Posts from March 2010

Do Russians take their «поговорки и пословицы» [pl. proverbs and sayings] seriously? I think so, but I’ll let you decide for yourselves – here’s the Russian proverb «тише едешь, дальше будешь» [lit. ‘the slower you go, the farther you’ll get’] in action placed on a sign over one of Yekaterinburg’s busiest streets.

Not only do Russians often comment on occurrences in every day life by using «пословица» [a proverb] or «поговорка» [a saying], sometimes they’ll even use «цитаты» [pl. quotes] from famous Russian and/or classic Soviet movies which «вошли в пословицу» [past tense: became proverbial]. Not always will these quotations fit the situation in question, but Russians are not strangers to adaptation. For example, when things didn’t work out with my boyfriend I explained it to my professor here at Ural State University by saying: «мне не везёт в любви» [I’m unlucky in love]. As an answer to this he told me: «не повезёт в любви, так повезёт в смерти» [”if (you’re) not lucky in love, then (you’ll) get lucky in death”]. This expression was actually nothing else but a reversal of the famous quote «не повезёт в смерти, так повезёт в любви» [“if (you’re) not lucky in death, then (you’ll) get lucky in love] from the classic Soviet movie «Белое солнце пустыни» [“White Sun of the Desert”]. Russians do this all the time – comment on every day life by using sometimes quotes from movies, sometimes century old proverbs, sometimes reversing them around to fit certain specific circumstances. Not always do they get it right (see the above-described incident with my Russian professor!), but they almost always succeed with one thing: «путать иностранца» [impfv. to confuse the foreigner].

I remember the first time we discussed the proverb «тише едешь, дальше будешь» in class back when I was still a beginner of Russian studying the language in Siberia. The expression made no sense to me at all when I translated it literally as: “the slower you go, the further you’ll be”. How can that be? How can I get further if I’m going slower? Where’s the logic here? It took me a long time before I realized what this proverb actually meant: “if you do something fast and sloppy then it won’t give good results”. The first thing we should know about Russian proverbs is that they often place the verb in second person singular – leaving the pronoun «ты» [you] out of the sentence, though. But by doing this proverbs and sayings are not actually pointing at ‘you!’ as an individual but at everyone together. This is in Russian called «безличная конструкция» [an impersonal construction] and uses either a verb in second person singular – like «едешь» above – or a verb in third person plural – like in the expression «говорят» literally ‘they say’ but usually it means ‘it is said’ (meaning we don’t know who ‘they’ are). When dealing with the above-mentioned proverb the second thing we should take into account is what exactly the word «тише» means in this context.

«Тише» is comparative to both the adverb «тихо» [quietly; softly; slowly] and the adjective «тихий» [soft, low; quiet, still; calm, tranquil]. One way of using the adverb together with its comparative version – as a simple illustration – could be like this: «он говорил тихо» [he spoke quietly] but «она говорила тише» [she spoke more quietly]. The adverb together with an exclamation mark – like this: «тихо!» - means ‘take it easy!’ or ‘be careful!’. Thus saying «тише!» as an interjection translates into English as ‘quiet!’ or a ‘please be quiet!’

«Тише» as comparative to the adjective «тихий» can be illustrated like this: «вчера была тихая ночь» [last night was a calm night] but «сегодня ночь тише» [tonight the night is calmer]. (I know this example is pretty crappy and maybe not really what could be used in real life, but hey! the grammar’s alright anyway). This adjective is also used in the following expressions: «тихий ход!» [(as a warning to drivers in dangerous areas or after a road accident) drive slowly!] and «тихий час» [hour of rest (on hospitals, kindergartens etc)].

«Тише» can be found also in another Russian proverb, but this time it doesn’t mean ‘slower, more carefully’ as in the previous proverb using it, but ‘quieter’: «тише воды, ниже травы» [lit. ‘quieter than water, lower than the grass’]. An English equivalent of this proverb I think it would be “quite as a mouse” (that’s how it is translated into Swedish anyway). What do you think? Which English proverb would you translate it into? And not only this one, but also the first one – «тише едешь, дальше будешь»?

I think it would be safe to say that Russians take their proverbs very seriously – seriously enough to put them up on their roads (where they lose their figurative meaning and acquire their ‘original’ connotation) as a way to make drivers slow down – for they’ll get farther in the end anyway!

We, Russians, are very proud of our literary heritage and justifiably so. After all, Russia «подарила миру» [gave the world a gift of] “War and Peace”, “Crime and Punishment”, “Master and Margarita”… And then there are the poets.

