Yataghan? – Fire? …

Oh, human souls! You have to be sisters to one another, not lovers!
Marina Tsvetaeva

Yataghan? – Fire?
Oh, much more modest, why so pompous!
Pain you know as your palm is known to your eyes,
As the name of your baby is known to your lips.


(Translated by V. Enyutin)

According to the poem, love is a pain that wasn’t inflicted. The person we love is made by our pain, is its work of art.

Love as the pain of knowing our destiny is defined by Tsvetaeva as the ability to overcome indifference. Love is stored in our soul as pain – excess of vulnerability.

To give a name to a baby is a poetic act of humankind. It is giving birth, inside language, to our very ability to self-reflect. Our baby’s name is giving a kiss to our very destiny to give birth to love.

Pain without a blow is also a pain without masochism, without pleasure. It is pain that can be transformed into a gift. Love is a transformation of pain into kiss. The name of the baby is a memory of this kiss.

Tsvetaeva with her daughter Ariadna