Author Archives: John Penek

Meaning Follows Form: Sergei Esenin and Russian Imaginism

In this week’s reading, I found it very helpful to historically situate the works of Russian poet Sergei Esenin, as I feel that chronological context allows for a deeper textual extrapolation of his rhetorical choices, such as his frequent use of the passive voice. In fact, I noticed that he often  omits verbs altogether. After some historical analysis, I found that using passive voice to describe a series of images (rather than the traditional succinct narrative connected by tasteful verbs we often see in Russian Romantic works) is indicative of Russian Imaginism— the literary movement that Esenin himself helped found, alongside scholars Anatoly Marienhof and Vadim Shershenevich (Hirsch, A Poet’s Glossary, 2014). This movement quickly followed the Revolution of 1917— the fall of Emperor Nicholas II, and the rise of The Soviet Union. At this sensitive time juncture, there formed workers’ councils— called soviets—that protected workers’ rights and attempted to give power back to the newfound proletariat. (Klein, “Soviet”,1920).

Throughout all this research, I often found the word “grassroots” repeated over and over, referencing not only the soviets and their constituents, but also referencing the general public’s re-adaption to subsistence agriculture (Carmichael, A Short History of the Russian Revolution, 1964). Reading about subsistence agriculture, or farming focused entirely on the goal of self-sufficiency, revealed various aspects of Esenin’s pieces that I had not originally noticed. For example, most of his selected poems deal with pastoral themes regarding Russian countryside. Many of them begin and end with stream-of-consciousness depictions of desolate farmland. I think that each of these scenes tells a different story, and it is the overall negation of verbs that depicts the void of emotion that poor farmers felt due to economical and agricultural strife during this chronological tipping point.

To begin, I think that “Land of mine in dire neglect…” perfectly introduces us to the superimposed, verb-less phrases used by Imaginist writers when documenting Russian countryside at the onset of the Revolution of 1917. Purposefully trite remarks about a “country run to waste,/ Fields of hay unmown as yet,/ Monastery, estate” (Esenin 2-4) offers the reader a sense of the sad, barren countryside. The sun’s rays are deduced to “foam as shadows fall,” and bright sunset becomes a “tinge,/ Mould of dove-grey hue” (8, 11-12). It seems to me that there is a strong sense of vapidness and desolation described here, despite the lively depictions of “crows” weaving past “windows” (14). There is something backwards here—(much like the backwards syntax, i.e. “crows past windows weave”): despite the liveliness of the crow scene, there is still a large sense of disjointedness that is complemented by Esenin’s truncated, unusual images and their awkward, forced juxtaposition.

Furthermore, it is at the end of this poem that the connection between Russian life and a “fairytale,/ A legend of the past” (17-18). What I take from this ending (up for interpretation) is that the economical and agricultural strife that I mentioned before, along with the constant degradation of the farming class during the 1910s, resulted in a sense of desolation and anguish across Russian farmland/countryside. The quotation “a legend of the past” leads me to think that Esenin attempts to perhaps suggest a nostalgia for the past, i.e. an agriculturally and economically easier time in Russia.  I think that it could be the impending revolution and the grassroots dialogue has caused a vacant and distraught environment for not only Russian farm-country, but more generally, the Russian working class.

If I had more space in this blog post, I would love to comment on various other sentiments communicated through the unusual series of images in Esenin’s “Song about a Dog,” “The Hooligan,” “It can’t be dispelled…,” and “The disquiet of vaporous moonshine…” Still, this shorter poem “Land of mine…,” along with our analysis, nonetheless shows how that even though subject matter can denote a certain narrative, the methods that the author takes to express that narrative can potentially alter (or perhaps even reverse) the greater meaning of the text. Weaving crows and a lively snowstorm were both utilized in “Land of mine in dire neglect…” however the overall sentiment achieved in this piece was sad and desolate, due mostly to the sentence structure. In fact, restating this example reminds me of our class discussion on Tuesday about Russian writer Turgenev, and how his elongated sentence structure in “Forest and Steppe,” for example, expresses a long and fluid movement through the Russian countryside. In each of these pieces from both last class and today, meaning follows form, whether that is the sad, barren pre-revolutionary countryside, or the long fluid depiction of the thriving agriculture of Russia nearly seventy-five years before Esenin and his pieces. Each moment in history can be complimented effectively through not just the literary works produced during that time i.e. Russian Imaginism, but more importantly, as a product of the modes and styles in and through which those works were crafted!

