Question by !*ViCtOrIa*!: Can you find the poem The Bride groom by Alexander Pushkin.?
Can you find the poem The bride groom by Alexander Pushkin or the biography of Alexander Pushkin.
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Answer by laybay2
:The Bride:
For J.
I sat down next to the hole in the wall, trying to get a view of you.
You. The bride. There you were, walking into the small chapell of the Opera House, surrounded by other dancers, arm in arm with your soon-to-be husband, slightly leaning against him while walking. Your smile ran shivers down my spine. Your expression claimed how full of joy you were that day; how many wrinkles your wedding must have cost you from smiling! But they’d make you much more beautiful. Nothing destroys your perfection. Nothing.
I took a look at the groom, wondering whether he was good enough to be by your side. Although things change with time, although husband and wife usually forget their love after a couple of years, I wondered whether it would be the same with him. Maybe he wasn’t good enough? Maybe there was something better out there, waiting to get under your lovely eyes? – Waiting to be relieved from the dreadful life he’s been living? – Waiting to have a single word from you to forever stand all the wounds life gives him. Was he good enough for you? Was anybody good enough?
I shook my head, taking a look of the other girls in the chapel to not start to cry or scream out loud. Oh God, I’d most likely choose your groom myself, or at least I thought so. I wouldn’t sleep until I would have found him, him, he who was worth your love. It would be so difficult. He should be perfect. He should be just as good as you are, just as beautiful, just as worthy. Everything else might be so bad it might hurt you. And I sweared to God that day, whoever hurts you would suffer immensely.
There I sat, watching your wedding. By time, the priest was already praying his usual prayers.
You invited me to your wedding. A note on my bed said you’d be happy to have me watch the ceremony that day. You knew I loved you. You knew with every breath you took that I loved you more than my life.
How I still love to remember every moment with you. You were the only shelter I had. You were everything to me. I tried to hide it first, but there was no escape for my feelings. I needed desperately to reveal them to you, to give you a small glimpse of how I felt. Today, years later, oh how I love looking back. It makes up for all the lonely days, the rainy days, the days without you. A single look, a single world, and I’d fall asleep to never awaken again happily.
You loved me, too.
But as the wise say: Time goes by.
And it did.
So there I was, watching the bride’s wedding. The bride my heart had already married ages ago. The bride who gave in into a relationship that was incredibly emotional, undefeatable. As the wise say. Time gives. But takes, too.
I cannot describe how I woke up that day. Something deep inside me cried out loud and sang a lonely song. My hands tried to touch the world again, wake up from the nightmare I’ve had, I dreamed you’d marry somebody else – but as I awoke, the note lay next to me. I had taken it with me to sleep, hoping I wouldn’t wake up and take a glimpse of you with me.
Your wedding.
You seemed so happy. You’d be fine. He’d be the happiest, luckiest, oh how to describe it, the most cheerful man the world has ever seen!
I wished you luck.
Nobody cared about where I’d go that night. I watched your ball, watched you swirl around with your groom, oh what I say, husband. I swallowed every detail of your neck, your hair, the way your fingers moved. I’ll never forget you.
But that day is gone. Not to be taken back. And now? And today?
As long as your smile shines on the world, and there is no tear that rolles down your cheek except a joyful one, my heart will remain quiet. It won’t say a single thing. My heart stopped saying things ages ago, ages, long long times, eternities… It won’t think a single thing. It’s not there, because you stole it. And who wouldn’t want his heart to be stolen by such a charming looter?
I Loved You
I loved you; even now I may confess,
Some embers of my love their fire retain;
But do not let it cause you more distress,
I do not want to sadden you again.
Hopeless and tonguetied, yet I loved you dearly
With pangs the jealous and the timid know;
So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,
I pray God grant another love you so.
Alexander Pushkin
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jinx says
The link below takes you to a biography; there are many more interesting sites. I couldn't find the poem, so here it is from "The Bronze Horseman and Other Poems", translated by D M Thomas.
The Bridegroom
For three days Natasha
The merchant’s daughter,
Was missing. The third night,
She ran in, distraught.
Her father and mother
Plied her with questions.
She did not hear them,
She could hardly breathe.
Stricken with foreboding
They pleaded, got angry,
But still she was silent;
At last they gave up.
Natasha’s cheeks regained
Their rosy colour,
And cheerfully again
She sat with her sisters.
Once at the shingle-gate
She sat with her friends
-And a swift troika
Flashed by before them;
A handsome young man
Stood driving the horses;
Snow and mud went flying,
Splashing the girls.
He gazed as he flew past,
And Natasha gazed.
