Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

(8 October 1892 – 31 August 1941 / Moscow)

Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva Poems

1. Poems for Blok, 1 9/15/2015
2. No Longer Now 5/26/2014
3. I Like That You Are Crazy Not With Me 2/23/2015
4. You Walk, And Look Like Me 4/13/2010
5. Prayer 4/13/2010
6. Poets (Excerpt) 4/13/2010
7. Dis-Stance: Versts, Miles 4/13/2010
8. Books In Red Binding 4/13/2010
9. New Moon 4/13/2010
10. You Who Loved Me With The Falseness 4/13/2010
11. Tryst 4/13/2010
12. To The Next One 4/13/2010
13. To Asya 4/13/2010
14. Terminal Silhouette 4/13/2010
15. For My Poems, Written So Early 4/13/2010
16. Dialogue Between Hamlet And His Conscience 4/13/2010
17. The Window 1/1/2004
18. In Paris 4/13/2010
19. Girlfriend 1/1/2004
20. Before A Little Coffin 4/13/2010
21. Meeting 4/13/2010
22. To Mother 1/1/2004
23. Whence Cometh Such Tender Rapture? 1/1/2004
24. The Demon In Me 1/1/2004
25. Conversation With A Genius 4/13/2010
26. Lady With Camelias 4/13/2010
27. From Four Till Seven 4/13/2010
28. Little World 1/1/2004
29. Much Like Me 1/1/2004
30. Grey Hairs 1/1/2004

Comments about Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

  • Rich Persoff (4/11/2014 6:03:00 PM)

    To the editor:
    These sentences should not follow each other in the same paragraph!
    During the famine one of her own daughters died of starvation. Tsvetaeva's poetry reveal her growing interest in folk song and the techniques of the major symbolist and poets, such as Aleksander Blok and Anna Akhmatova.

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Best Poem of Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

From Four Till Seven

Like in a mirror, there's shade in the heart
I'm bored alone - and with men…
Slowly drags the light of the day
From four till seven!
Everybody is cruel in the dusk,
Don't go to people - they'll lie.
Fingers have wound into a knot
The kerchief. I want to cry.
Only don't torture me so,
If you hurt me I'll forgive!
From four till seven o'clock
I endlessly grieve.

Read the full of From Four Till Seven

Much Like Me

Much like me, you make your way forward,
Walking with downturned eyes.
Well, I too kept mine lowered.
Passer-by, stop here, please.

Read, when you've picked your nosegay
Of henbane and poppy flowers,
That I was once called Marina,
And discover how old I was.

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