Wolfe. W.E by Abel Korzeniowski. Believe by Emile Pandolfi.
✳ Scents: Cinnamon. Mint. Ginger. Evergreen. Winterberry. Merlot. Wood smoke. Pine. Pecan. Nutmeg. Thyme.
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The Castaways by Marya Zaturenska
No matter where they lived the same dream came
Of the invisible landlady whose voice
Quickened the air with a dark flame
The words they have always known, will always know
"You are unwanted! Go!"
And when they built a mansion and furnished it with art,
With love, with music, with the native flowers
It always happened, it was always the same,
The salon narrowed to a tomb,
Sometimes a servant's voice, or a voice from the chandelier,
"You have no business here."
And when they left for the remote island and became the idol
Of the indigenous tribe,
And were caressed, admired, and sheltered--then
Whose was the voice of blame?
That came when they assumed the garlands, the voice they knew
Saying "This is not for you, this is all untrue."
And in the parks on Sundays with nursemaids, lovers, flowers,
And the bands playing and the fountains rising
In silver liquid hours,
Whose was the enemy? who was to blame?
If suddenly the observant shadows start
And cry "Depart! Depart!"
Now they have chosen exile, they have found a secluded house
In the smallest city, in the stillest shelter,
And they speak only to the wounded, the hunted, the lame,
The long evenings, the longer mornings, the longest noons,
And they wait for the bell to ring, for the landlady to appear.
And are they wanted here?