From Four Till Seven Poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva

This is such a broken poem. It's as if Marina could not hone her thoughts into a coherent pattern but still HAD to write. As she says at the end, she is writing from four to seven probably in a feverish state. When she writes that her fingers are twisting the scarf, I shudder at what could be her premonition of her suicide. Marina corresponded with Rilke in the last years of his life, and in one letter she told him, YOU ARE NOT JUST A GREAT POET, Y0U ARE POETRY ITSELF.How generous. And we today look at her in the same way, MARINA, YOU ARE POETRY ITSELF.

Perhaps the poet felt loneliness between four and seven, and thought it would be better to remain apart from people for it may lie like this thanks

hurt by a man.... withdrawn.... untrusting. Too many women like this. Guessing her free time each day was between four and seven, spent in dire loneliness...

Love this one. Great poem! Well written.

loneliness of the woman is a torture between four to seven indeed!

in the manly society once woman had no rights to live independently or love liberally through full heart of emotion; but nowadays it has been changed yard to yard, bar to bar, port to port, country to country; now it's the time to raise the voice of equality

Only don't torture me so, If you hurt me I'll forgive! From four till seven o'clock I endlessly grieve.....it's a pathetic expression of a woman who loved the man heart but entrapped in the thorns of Iust in the four to seven o'clock hour in the cage of cruel manly character; yes; in the manly society once woman had no rights to live independently or love liberally through full heart of emotion;

'If you hurt me I'll forgive! From four till seven o'clock I endlessly grieve.' - Such a sad, somber poem!

Profoundly classic, deserves to be POD

Everybody is cruel in the dusk, Don't go to people - they'll lie. Fingers have wound into a knot The kerchief. very good poem. tony