Please let me know if you noticed any other interesting literary techniques evolving throughout our selected pieces. Perhaps, it would be interesting to see if there is any simultaneous historical context that could potentially strengthen our textual analyses. Would love to hear from you!

F_(nature) + F_(human) = 0

Instead of my usual approach to these blog posts— to derive themes of Russian Romanticism from weekly assigned readings— I instead want to focus this week’s entry on aspects of human versus nature interaction within the poem “Art” by Nikolai Zabolotsky and last week’s fairytale “Vasilisa the Beautiful.” Specifically, I intend to find similarity between the narrator of “Art” and his deference to nature, alongside Vasilisa’s goodwill towards her environment, i.e. her tying of Baba-Yaga’s birch-tree with ribbon, and her feeding of Baba-Yaga’s guard animals with pie and bread. Together, I hope to better understand the theme of positive retribution by Nature throughout Russian Romanticism. I also hope to elaborate on the human’s place in Russian Romanticism: namely, man’s often overt control and thus destruction of The Natural World.

In revisiting Vasilisa’s escape, I want to play close attention to the portion right after Vasilisa runs out in the passage of the house; her subsequent interactions with Baba-Yaga’s cat, dog, birch-tree, and gate each illustrates a human giving back to the Natural World. In a matter of lines, Grumbler-Rumbler the Cat rushes to claw Vasilisa but Vasilisa “throws him a pie,” followed by the dog darting at Vasilisa and Vasilisa giving him a piece of bread (“Vasilisa the Beautiful” 14). Then, Vasilisa interacts with the birch-tree and the gate, each of which respectively attempts to “lash out [her] eyes” and “shut” Vasilisa in (14). Before they hinder her, she ties the birch-tree with ribbon and greases the gate’s hinges. Vasilisa’s attention to the animals, the tree, and the gate ultimately saves her from their (and Baba-Yaga’s) wrath; her thought to give back to nature yields positive retribution.

Upon waking up, Baba-Yaga becomes infuriated and after interrogating (more like berating) the cat, dog, birch-tree, and gate, each of the four reiterates Vasilisa’s attention to them—each testimony reaffirming the theme of positive retribution that ultimately saves Vasilisa.

“…I let her pass, for she gave me a pie. I served you for ten years, Baba-Yaga, but you never gave me so much as a crust of bread” (15).

“…I let her pass, for she gave me some bread. I served you for ever so many years, but you never gave me so much as a bone” (16).

“…I let her pass, for she bound my branches with a ribbon. I have been growing here for ten years, and you never even tied them with a string” (16).

“…I let her pass, for she greased my hinges. I served you for ever so long, but            you never even put water on them” (16).

Note the repetition in these verses. Even though we can assume that their repetitive nature is at large due to the mode which fairytales were passed down through Russian history (verbally and from memory), I also attribute the repetition of these phrases to emphasize the fact that in addition to nature’s powerful existence, it is also a retributive force. In lecture, we discussed a personified Nature as “both friend and enemy”(Lecture Sep. 10, 2018) I think the author of this fairytale chooses to emphasize this sentiment not only through the unforeseen compliance of these animated characters, but also through the compositional choice to repeat and draw attention to these characters and their sentiments.

In connection to this week’s poem “Art” by Nikolai Zabolotsky, I also notice both the characterization of the speaker, and Zabolotsky’s form in constructing his argument, each lend value to the theme of positive retribution by nature (and perhaps to a similar but negative force possessed by man). To start, the first four stanzas of Zabolotsky’s poem reference the ways that man reaps the benefits of his natural environment. “Tree” comes with a description of “natural column of wood;” cow is “a solid body,/ set on four endings/” with “two horns like the moon in its first quarter” (Zabolotsky 2, 9-10, 12). A house is “an edifice of wood,/ a tree-cemetery,/ a cabin of corpses,/ a gazebo of the dead—“ all for “man” who is “sovereign of the planet,/ ruler of the woodlands,/ emperor of cattle flesh” (17-20; 25-27). Notice the utilization of epithets to emphasize the severity of power that man enacts on the natural environment. Only at the end of the poem does the narrator “a faceless man,” pleasantly interact with the natural world (33). He blows through a flute, and sings to nature, his “words [flying] into the world[, becoming] objects” (36). Here, just like Vasilisa does through her interactions with the animals and nature around her, our narrator reaches harmony with his environment:

“The cow made porridge for me,/

the tree read me a story,

and the word’s dead little houses/ jumped up and down, as if alive” (37-40).