Russian children's bookBack during the «Золотой век русской поэзии» [Golden Age of Russian poetry] there were  Pushkin, Lermontov, Tyutchev. «Серебрянный век» [Silver Age] saw Bunin, Block, Tsvetayeva, among others. And contemporary poets, such as Leonid Aronzon, Elena Shvartz, and Petr Cheigin, are a part of the post-Brodsky «Бронзовый век» [Bronze Age].

So do you think «простые русские люди» [regular Russian people] have the love of written word instilled in them from early childhood? And if so, maybe it can be replicated through careful «воспитание» [nurture] and «образование» [education].

It is true that from a very young age Russian children are enveloped in the «ритмичные стихи» [lilting rhymes]. Starting «с детского сада» [at around pre-school age], Russian children are expected to «заучивать наизусть» [memorize] some of these poems.

It all starts with simple nursery rhymes about broken toys and balls thrown into streams. So far, so good – the rhymes are simple, short and, if told to an adoring «бабушка» [grandmother] at dinner or, say, to «Дед Мороз» [Father Frost] at «утренник» [children’s party] can earn one a treat.

Yes, children are (or at least were until recently) expected to recite poetry at special events, holiday parties, and birthdays. Frankly, I don’t remember getting anything more than a pat on the head for all my efforts, but my classmates supposedly got candy and even «игрушки» [toys].

So if you want to «окунуться» [immerse yourself] in Russian poetry, you have to start with something very basic. And what can be more basic than Agniya Barto’s poems for children:

 «Уронили мишку на пол,

Оторвали мишке лапу…»

 [Teddy bear was dropped on the floor

Someone tore off teddy bear’s paw…]

 From this, you can move on to S. Marshak, B. Zahoder and the grandfather of children’s poetry, K. Chukovsky.

 As you feel more and more comfortable, you can leave the kindergarten and first grade rhymes behind and tackle select poetry by Bunin (3rd grade reading requirement), Ahmatova and Blok (6th grade), or Lermontov (9th grade).

 And once you’re ok with memorizing poetry, it’s time to commit paragraph-long abstracts of prose to memory as well, starting with Turgenev’s famous

 «Во дни сомнений, во дни тягостных раздумий о судьбах моей родины,- ты один мне поддержка и опора, о великий, могучий, правдивый и свободный русский язык!»

 [In times of doubt, in times of painful reflections on the fates of my motherland, you are my only support and reliance, the grand, mighty, truthful and free Russian language!]

 All this is supposed to be memorized and recited «с выражением» [with feelings], in front of one’s entire class.

 By the time Russian students enter college their heads are full of bits and pieces of poems and snippets of prose that they can recall at the drop of a hat. How does it help in the daily life of average Russians? Stay tuned…

 P.S. If you are pressed for time, remember these three simple bits:

  1. «великий, могучий русский язык» [the grand, mighty Russian language] – Turgenev’s poem in prose on the beauty of Russian language.
  2. «умом Россию не понять!» [Russian can’t be understood with the mind alone] – Tyutchev’s famous line evoked every time Russians discuss Russia’s unique fate
  3. «коня на скаку остановит, в горящую избу войдет!» [will stop a galloping horse, will enter a burning izba] – Nekrasov’s description of the strength and endurance, physical and spiritual,of Russian women.

Used appropriately around dinner table, these just might get you a pat on the back and a designation of «свой человек!» [one of our own people].

P.P.S. If you are really interested, this is a great electronic library with links to Russian literary classics and full texts of their works (all in Russian).

It’s that time of the year when many Russians get ready for another «дачный сезон» [dacha season]. «Дача» is something I came to think of as uniquely Russian. You can see it translated into English as an allotment, a vacation home, a house in a country, a summer cottage, a hobby farm or a weekend retreat. Yet none of these translations truly reflects the meaning of the word «дача» which is a combination of all of these things.

 What do Russians call their dachas? Well, there’s of course the good old «дача». There’s also «шесть соток» [six hundreds, referring to the size of a typical dacha plot - 600 sq meters]. Then there’s the ironic «фазенда» [a hacienda], adopted back in the early 90s after Russians lived through the Brazilian teleseries «Рабыня Изаура» [Isaural the Slave Girl; lit: Escrava Isaura].

The history of dachas goes back to the early 19th century. The first dachas were the places for the well-off townsfolk to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city life, especially in summer. A lot has changed in the last 200 years, yet many dacha owners still view their «надел» [plot of land] as a refuge and a vacation destination.

 «Чем в дом отдыха на море, лучше к нам на дачу приезжай!» [Instead of going to a sea-side resort, you better come over to our dacha!]

 In Soviet Union, dacha owners couldn’t build any structures on their plots. Then the regulations were relaxed to allow small, under 25 sq meters (225 sq feet) buildings with no electricity and indoor plumbing. In other words, the dacha was where one «должен пахать, а не баклуши бить» [must toil, not waste time in trivial pursuits]. After Perestroika, the 25 sq meter limit was dropped altogether.

