Ivan Bunin Poems
- Loneliness The rain and the wind and the murk Reign over ...
- In An Estuary A crackling fire. Light, heat in the ...
- Midnight November. Midnight damp. Chalk-white beneath The ...
- A Farewell Blasting the malachites beneath the rudder, The ...
- The Fisherwoman 'Who knocks? I won't get up. I will not ...
- Youth A whip cracks in the wood, and cattle low And through ...
- The Pleiades It's dark. Not caring where I go, which path I ...
Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin (22 October 1870 – 8 November 1953) was the first Russian writer to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. He was noted for the strict artistry with which he carried on the classical Russian traditions in the writing of prose and poetry. The texture of his poems and stories, sometimes referred to as "Bunin brocade", is considered to be one of the richest in the language.
Best known for his short novels The Village (1910) and Dry Valley (1912), his autobiographical novel The Life of Arseniev (1933, 1939), the book of short stories Dark Avenues (1946) and his 1917–1918 diary (Cursed Days, 1926), Bunin was a revered figure among anti-communist White ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Comments about Ivan Bunin
The rain and the wind and the murk
Reign over cold desert of fall,
Here, life's interrupted till spring;
Till the spring, gardens barren and tall.
I'm alone in my house, it's dim
At the easel, and drafts through the rims.
The other day, you came to me,
But I feel you are bored with me now.
The somber day's over, it seemed
You were there for me as my spouse.
Well, so long, I will somehow strive
To survive till the spring with no wife.
The clouds, again, have today
Returned, passing, patch after patch.
Your footprints got smudged by...