"“Only in Russia poetry is respected--it gets people killed.” - Ossip Mandelstam"
In this quote by Ossip Mandelstam, the Russian poet highlights the powerful role that poetry plays in Russian society. By suggesting that poetry is respected to the extent that it can get people killed, Mandelstam alludes to the dangerous and oppressive political climate in Russia, where speaking out through poetry can have severe consequences. This quote underscores the idea that poetry has the potential to challenge authority and provoke change, even at great personal risk.
The quote by Ossip Mandelstam highlights the significance and danger of poetry in Russia. Even in modern times, poetry continues to be a powerful tool for expression and dissent in the country, often leading to severe consequences for those who dare to challenge the status quo.
When reflecting on this quote by Ossip Mandelstam, consider the following questions:
“Only in Russia poetry is respected – it gets people killed. Is there anywhere else where poetry is so common a motive for murder?”
“I do not know how it is elsewhere, but here, in this country, poetry is a healing, life-giving thing, and people have not lost the gift of being able to drink of its inner strength. People can be killed for poetry herea sign of unparalleled respectbecause they are still capable of living by it.”
“And after his death - or even before it, perhaps - he lived on in camp legend as a demented old man of seventy who had once written poetry in the outside world and was therefore nicknamed The Poet. And another old man - or was it the same one? - lived in the transit camp of Vtoraya Rechka, waiting to be shipped to Kolyma, and was thought by many people to be Osip Mandelstam - which, for all I know, he may have been. That is all I have been able to find out about the last days, illness and death of Mandelstam. Others know very much less about the death of their dear ones.”
“And I walk out of spaceInto an overgrown garden of values,And tear up seeming stabilityAnd self-comprehension of causes.And your, infinity, textbookI read by myself, without people -Leafless, savage medical book,A problem book of gigantic radicals.”
“If our enemies take meAnd people stop talking to me,If they confiscate the whole world—The right to breathe, open doors, Affirm that existence shall go onAnd that people, like a judge, shall judge,And if they dare to keep me like an animalAnd fling my food on the floor, I won’t fall silent or deaden the agony,But shall write what I am free to write,My naked body gathering momentum like a bell,And in a corner of the ominous darkI shall yoke ten oxen to my voiceAnd move my hand in the darkness like a ploughAnd, wrung out into a legion of brotherly eyes,Shall fall with the full heaviness of a harvest,Exploding in the distance with all the force of a vow,And in the depths of the unguarded nightThe eyes of that unskilled laborer, earth, shall shineAnd a flock of flaming years swoop down,And like a ripe thunderstorm Lenin shall burst forth.But on this earth (which shall escape decay)There to wake up life and reason will be”
“My turn shall also come:I sense the spreading of a wing.”