To the iambic tetrameter


October 5, 2003 by AK

It is the iambic tetrameter (the “four-foot iambus” in Russian).

The author is Vladislav Khodasevich (Wladyslaw Chodasiewicz in Polish, his father’s mother tongue, with the l’s crossed), whom Nabokov rated the best Russian poet of the 20th century. Written in 1938, it is considered Khodasevich’s last poem. I wish there were a simple English adjective for “above the stars” — superstellar doesn’t sound reasonable.

Thanks to Mike Tykanov for answering.

I tried to make a close, literal translation but, of course, that is hardly possible with a good poem. For instance, заветный can mean cherished, secret, bequeathed, promised, consecrated, etc. Играя переливом смысла can also be approximated with “playing with the spectrum of meaning”. Хóлмы снеговые are not exactly “hills of snow”.

Lomonosov’s Ode on the Capture of Khotin (1739) is considered the first well-written major syllabotonic poem in Russian. The iambic tetrameter is the meter of Yevgeny Onegin, The Copper Horseman, The Demon and a great deal of other foundational Russian poems. The only serious competitor for the most important Russian meter is the iambic pentameter. The Waterfall is an ode by Derzhavin (“A diamond mountain is pouring down…”).

The source, along with other poems by Khodasevich, can be found here. Please set “encoding” to “Cyrillic, Windows 1251”.

Не ямбом ли четырехстопным,

Заветным ямбом, допотопным?

О чем, как не о нем самом –

О благодатном ямбе том?С высот надзвездной Музикии

К нам ангелами занесен,

Он крепче всех твердынь России,

Славнее всех ее знамен.

Из памяти изгрызли годы,

За что и кто в Хотине пал,

Но первый звук Хотинской оды

Нам первым криком жизни стал.

В тот день на холмы снеговые

Камена русская взошла

И дивный голос свой впервые

Далеким сестрам подала.

С тех пор в разнообразье строгом,

Как оный славный “Водопад”,

По четырем его порогам

Стихи российские кипят.

И чем сильней спадают с кручи,

Тем пенистей водоворот,

Тем сокровенней лад певучий

И выше светлых брызгов взлет –

Тех брызгов, где, как сон, повисла,

Сияя счастьем высоты,

Играя переливом смысла, –

Живая радуга мечты.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Таинственна его природа,

В нем спит спондей, поет пэон,

Ему один закон – свобода,

В его свободе есть закон.

Shouldn’t it be in the four-foot iambus,

The cherished, antediluvial iambus?

What about but itself —

That tetrameter full of grace?From the heights of the Musicia above the stars

Brought to us by angels,

It is stronger than all Russia’s strongholds,

More glorious than all its flags.

Years have gnawed out of memory

Who and for what fell in Khotin,

But the first sound of the Khotin Ode

Became, for us, the first cry of life.

On that day, onto hills of snow

The Russian Camena ascended

And sent her wondrous voice over

To faraway sisters.

Since then, in a strict variety,

Like that illustrious Waterfall,

Down its four rapids,

Russian verses have been seething.

And the more forcefully they are falling from the steep,

The foamier the whirlpool,

The more precious the melodious harmody

And the higher the flight of light spray —

That spray where, like a vision, is hovering,

Shining with the bliss of height,

Sparkling with the tinge of meaning, —

The living rainbow of dream.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Its nature is mysterious:

The spondee sleeps in it, the pean sings;

It knows only one law — freedom;

In its freedom, there is law.


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