Subject
BIRTHDAY: Iris Neva's poem for VN
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BIRTHDAY POEM
A cradle rocked above an abyss . . .
and with the benefit of hindsight,
we retrospectively foresee
your future, concretely, and bright.
A little boy, with closed eyes walking up the stairs,
A teenage poet, millionaire.
In old age no wavy white hair,
But nonetheless-
Happy times on balconies,
Impaling insects, playing chess.
As a writer you would force, not Tamara,
But Masha, on the bridge to wait.
Real lives of knights you'd create
Princedoms you would allocate
Chernychevsky you'd berate
Iris you'd lock in a maze
Of clues she could not understand
Even tyrants from the page you'd raise,
Then, with an artful sleight of hand,
you'd destroy what you'd just made.
But oh those shivers down the spine, those thrills,
That you could make appear by will,
With a craftsmanship unheard,
With the magic of mere words,
Like a waxwing, unslain,
They live on, fly on,
Beyond the skyline of the page.
Iris Neva
[EDNOTE. This poem reflects some of VN's own "beautiful lines kicking around" in the author's mind. The pseudonymous Iris Neva -- who occasionally uses, instead, the equally Nabokovian anagram "Eva Sirin" -- claims that this is only the fifth poem she has ever written. Many happy returns! -- SES.]
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A cradle rocked above an abyss . . .
and with the benefit of hindsight,
we retrospectively foresee
your future, concretely, and bright.
A little boy, with closed eyes walking up the stairs,
A teenage poet, millionaire.
In old age no wavy white hair,
But nonetheless-
Happy times on balconies,
Impaling insects, playing chess.
As a writer you would force, not Tamara,
But Masha, on the bridge to wait.
Real lives of knights you'd create
Princedoms you would allocate
Chernychevsky you'd berate
Iris you'd lock in a maze
Of clues she could not understand
Even tyrants from the page you'd raise,
Then, with an artful sleight of hand,
you'd destroy what you'd just made.
But oh those shivers down the spine, those thrills,
That you could make appear by will,
With a craftsmanship unheard,
With the magic of mere words,
Like a waxwing, unslain,
They live on, fly on,
Beyond the skyline of the page.
Iris Neva
[EDNOTE. This poem reflects some of VN's own "beautiful lines kicking around" in the author's mind. The pseudonymous Iris Neva -- who occasionally uses, instead, the equally Nabokovian anagram "Eva Sirin" -- claims that this is only the fifth poem she has ever written. Many happy returns! -- SES.]
Search the archive: http://listserv.ucsb.edu/archives/nabokv-l.html
Search archive with Google:
http://www.google.com/advanced_search?q=site:listserv.ucsb.edu&HL=en
Contact the Editors: mailto:nabokv-l@utk.edu,nabokv-l@holycross.edu
Visit Zembla: http://www.libraries.psu.edu/nabokov/zembla.htm
View Nabokv-L policies: http://web.utk.edu/~sblackwe/EDNote.htm