#dmitry merezhkovsky

[majestativa]

We sense the unknown, in our hearts.

— Dmitry Merezhkovsky, The Dedalus Book of Russian Decadence: Perversity, Despair and Collapse, transl by Kristen Lodge, Margo Shohl Rosen & Grigory Dashevsky, (2007)

[derangedrhythms]

Dmitry Merezhkovsky, 20th Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Steel, from 'She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not', tr. Albert C. Todd

TEXT ID: Not by me you’ll live, not by me you’ll suffer, And I will pass like the shadow of clouds; But you will never forget me, And my distant call will not die out in you.

[ravenbro0k]

I have a list of books im either currently reading or going to read

The picture of Dorian gray - oscar Wilde

The death of the gods - Dmitry Merezhkovsky

Ulysses - James Joyce

The diary of Anne Frank - Anne Frank (obviously)

The portrait of the artist as a young man - James Joyce

Beowulf - no clue

Paradise lost - John Milton

The odyssey - Homer

The Decameron - Giovanni Boccaccio

Dubliners - James Joyce

Iliad - no clue

Resurrection of gods - Dmitry Merezhkovsky

Peter and Alexis - Dmitry Merezhkovsky

The old man and the sea - Ernest Hemingway

[thebestestwinner]

Posters included so nobody thinks they're voting for the more famous Mel Gibson vehicle

Top two vote-getters will move on to the next round. See pinned post for all groups!

[opalid]

"Similar, in some ways, to the writers, artists, and intellectuals associated with the Bloomsbury group in London, the Russian symbolists were involved in untraditional unions that privileged artistic creativity over procreation and were often tolerant of extramarital affairs, both heterosexual and homosexual in nature. This was the case not only for Gippius and Merezhkovsky, who were involved for many years in a mystical ménage-à-trois with Dmitry Filosofov, but also for other famous symbolist couples such as Alexander Blok and Liubov Mendeleeva and Viacheslav Ivanov and Lydia Zinovieva-Annibal. The writers’ fascination with sublimated love influenced not just their unorthodox marriage practices and their views about childbearing but also the ways in which they envisioned the creative process. Although symbolist writers such as Konstantin Balmont and Valery Briusov, who were more inclined toward the decadent mode, sought inspiration for their art in ecstatic moments or migi, many of the other writers found creative inspiration in the obverse, that is to say, the denial of procreation and the body."

— Jenifer Presto, Beyond the Flesh: Alexander Blok, Zinaida Gippius, and the Symbolist Sublimation of Sex

[venicepearl]

Zinaida Nikolayevna Gippius (Hippius) (20 November [O.S. 8 November] 1869 – 9 September 1945) was a Russian poet, playwright, novelist, editor and religious thinker, one of the major figures in Russian symbolism. The story of her marriage to Dmitry Merezhkovsky, which lasted 52 years, is described in her unfinished book Dmitry Merezhkovsky (Paris, 1951; Moscow, 1991).

She began writing at an early age, and by the time she met Dmitry Merezhkovsky in 1888, she was already a published poet. The two were married in 1889. Gippius published her first book of poetry, Collection of Poems. 1889–1903, in 1903, and her second collection, Collection of Poems. Book 2. 1903-1909, in 1910. After the 1905 Revolution, the Merezhkovskys became critics of Tsarism; they spent several years abroad during this time, including trips for treatment of health issues. They denounced the 1917 October Revolution, seeing it as a cultural disaster, and in 1919 emigrated to Poland.

After living in Poland they moved to France, and then to Italy, continuing to publish and take part in Russian émigré circles, though Gippius's harsh literary criticism made enemies. The tragedy of the exiled Russian writer was a major topic for Gippius in emigration, but she also continued to explore mystical and covertly sexual themes, publishing short stories, plays, novels, poetry, and memoirs. The death of Merezhkovsky in 1941 was a major blow to Gippius, who died a few years later in 1945.

[lituraterre]

El Quijote desde Rusia de Iván Turguenev ; Fiódor Dostoievsky; Dmitri Merezhkovski Colección Biblioteca Cervantina. Todo lo referente al fantástico y completo mundo de Cervantes y sus obras, entre ellos El Quijote

[megairea]

I love or I don’t — despair comes easily to me: Though I may never be yours, Nonetheless there’s such tenderness at times In your eyes, as though I am loved.

