Written throughout the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the Moscow famine that undefined, those poems are suffused with Tsvetaeva's irony and humor, which surely accounted for her luck in not just achieving the tip of the plague yr alive, yet making it the most efficient of her profession. We meet a drummer boy idolizing Napoleon, an irrepressibly mischievous grandmother who refuses to make an apology to God on Judgment Day, and an androgynous (and luminous) Joan of Arc.
"Represented on a graph, Tsvetaeva's paintings may show a curve - or relatively, a instantly line - emerging at nearly a correct attitude due to her consistent attempt to elevate the pitch a observe larger, an concept greater ... She consistently carried every thing she has to claim to its feasible and expressible finish. In either her poetry and her prose, not anything is still striking or leaves a sense of ambivalence. Tsvetaeva is the original case during which the paramount religious event of an epoch (for us, the feel of ambivalence, of contradictoriness within the nature of human lifestyles) served now not because the item of expression yet as its skill, during which it was once remodeled into the cloth of art." --Joseph Brodsky
While your eyes keep on with me into the grave, write up the complete caboodle on my move! 'Her days begun with songs, resulted in tears, but if she died, she cut up her aspects with laugher!'
--from Moscow within the Plague yr: Poems