Early this week, we translated some of the love poetry of Alexander Pushkin (Александр Сергеевич Пушкин) – probably the most famous Russian poet. We are now releasing more of his poetry. This time, it’s just one poem – Monument, which is, arguably, one of his works most profoundly representative of Russian literature.
Monument is commonly understood as Pushkin’s poetic testament. This is what Professor Catriona Kelly (New College; Oxford University) had to say about the poem in her book on Russian literature:
In only five stanzas and twenty lines, the poem raises seven themes of universal resonance in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Russian culture. These are: memorials to the famous as expressions of state power and cultural authority; a writer’s ‘monument’ in the sense of his posthumous reputation; other writers as a writer’s ideal readers; a writer’s role as teacher to his nation; the writer as a member of polite society; the part played by literature in colonizing, or civilizing, barbarian nations; the relationship between writing and religious experience.
Professor Kelly discusses these themes in the rest of her book, but here’s the poem for you to see and analyse (and Professor Kelly also suggested a few annotations for some words in the translation – hover your mouse over underlined words to see them):
Monument
Exegi Monumentum
I
a monument
to myself
raised
miraculous,
Up to
it
shall not grow
the public
path,
Rose up
it higher
with (its) head
insubordinate
(than the) Alexander
Column.
Not,
entire(ly)
I
will not die
–
(my) soul
in
(my) dear
lyre
My
dust
shall survive
and
putrification
shall escape —
And
glorious
I will be
as long as
in
the sublunary
world
Alive
shall be
at least
a single
poet.
Rumour
about
me
shall go
around
the entire
great Rus,
And
shall name
me
every
existing
in
it
tongue,
A
(a) proud
grandson
Slav,
and
Finn,
and
(by) now
savage
Tungus,
and
(a) friend
of the steppe
Kalmyk.
A
(for) long
shall be
through this
beloved
I
to the people,
Because
feelings
good
I
with (my) lyre
awakened;
Because
in
my
cruel
age
praised
I
Freedom
And
pity
to
the fallen
I called for.
To the Godly dictate
oh
muse,
be
obedient,
Of abuse
not
dreading,
not
demanding
a crown;
Praise
and
slander
accept
indifferently,
And
do not dispute
the fool(s).
