Stikhotvoreniia [Poems]

I don?t like life as such,' wrote Marina Tsvetaeva, a great poet of the 20th century, 'for me it begins to mean, that is, to acquire meaning and weight, only transformed, that is, in art.' And only through the rigid optics of these confessions should one consider life, creativity, the fate of Tsvetaeva. She would write on a desert island, and on Mars, and in prison, and in a monastic cell. At one time, Andrei Bely felt deeper than others the singing nature of the poetess: 'And you, you are a bird! You sing!' After all, the birds do not die. They disappear in the August sky to return again and again in the spring.