Marina Tsvetaeva, Her Life in Poems - Rolf Gross

Imperial Theater, one of her temporary flames, described her place: “... an unheated
house, sometimes without light, a bare apartment... Alya sleeping behind a screen
surrounded by her drawings... no fuel for the wretched stove... The stairs dark and cold,
the bannister had been partially removed (firewood for the stove), and there were three
treacherous steps at the bottom...” [VS p.132] Bundled in blankets little Irina slept on an
easy-chair. The habitat of a confused poet Alya called it a shipwreck – and Marina a
slum. In order to buy food for them and milk for Irina, Marina slowly sold their
possessions on the Moscow flea markets – including many of her beloved books. She
admits to stealing bread for her children from the tables of her friends, when she was
invited for coffee and pastry.
It was to get worse in the second winter of 1920-1921. After Efron's relatives
declined to take the children, in November of 1919, Marina saw herself forced to send
her children to an orphange in Kuntsevo near Moscow– she calls it a shelter. It was
supported by American food donations.
A month later the shelter notified her that Alya had become seriously ill. She rushed
there, bundled up Alya and carried her home. Irina appeared emaciated but not ill. She
left her behind. At home Alya ran a roller-coaster of temperatures around 40 deg C (82
F). By January she seemed to get better only to come down with a third fever attack
three weeks later. The doctor finally decided that she had malaria.
And then on February 3, 1920 Irina died, apparently of neglect and starvation. In a
letter to Vera Zvagyntseva and her husband Alexander Erofeev, her closest friends at the
time, Marina writes:
Moscow, 7 February 1920, Friday
My friends!
I have to tell you of a great sorrow: Irina died at the shelter – on the 3rd of February,
four days ago. And it is all my fault. I was so busy caring for Alya - and so afraid to go
to the shelter that I put hope into fate...
And now this happened, and nothing can reverse it. I learned this by accident. I went to
the League of Salvation, to find out about a sanatorium for Alya- and suddenly
Kuntsevsky came up - I recognized him. He called, "Are you Mrs. Efron” and when I
confirmed, he said, “Your child has died without illness from weakness.” - And I did not
go to the funeral. Alya had a temperatute of 40.7 on that day - and to tell you the truth,
- I just couldn't.... I still think that this must be a bad dream, and that I must wake
up.... Many people will now conclude that it is all my fault, my adventurism, my making
light of my difficulties, my monstous health, my endurance.... We all have a husband, a
father, a brother - I have only Alya, and Alya was sick, and all I did was to attend to her.
– Explain to me, other women forget their children over balls - lovers - celebrations.
My celebration of life has been my poetry, but I did not forget Irina because of my
poetry. – In the last two months I did not write anything! And most horrible! - I did not
forget her, did not forget her all this time. Despaired I told myself, "When Alya recovers,
I am going to take care of Irina."- And now it is too late.
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