Dmitry Merezhkovsky, from She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not; 20th Century Russian Poetry (ed. by Yevgeny Yevtushenko)

[majestativa]

The harmony of [...] nature and the mysterious, exhausted soul.

— Dmitry Merezhkovsky, The Dedalus Book of Russian Decadence: Perversity, Despair and Collapse, transl by Kristen Lodge, Margo Shohl Rosen & Grigory Dashevsky, (2007)

[clownsstupidwork]

Oh, Angel of a dismal lonesomeness

From up above!

I hear again: my scary Angel says –

"Forget your love!

All of your dreams – so deeply sad and good –

Are now so real.

I've been your friend from early childhood

And always will.

My gaze can give you dreadful pain of waste,

Be sure in this,

But I will give you cold and heady taste

Of tender kiss.

I'm Angel, but a very cold and grim,

My faithful friend,

I'll be your sweetest and the saddest dream

Until your end.

My kiss will cure your lonely, mournful cry

And you will hear

The sounds of a forgotten lullaby.

Come here, come here!"

The darkness flows again from up above,

My Angel sees,

That all the people, that I care and love

Are enemies. 

(1895)

[theoutcastrogue]

“Sakia-Muni” (1885) by Dmitri Merezhkovsky

Dmitri Merezhkovsky (1866-1941) was a Russian poet, considered a co-founder of the Symbolist movement. This poem, sometimes titled “Sakya muni” in English, was translated by in 2006 by Tamara Vardomskaya, who writes:

“subsequent commenters took it to be literally about Shakyamuni Buddha, rather than as the thinly veiled deniable criticism of the Russian Orthodox Church of the 1880s that is obviously is in context; just like Verdi had to set his opera “Un ballo in maschera” in “America”, Merezhkovsky had to set his in a pseudo-“India” with other “gods.” (Hence my intentional misspelling as I re-transcribe the word he used; it’s a fantasy rather than any real religion.)”

Mid the mountain cliffs and the dark gorges Blasted by an early autumn gale, A crowd of homeless pilgrims to the Ganges Trudged one evening on the forest trail.

Beneath rags, their frail bodies strained Going blue from the cold wind and rain. For two days and for two bitter nights They had seen no sheltering roof nor light.

Mid the gloomy trees as thunder rumbled Something glimmered out on their path. ‘Twas a temple — through the doors they stumbled To find haven from the weather’s wrath.

In the empty shrine on them loomed down Marble Sakia-Muni on his throne, Glittering in his porphyry crown A colossal wondrous diamond stone.

Said one beggar, “Friends and brothers mine, No one sees us, dark the night and cruel. There’s much bread, and cloth, and silver fine They would give us for yon precious jewel.

Buddha doesn’t need it; brighter truly Do the diamond stars in myriad courses Gleam for him, lord of the heavenly forces, In the sky as in cups of lazuli…”

He gave sign; and through the temple hall The thieves softly to the statue crawl.

But when they reached out with trembling hands In their need the holy shrine to plunder A fiery whirlwind and a roar of thunder, Echoed out in the hinterlands, Threw the starving mendicants asunder.

And all froze from fear all around. But one of the beggars, calm and strong, Forward stepped out of the silent crowd And said to the deity, “You are wrong!

All those ages, were your priests all lying That you’re gentle, generous and kind, Like the sun, you conquer gloom and dying, And you love to comfort the maligned?

Yet you strike us for a petty pebble, Us, stretched in the dust before your name But immortal souls all the same! What’s the feat to make the wretched tremble With some show of fire and thunder? Shame!

Shame on you, lord of the heavenly skies! To deprive the poor of crusts of bread Full of dread and power you arise! King of kings, strike from the thunderheads,

Smite the madman who dares to defy — Here I stand and hold my head up high Equal to you with my fellow throng, And before all earth and all the sky Say: lord of the world, you are wrong!”

Silence — and a miracle transpired: So that they could take the jewel down The god’s statue in porphyry attired Bowed and bent to earth its visage crowned. Meekly kneeling, humble and contrite For a beggar crowd the lord of light, God, great god, lay on the dusty ground.

