re: Catherine
I am generally of the opinion that poems should stand on their own, without prose supplements. As the events referenced are two and a quarter centuries gone, however, some explanation might be in order. This poem is a response to an untitled poem of Pushkin’s, “Мне жаль великия жены […]”, reproduced, along with machine translation, below. Pushkin’s poem is a lament for Catherine the Great’s death, which I have in no way attempted to translate; rather, I offer an English poem inspired by the piece–and with an English twist.
Catherine the Great is one of the most storied monarchs of European history. She was born a minor German princess, who eventually intrigued into marriage with Peter III of Russia. Much more popular than her husband, she and a collection of coconspirators/paramours overthrew her husband and seized control of the Tsardom six months after he ascended to the throne. She oversaw a wide expansion of the Russian empire, and brought Enlightenment philosophies and ideals to the Russian court. She was particularly (in)famous for her large collection of lovers, particularly younger men, who she rewarded with great power in the empire. Pushkin recounts many of these lover-generals and statesman in his poem, recounting the triumphs of a growing Great Power of Europe. For my part, the glories of conquered land have waned over the last two centuries: indeed, an avaricious Russia today has illegally invaded and occupied parts of Ukraine, using Catherine’s colonization of Crimea as a justification for their right to control the region. Even a century after the Bolsheviks abolished the Tsardom, Catherine’s legend resonates in the modern world. I focus instead on Catherine’s connection with the Enlightenment and Russian serfs, perhaps the greatest hypocrisy of her reign. Despite Catherine’s close relationship with many enlightenment philosophes, particularly Voltaire, she refused to end the practice of serfdom in Russia. Though she reformed the serfdom by instituting bureaucratic organizations to hold land owners accountable for abuse of their serfs, this was done at the expense of their right to petition Catherine directly, and goes far short of true justice for the serf population.
To the poetry. Pushkin’s poem is a typical rhyming poem without a clear fixed structure, recounting the many glories Catherine gathered to the Russian throne. Amusingly, while he honors the great Tsar, his metaphor for her death (“Wrote orders, burned fleets, // And died, boarding a ship”) is a double entendre in Russian: “boarding a ship” is a Russian euphemism for getting on the toilet. Indeed a popular (and as far as I can tell, likely true) legend of Catherine’s death is that she died while on the toilet. This is a minor ignominy compared to the (certainly apocryphal) legend which became popular in America.* In America, popular legend holds that Catherine died while attempting to have intercourse with a horse, after a suspending rope failed.
The Russian euphemism defies easy poetic translation into English, requiring some major change of the issued symbolism. It further suffers that dying in the bathroom doesn’t match the scandal of the English speaking world’s legend of horse intercourse. However, I do think an English adaptation is possible, replacing Pushkin’s double entendre with an equine triple entendre! As noted above, I have otherwise simply written my own poem about Catherine, rather than attempting to translate Pushkin. The form is an Onegin stanza, also known as a Pushkin sonnet.
* My Russian friends tell me they have only ever heard this legend from Americans, but I’ve conducted no true census. Update 11/27: I’ve been informed that this is also the popular story in Greece.
re: Catherine
The winter augurs picked and sorted
Between old Ursa’s organs. Her heart
By angel paramours transported
Above, and Rus left torn apart—
She brought respect and land and glory,
Enlightenment to Russia’s hoary
Shores—she was the first friend of Voltaire
(Though serfs would find her oaths as air).
She led, she ruled, her new lands charted,
She died to armies reinforce,
To see her men about their horse—
And lying down with them she parted.
Now darkness. Russia still awaits
A Light—a Catherine—a Great.
Pushkin’s poem
Мне жаль великия жены,
Жены, которая любила
Все роды славы: дым войны
И дым парнасского кадила.
Мы Прагой ей одолжены,
И просвещеньем, и Тавридой,
И посрамлением Луны,
И мы прозвать должны
Ее Минервой, Аонидой.
В аллеях Сарского Села
Она с Державиным, с Орловым
Беседы мудрые вела —
С Делипьем — иногда с Барковым.
Старушка милая жила
Приятно и немного блудно,
Вольтеру первый друг была,
Наказ писала, флоты жгла,
И умерла, садясь на судно.
С тех пор мгла.
Россия, бедная держава,
Твоя удавленная слава
С Екатериной умерла.
Machine translation of Pushkin’s poem
I unfortunately could not locate a poetic English translation of Pushkin’s poem. In the absence of something human, here is a machine translation. I make no claims as to its quality, it is here simply for want of better options. If a native Russian speaker would like to offer corrections, I would be much obliged.
I feel sorry for the great wife,
The wife who loved
All kinds of glory: the smoke of war
And the smoke of the Parnassian censer.
We owe her Prague,
And enlightenment, and Taurida,
And the disgrace of the Moon,
And we must call her
Minerva, Aonida.
In the alleys of Sarskoe Selo
She with Derzhavin, with Orlov
Conducted wise conversations —
With Delipie — sometimes with Barkov.
The dear old lady lived
Pleasantly and a little fornicatingly,
She was Voltaire’s first friend,
Wrote orders, burned fleets,
And died, boarding a ship.
Since then darkness.
Russia, poor state,
Your strangled glory
Died with Catherine.