Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov
(Russian: Вячеслав Иванович Иванов) a Russian poet and playwright associated with the Russian Symbolist movement. He was also a philosopher, translator, and literary critic.
Born in Moscow, Ivanov graduated from the First Moscow Gymnasium with a gold medal and entered the Moscow University where he studied history and philosophy under Sir Paul Vinogradoff. In 1886 he moved to the Berlin University to study Roman law and economics under Theodor Mommsen. During his stay in Germany, he absorbed the thoughts of Friedrich Nietzsche ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov Poems
Clothed In Beauty
As if chiseled, a fruit-laden branch Hangs in my garden, asleep - so low... The trees sleep - and dream? - in moonlight; And the mystery of their life is near, near...
The Russian Mind
Willful and avid mind,- The Russian mind is dangerous as flame: So unrestrainable, so clear, A happy and a gloomy mind.
The Vineyard Of Dionysus
Dionysus walks his vineyard, his beloved; Two women in dark clothing - two vintagers - follow him. Dionysus tells the two mournful guards - The vintagers: "Take your sharp knife, my vintners, Grief and Torment;
Heaven Above, Heaven Below
Night opens wide the burning Macrocosm,- And heaven's hierarchies come into view Lo, the spirit sings, and the elements dance Interwoven with snaky locks of starlight.
We are two trunks ignited by lightning Two flames in the midnight forest; We are two meteors flying in the night, The double-stinging arrow of a single fate!
Poets Of Spirit
The snow is clothed in dawn In the high desert, We are oaths of Eternity In the azure of Beauty.
Comments about Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Clothed In Beauty
As if chiseled, a fruit-laden branch
Hangs in my garden, asleep - so low...
The trees sleep - and dream? - in moonlight;
And the mystery of their life is near, near...
Even if we cannot grasp it,
The mute language is still intelligible:
They use our beauty to express
How we are one amidst rays and spots of light.
And the tremor of any life's creation
Reveals itself in a lovely form;
And the variance of different things is sweetened
By shared beauty. Multiply it!
And the world will be like this unstirring garden,
Where everything heeds a ...