[heavydirtysoul-24]

Read a book

The last picture I've just seen online gave me an idea to share something with you. This time I want to recommend you a book called "The Death of the Gods. Julian the Apostate" by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky, one of the best Russian writers of 19-20 centuries.

This novel tells us a story of the Roman Emperor Julian and his attempts to restore the cult of Olympian gods in Rome after Cristianity was recognised as the superior religion in Roman Empire and basically all old temples were closed or destroyed.

One of the most beautifull parts of this book is the description of the rare pieces of ancient culture, people who lived with a mindset different from the christian majority, and the ideas that are coming to life nowdays.

When I read this book a second time I finally realized that changes we see nowdays have actually started a long time ago. And it may seem like religious independence, human rights, women rights, lgbt rights movements and many other things appeared not a long time ago and are pretty modern, but in a reality it's a continuation of human struggle for freedom and independence.

So, yeah read a book. I will not regret it.

[hippocampes-eternels]

The thin blue smoke of sacrifice could be seen rising above the wood after the human figures had vanished and while the trireme made for open sea.  From the fore-part of the ship there came upon the silence a solemn music ; the old monks were chanting in unison their evening prayer...  But over the still water came faint and clear notes of another melody. It was the little shepherd, piping his nocturnal hymn to Pan, the old god of gaiety, of free dom and love.

[forsoothsayer]

March by Dmitry Merezhkovsky

The sick, tired ice, The sick and slushy snow… And all is flowing, flowing… How blithesome is the vernal run Of mighty turbid waters! And cries the hoary snow, And dies the ice. The air is full of bliss, And the bell is singing. From the arrows of spring will fall The prison of free rivers, The stronghold of grim winters — The sick and darkened ice, The tired, slushy snow… And the bell is singing That my God is forever alive, That Death itself shall die!

[shirewanderer]

Dmitry Merezhkovsky, from She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not; 20th Century Russian Poetry (ed. by Yevgeny Yevtushenko) // Supernatural 

[gwendolynlerman]

Langblr culture challenge

Day 20: Literature

During the Middle Ages, epics and chronicles were composed in Old East Slavic.

By the Age of Enlightenment, literature had grown in importance and during the early 18th century, it underwent a golden age with poets like Vasily Zhukovsky and Alexander Pushkin and novelists like Nikolai Gogol (Dead Souls; Мёртвые души) and Ivan Turgenev (Fathers and Sons; Отцы и дети). The most renowned authors of this era are Fyodor Dostoevsky (Crime and Punishment; Преступление и наказание) and Leo Tolstoy (War and Peace; Война и мир).

In the second half of the century, Anton Chekhov stood out with his short stories and plays.

During the beginning of the 20th century, Russian literature saw a Silver Age of poetry with authors like Konstantin Balmont, Anna Akhmatova, Marina Tsvetaeva, and Boris Pasternak. Important novelists include Alexander Kuprin (The Duel; Поединок), Ivan Bunin (The Life of Arseniev; Жизнь Арсеньева), Yevgeny Zamyatin (We; Мы), and Dmitry Merezhkovsky (Christ and Antichrist trilogy; трилогия «Христос и Антихрист»).

In the 1930s, the predominant literary trend was Socialist realism with leading figures such as Nikolai Ostrovsky (How the Steel Was Tempered; Как закалялась сталь), Mikhail Sholokhov (And Quiet Flows the Don; Тихий Дон), and Alexander Fadeyev (The Young Guard; Молодая гвардия). Many authors wrote in exile, like poet Vyacheslav Ibanov and novelist Vladimir Nabokov (Lolita; Лолита). Other notable writers from the Soviet era are Mikhail Bulgakov (The Master and Margarita; Мастер и Маргарита) and Andrei Platonov (The Foundation Pit; Котлован).

The end of the 20th century did not see much literary production, but the most well-known authors are the novelist Victor Pelevin (Buddha’s Little Finger; Чапаев и Пустота), the novelist and playwright Vladimir Sorokin (The Queue; Очередь), and the poet Dmitri Prigov.

In 2011, Russia was the fourth-largest book producer in the world.