Again, take note of the repetition—namely the anaphora that begins in each line: “the cow… the tree… the word’s dead little houses.” It is stylistically similar to the writing form through which Zabolotsky introduces the cow, the tree, the houses, and man at the onset of each stanza. Each of these methods emphasizes power and in addition to the power of nature that we both felt in “Vasilisa the Beautiful,” and heard about in lecture, Zabolotsky provides us also a power initiated and sustained by man. The epithets I mention before are competing with the Natural World. There is a component to the natural environment’s “force diagram,” if you will, that was not accounted for in either “Vasilisa the Beautiful” or in many of the other pieces we have reviewed in lecture; that is—the opposing force of man, whether that is positive or negative.

Now if I continue this physics analogy, it would make perfect sense for man’s impact on the natural environment to be negative, even caustic. In order to reach net equilibrium, i.e. natural harmony, would it not be necessary for humans to reap the benefits of the world around them? Though I do not think that this conclusion is what either of these literary pieces intends to prove, I do however, think that Zabolotsky’s emphasis on man’s relentless attitude towards utilizing the natural world is an important reaction to the power of nature. What are your thoughts? Does Zabolotsky’s “Art” lead you to think differently about the themes of nature and its omnipotence throughout Russian Romantic literature?

Expectation for Subservience: Man Versus Animal in Selected Pieces

For this week’s blog post, I would like to pay close attention to the strong sense of subservience between animal towards man in various selections of poetry by Nikolai Zabolotsky, three anonymous fairytales, and the literary artwork of Ivan Bilibin. To begin, both of Zabolotsky’s poems “In This Birch Wood” and “The Forest Lodge” feature extensive characterization regarding animals, or “creature[s],” in regard to their human superiors. While “In This Birch Wood” speaks mostly on the interactions of men at war, and their environment, there is an instance where Zabolotsky directly intersects the narratives of man and animal: he states that in early morning, orioles sit outside their “human[s’] door[s],” and “sing matins virtuous and poor.” (“In This Birch Wood” 13-14). In response, “soldiers and men [are] still,” almost unamused by the very birds that provide them morning songs (15). Yet, when an “atomic explosion” echoes through this war-scene, man inquires why the bird goes quiet, as if there exists an expectation for the birds to serve man unconditionally (16,21). To continue, a similar expectation of servitude is communicated in Zabolotsky’s “Forest-Lodge” when a “shaggy creature” creeps up to an old man’s door in the middle of a rainstorm (“Forest-Lodge” 16). In response to site of the old man, the inhuman form becomes startled and “flees”—which is “just as any other might have done,” according to Zabolotsky (17). In both poems, there is an unspoken superiority occupied by man when confronted by animal. In “…Birch Wood,” the orioles are expected to sing routinely, and are interrogated when failing to perform, whereas in “Forest-Lodge,” the creature is expected to flee. Note this sense of expectation that exists for animal towards man, and how it distinctly characterizes animal versus man.

Furthermore, if we look at the fairy-tales “Prince Ivan and the Grey Wolf” and “Vasilisa the Beautiful,” we similarly witness the subservient relationship between animal and man, yet through longer and more developed discourses. First, the Grey Wolf completely ravages Ivan’s horse in “Prince Ivan and the Grey Wolf,” leaving “nothing but bones, picked clean” (“Prince Ivan and the Grey Wolf” 22). In response to Ivan’s dismay, the Grey Wolf graciously offers to right his wrongs, and thus assist Ivan in finding and retrieving the Fire-Bird. Even when Ivan continuously ignores the suggestions of the Grey Wolf, such as to leave the golden cage and bejeweled bridle, the Grey Wolf remains steadfast in his promise to find Ivan the Fire-Bird. In fact, there are various instances when the Grey Wolf sacrifices his own safety, simply to safeguard Ivan’s desires to keep both the Golden Mane and Yelena the Fair. For example, Grey Wolf “turn[s] a somersault, and [is] at once changed into Yelena the Fair” in order to disguise himself as sacrifice for Tsar Kusman (27). Later, the Grey Wolf again “turn[s] a somersault” and transforms into the Golden Mane to appease Tsar Afron, as well (28). As readers, we get this image of the Grey Wolf jumping head-over-heels (i.e. a somersault) in attempts to please Ivan (man). Note, however, that this is not the only fairy-tale that features this uncontested desire to please man: the small doll inherited by Vasilisa from her mother in “Vasilisa the Beautiful” ultimately channels a commandeering energy in order to save Vasilisa from Baba-Yaga. This doll invokes the help of “flocks and flocks” of birds to come and “pick over millet seed by seed” until dawn, in order to protect Vasilisa from the wrath of her capturer (“Vasilisa the Beautiful” 12). Note that gratitude for the birds and their assistance is never expressed; the birds and their services are simply expected. Similarly, this sense of expectation is likewise suggested in the artwork of Ivan Bilibin— in his pieces entitled “The Black Horseman” and “The Red Horseman,” he utilizes strong facial features and bright colors on and around the horses, which could perhaps communicate an exuberance to serve the men who ride them. Clearly, expectation is present in the fairy-tales— its presence so strong that as viewers, we trace and deduce similar sentiments from related artworks!