He flew on. Natasha froze.
Headlong she ran home.
‘It was he! It was he!’
She cried. ‘I know it!’
I recognized him! Papa,
Mama, save me from him!’
Full of grief and fear,
They shake their heads, sighing.
Her father says: ‘My child,
Tell me everything.
If someone has harmed you,
Tell us … even a hint.’
She weeps again and
Her lips remain sealed.
The next morning, the old
Matchmaking woman
Unexpectedly calls and
Sings the girl’s praises;
Says to the father; ‘You
Have the goods and I
A buyer for them:
A handsome young man.
‘He bows to no one,
He lives like a lord
With no debts nor worries;
He’s rich and he’s generous,
Says he will give his bride,
On their wedding-day,
A fox-fur coat, a pearl,
Gold rings, brocaded dresses.
‘Yesterday, out driving,
He saw your Natasha;
Shall we shake hands
And get her to church?’
The woman starts to eat
A [pie, and talks in riddles,
While the poor girl
Does not know where to look.
‘Agreed,’ says her father;
‘Go in happiness
To the altar, Natasha;
It’s dull for you here;
A swallow should not spend
All its time singing,
It’s time for you to build
A nest for your children.’
Natasha leaned against
The wall and tried
To speak – but found herself
Sobbing; she was shuddering
And laughing. The matchmaker
Poured out a cup of water,
Gave her some to drink,
Splashed some in her face.
Her parents are distressed.
Then Natasha recovered,
And calmly she said:
‘Your will be done. Call
My bridegroom to the feast,
Bake loaves for the whole world,
Brew sweet mead and call
The law to the feast.’
‘Of course, Natasha, angel!
You know we’d give our lives
To make you happy!’
They bake and they brew;
The worthy guests come,
The bride is led to the feasat,
Her maids sing and weep;
Then horses and a sledge
With the groom – and all sit.
The glasses ring and clatter,
The toasting-cup is passed
From hand to hand in tumult,
The guests are drunk.
Bridegroom
‘Friends, why is my fair bride
Sad, why is she not
Feasting and serving?’
The bride answers the groom:
‘I will tell you why
As best I can. My soul
Knows no rest, day and night
I weep; an evil dream
Oppresses me.’ Her father
Says: ‘My dear child, tell us
What your dream is.’
‘I dreamed,’ she says, ‘that I
Went into a forest,
It was late and dark;
The moon was faintly
Shining behind a cloud;
I strayed from the path;
Nothing stirred except
The tops of the pine-trees.
‘And suddenly, as if
I was awake, I saw
A hut. I approach the hut
And knock at the door
-Silence. A prayer on my lips
I open the door and enter.
A candle burns. All
Is silver and gold.’
Bridegroom
‘What is bad about that?
It promises wealth.’
Bride
‘Wait, sir, I’ve not finished.
Silently I gazed
On the silver and gold,
The cloths, the rugs, the silks
From Novgorod, and I
Was lost in wonder.
‘Then I heard a shout
And a clatter of hoofs …
Someone has driven up
To the porch. Quickly
I slammed the door and hid
Behind the stove. Now
I hear many voices …
Twelve young men come in,
‘And with them is a girl,
Pure and beautiful.
They’ve taken no notice
Of the ikons, they sit
To the table without
Praying or taking off
Their hats. At the head,
The eldest brother,
At his right, the youngest;
At his left, the girl.
Shouts, laughs, drunken clamour …’
Bridegroom
‘That betokens merriment.’
Bride
‘Wait, sir, I’ve not finished.
The drunken din goes on
And grows louder still.
Only the girl is sad.
‘She sits silent; neither
Eating nor drinking;
But sheds tears in plenty;
The eldest brother
Takes his knife and, whistling,
Sharpens it; seizing her by
The hair he kills her
And cuts off her right hand.’
‘Why,’ says the groom, ‘this
Is nonsense! Believe me,
My love, your dream is not evil.’
She looks him in the eyes.
‘And from whose hand
Does this ring come?’
The bride said. The whole throng
Rose in the silence.
With a clatter the ring
Falls, and rolls along
The floor. The groom blanches,
Trembles. Confusion …
‘Seize him!’ the law commands.
He’s bound, judged, put to death.
Natasha is famous!
Our song at an end.
(1825)
gdb2001 says
To buy the book with the poem, try: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0946162689/sr=8-…
Or, of course, hit your local library. I can't find a copy online, even though any copyright is long since expired.
To buy a book with his biography, try: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0060956550/qid=1…
Or, again, hit the local library. They're probably fairly likely to have some info on him there. Here's a short biography online: