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A Bout du Souffle (Longing for a Vacation)

Last night in a company of several translators we discussed the fact that Jean-Luc Godard’s title, A Bout du Souffle, is not correctly translated in either Russian, or English. The original title indicates that the protagonist is about to have the last breath; the translation suggests that he is doing something, barely breathing. It may be hard to grasp the difference, but it does exist.

The mis-translation is quite applicable in my case because I have been working on a project for over a year now, and I feel veeery tired. I hope I can get a vacation soon, for I am very glad to be engaged in this project, so I need to recharge the batteries.

In the meantime, just to give you a heads-up about what I’ve written/done and may be of use to you here are some links to Qype reviews (which are not getting posted directly to the blog for some reason):

Cathedral on the Blood (Yekaterinburg)

Heaton Park (Prestwich)

Manchester Craft and Design Centre (Manchester)

Central Library (Manchester)

Olivier Morosini Hairdressing (Manchester)

Lomonosov Moscow State University (Moscow)

The Albert Memorial (London)

I’m also in the process of compiling a couple of Russian guides for Qype; in the meantime, here are some I did in the past:

Best places to write in Manchester

Manchester Public Transport

Manchester Streets

Monuments in Manchester

Moscow Museums

Northern Quarter

Parks and Squares in Manchester

Marc Chagall, Window to the Garden

Last but not least, an exhibition of little-known works by Marc Chagall is open at the Tretyakov Gallery until 30 September. It features his illustrations to My Life autobiography, etchings to the Bible, The Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol, and Lafontin’s Fables, the ceramic 6-piece table set for his daughter’s marriage, as well as many little-known paintings and collages. The exhibition is generously augmented by the artefacts of Jewish everyday life between the second half of 19th and early 20th cc.: menoras, cups, hanukkiahs, painted wall rugs, sketches of decorated tomb stones, and even a marriage contract. The exhibition is accompanied with a catalogue. If you wonder, I’ve been there this week and was very pleased. The display celebrates Chagall’s 125th birthday anniversary and comes as a part of the Literature and Language Year between Russia and France.

Slava Polunin in Moscow: Stairway to Heaven Book Presentation

Yesterday I had the most pleasant chance to attend a presentation of a book by Slava Polunin, Russian-born best clown in the world. Called Stairway To Heaven, it has little to do with Led Zeppelin; on the contrary, it is a collection of photographs from over 70 events united by the idea of a carnival. The Carnival events visited many countries, including the U.S. where the participants used the Nevada Desert as their stage. And only once, in Moscow’s Kolomenskoe Park and Reserve, the White Carnival was enacted entirely as it was conceived by Slava.

slava-polunin-stairway-to-heaven-in-moscow
Slava Polunin presenting Stairway To Heaven book in Moscow

The white colour and snow play a large part in Slava’s work, and this time we finally found out, why. He was born in the town of Novosil in Oryol Region of Russia. His mother worked at the store and had to march long distances to and from the train station, collecting the goods for trade. In winter this would become a tricky task, due to heavy snowfalls in the area. Towards the end of the winter season people walked in 5-meter high tunnels that were formed by digging paths in the snowy stepp. The little Slava also dug the tunnels, making rooms, letting his imagination run wild. Hence, snow to him is a recollection of this wonderful childhood years. Yet at the same time it is associated with fear, for he was afraid his mother would get lost in those heaps of cold white substance.

Don’t forget, you can read Slava’s interview, Monologue of the Clown.

Moscow Yoga Public Practice

I have no idea exactly how many yoga clubs there are in Moscow. According to this site, there should be at least 270. The so-called “non-traditional” practices were popular even before 1991, but the surge of interest that followed was quite bewildering. Yoga, Pilates, cigun, as well as Buddhist meditations – this is just a handful of non-Christian practices that attract followers of all sexes and ages.

What was hard to see was a public meditation. There is a club in Manchester, for instance, that regularly organises such events, but you also have naked bike rides, Manchester Run, etc. Can you then imagine a Muscovite, fresh from different political marches, to come upon a scene like in the photo below? To me, it was practically a culture shock!

Yoga in Public in Chistye Prudy
Practising Yoga in Moscow

 

#ClimbAbai

One thing you may notice is that the Guru (or whoever is the guy who sits in front of the other two) is speaking a lot. I don’t know if this is a custom, or maybe he was saying something his disciples were supposed to contemplate. I must add, though, that on a fairly hot evening when lots of people were walking in Chistye Prudy Boulevard it would be hard to concentrate on anything, so well done to the guys!

By the way, the group sat a stone’s throw away from the now famous Abai monument.

Alexander Blok – The Italian Impressions (Translation, An Extract)

Italian Impressions by Alexander Blok is a curious example of the Russian Symbolist poet visiting Italy and returning largely unimpressed

In 1909 The Italian Impressions by Alexander Blok came out of print. Blok wasn’t impressed to say the least, and his sentiments, in spite of his support of the revolutionary efforts of his own country, were rather negative  the industrial development of Italy or, indeed, any other country. Below is an extract of my translation of this essay.

Alexander Blok, The Italian Impressions.

The Preface.

Time flies, civilization grows, mankind progresses.

19th century is the Iron Age. This is the age when a train of heavy-loaded carts runs along the cobbled road, drawn by exhausted horses pushed by people with mellow, pale faces. Their nerves are ruined by hunger and need, their open mouths extort swear words, and yet neither swearing, nor cries are heard. Only whips and reins can be seen, and every sound sinks in the deafening noise of the iron lines loaded on carts.

This entire century shakes, trembles and rumbles – like the same iron lines. People, these slaves of civilization, tremble in terror in front of its very face. Time flies; with each year, day and hour it becomes clearer that civilization is about to come down upon its own creators and to crush them; yet this doesn’t happen. Insanity continues: everything is forethought and predestined, and death is inevitable but it doesn’t hurry to arrive. What must be is not; what is ready is not happening. Revolutions strike, then calm down, then disappear. People always tremble in terror. They used to be human but no longer are they, only appearing such. They are slaves, animals, reptiles. What was called people is no longer protected by God, groomed by Nature, or pleased by Art. Those who were people no longer demand anything from God, Nature, or Art.

Civilization grows. At the start of the century Balzac spoke of “human comedy”. In the mid-century Sherr spoke of “tragi-comedy”. Today we have a street spectacle. The farce began when the first airplane took off.

The air has been conquered – what a magnificent sight to behold! One pathetic dandy whirled up in the sky. So a hen decided to fly: she spread her wings and flew over a pile of shit.

Do you know that every nut in the machine, every turn of a screw, every new technical achievement produces the masses of plebeians? Of course, you don’t know this, for you are “educated”, and “nobody compares to an educated person in his shallowness”, as your kind-hearted Ruskin once blurted out.

Translated into English © Julia Shuvalova 2012.

More posts on Alexander Blok.

The Yellow Lily of Summer

A friend of mine, painter Svetlana, sent me this photo from her home garden. This sun-brimming ‘portrait’ of a lily marks the beginning of summer and brought to mind this Shakespearean sonnet:

Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft’ is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d:

But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare, sonnet no. 18

error: Sorry, no copying !!