Please let me know if any of you also noticed themes of unquestioned subservience between animal and man within these pieces. I would love to hear your feedback!

Feminine Divinity: Environmental Themes and Godly Women in Russian Art and Poetry

In this week’s blog post, I would like to pay close attention to the way that our selected features of Russian art and literature seem to collectively attribute different characteristics and tones for different genders. Specifically, I noticed that many authors attribute softer, warmer, and more forgiving characteristics, colors, and tones to feminine personifications of the Russian environment, or perhaps even to the female figures featured in landscape pieces by painters like Isaak Levitan and Aleksei Savrasov.

To begin, I will start with Mikhail Lermontov’s poem “The Cliff” and comment on the way that Lermontov personifies both the “golden cloud” and the “mountain’s breast” using female-gendered pronouns (Lermontov). Immediately, the reader feels a proposed connection between sky and woman; words like “gold,” “sleeps,” and “aflame” conflate the color gold with notions of the sky and godliness, yielding the image of a cloud that possesses a warm and powerful feminine force (Lermontov). In contrast, Lermontov’s inclusion of “the trace of dew,” which “looms,” and “softly weeps,” implies a colder and less-powerful masculine force (Lermontov). Even though Lermontov never states the dew as weak and puny, he nonetheless references the color gold, woman, and her godliness. Together, these characteristics comprise a theme of feminine divineness, which is further developed in other literature like Alexander Pushkin’s poem “Autumn,” in which Pushkin invokes a “Mother [Nature]” archetype, along with a description of Her “gentle beauty” and “somber blaze” (Pushkin). It is clear that warm, golden colors, and women have an inextricable, heavenly connection.

If we step away from written literature, we see can that this motif of woman, godliness, and gold, appears also in the Russian paintings of Isaak Levitan and Aleksei Savrasov. First, in “Autumn Day in Sokolniki (1879),” Levitan paints a female figure that walks along a golden path, surrounded by golden trees and emerald grasses. A soft blue sky peeking through fluffy, glowing clouds leaves the viewer with a godly regard for the woman of this landscape. In fact, there is a more obvious connection between woman and her “godly regard” in Savrasov’s “View of the Kremlin in Stormy Weather (1851).” The borders of this painting are comprised of unforgiving blues and solemn greys, though at the center of Savrasov’s painting, there is a female figure that nearly glows from the page. As she traverses a path through what seems to be a Russian village, the viewer watches her as the golden wake she leaves behind transfers some of its godly glow into the surrounding landscape. Viewers can witness this woman’s connection with nature transcending the physical environment— a portion of the scene in the wake of her glow is The Kremlin itself. Perhaps Savrasov is making an even greater claim about not only the link between nature, woman, and divinity, but also between The Kremlin, which itself represents the center of Russian government, and a large pillar of Russian culture.

In addition, other various paintings by Levitan and Savrasov also emphasize many of the gendered characteristics noted above. For example, Savrasov’s figure painting entitled “Rainbow (1873)” utilizes a bright variety of colors, specifically through a rainbow that shines down on the central figure— a female that tends the crops around her. Again, a sense of kindness and harmony is enhanced by warm colors, and a godly regard for the woman of this painting is established through her placement at the center of the canvas.

If I had more room in this blog post, I could elaborate on the cold colors and dark shadows comprising the male figures in both Savrasov’s “Winter (1873)”, and his “Spring Thaw, Yaroslavl (1874)”. Perhaps someone else in the class would be interested in responding to this blog post or creating new entry about what seems to be a stern and unforgiving tone surrounding the masculine features of Russia’s environment, specifically within the context of 19th century Russia. Please let me know what you think!