reciting russian

Yesterday my Russian Poetry professor told us that for our final exam, we could either take a test or memorize poetry. We chose the latter. The conditions: four different poems of at least 16 lines each, from four different poets. So at least 64 lines of poetry, in Russian, to be recited all at once in front of the class (of, granted, only four people), in early December. Hmm. That sounds difficult. So for once I decided not to procrastinate. Today I picked out the four poems, wrote them out, and stuck them on my bathroom mirror to be read and reread for the next month. And hopefully memorized. The poems I chose add up to 74 lines altogether. Yikes. But one of them is one of my favorite pieces of Russian poetry ever. By Aleksandr Pushkin. This man was such a genius. Every time I read anything of his I am amazed and impressed anew. Seriously. Good stuff here.

So, this is the Pushkin poem I'm memorizing:

Я помню чудное мгновенье:
Передо мной явилась ты,
Как мимолетное виденье,
Как гений чистой красоты.

В томленьях грусти безнадежной
В тревогах шумной суеты,
Звучал мне долго голос нежный
И снились милые черты.

Шли годы. Бурь порыв мятежный
Рассеял прежние мечты,
И я забыл твой голос нежный,
Твой небесные черты.

В глуши, во мраке заточенья
Тянулись тихо дни мои
Без божества, без вдохновенья,
Без слез, без жизни, без любви.

Душе настало пробужденье:
И вот опять явилась ты,
Как мимолетное виденье,
Как гений чистой красоты.

И сердце бьется в упоенье,
И для него воскресли вновь
И божество, и вдохновенье,
И жизнь, и слезы, и любовь.

And my anthology textbook has a prose translation, which I'm typing out for the 90% of my readers who don't speak Russian:

I remember the wonderful moment: you appeared before me like a fleeting vision, like a spirit of pure beauty.
As I languished in hopeless melancholy, amid the anxieties of the noisy and restless world, your tender voice long echoed in my mind, and I dreamt of your beloved features.
Years passed. The storm's turbulent gusts scattered the dreams of yore, and I forgot your tender voice and your heavenly features.
In a remote corner of the earth, in the darkness of exile, my days dragged slowly on, without divinity, without inspiration, without tears, without life, without love.
Awakening came to my soul: and lo, you appeared again, like a fleeting vision, like a spirit of pure beauty.
And my heart beats in ecstasy, and once more within it divinity, inspiration, tears and love are born.

Well...uh...it sounds better in Russian. Much better. You'll have to trust me on that.