 Of course, there were always two different types of dachas – «для простых людей» [for ordinary people] and «элитные дачи» [dachas for social elite, such as academics, generals, Communist Party functionaries, etc]. The later ones, as you might imagine, were bigger, better, and more conveniently or scenically located; some of them were downright palatial in size and amenities. These were the dachas for leisure and entertainment, not for growing tomatoes.

Old Soviet Dacha

I found this photo on Mikolka.info in a post titled Soviet Dream in Action ( http://www.mikolka.info/2007/08/28/the-soviet-dream-in-action/) and loved it! It’s an old-style dacha complete with my favorite Soviet car, the Zaporozhetz (except this one is the 40-horse-power model and it’s orange). 

The dachas for ordinary people, on the other hand, were less than scenic. I remember very well when my family received our dacha in the late 80s. We all got into our baby-blue «Запорожец» [a relic Soviet car with a 30-horse-power engine and no air conditioning] and drove fifty miles to the entrance to our «садоводо-огородническое товарищество» [dacha community; lit. garden-vegetable community] and another 3 miles over a rutted dirt road to our 600 square meter allotment. And what an allotment it was!

 Imagine a flat rectangle of former «колхозная» [belonging to a collective farm] land, depleted of all nutrients and overgrown with «сорняки» [weeds]. The nearest «пляж» [beach] was 30 minutes away and no scenic «луг» [meadow] or «роща» [grove] anywhere near.

 All around us were similar newly minted dachas, some already fenced in and sporting freshly built outhouses. These were the first two improvements every sensible dacha owner made – «забор» [fence] and «туалет» [toilet, here - an outhouse].

Pretty soon, however, «сараи» [tool sheds] would be erected next to the outhouses; «грядки» [vegetable beds] laid out; «фруктовые деревья и ягодные кусты» [fruit trees and berry bushes] planted. And then the owners would start building their tiny «дачный домик» [cottage].

 A few years later, the wasteland would be turned, square meter by square meter, into a beautiful garden with enough fruits and vegetables, except potatoes, to support «среднестатистическая семья» [an average family] for a year. Every weekend and a few times during the week, this average family would drive their «машина» [car] or ride «автобус» [bus] to their dacha. Once there, they’d plant, water, weed, and harvest until it was time to go to bed or to go home.

 From November to February, dacha owners led regular lives with maybe just one or two quick winter trips to their “haciendas” to make sure trees were overwintering ok and thieves didn’t break into cottages.

 But come March, the windowsills of dacha owners’ apartments would become crowded with tiny «овощная рассада» [vegetable seedlings, plantings]. Soon after that, with the first warm days, «переполненные автобусы» [overcrowded buses] would fill up with people carrying «лопаты» [shovels], «мотыги» [spades] and «грабли» [rakes].

 As the economy stabilized, the attitude towards dacha as an intensive mini-farm has relaxed. More land is now given to flowers, evergreens, lawns, water features and areas for grilling and relaxing. Once again, it seems that dachas are emerging as places to get away from it all and enjoy quiet evenings and endless conversations over a bowl of freshly-picked «малина со сметаной» [raspberries with sour cream].

Guess what we’re going to learn today? Today we’re going to learn how to count in Russian! Or what that would sound like expressed in Russian: «считать по-русски» [to count in Russian]. The imperfect verb «считать» actually has two meanings; only the first one being ‘to compute, calculate; count, enumerate’, whereas the second meaning is ‘to figure, think; repute, regard as’. That’s why there’s a huge difference in meaning between the following two sentences using one and the same verb: «я считаю, что ты – дурак» [I think you’re an idiot] and «я считаю до ста» [I’m counting to hundred (note that there’s no stress on the preposition here, but it is pronounced like «да»!)]. You could also spice up the first sentence a bit and have fun with everybody’s favorite instrumental case and say instead: «я считаю тебя дураком» [I think you’re an idiot]. The connotation remains the same. But today’s post is not about that so let’s not elaborate anymore but get down to business! The first thing you should know about counting in Russian is that usually Russians start counting not by saying «один, два, три…» [one, two, three…] but «раз, два, три» [one, two, three…]. Here the word «раз» [time; occasion] is in singular and thus hinting at being one as in «один раз» [one time; one occasion]. The numbers one and two are different depending on what noun they’re followed by – «один» for masculine nouns, «одна» for feminine, «одно» for neuter and «одни» for plural. Okay so at first it might sound very strange that Russian language has a version of the number ‘one’ for nouns that are in plural (usually plural in itself means that something is more than just ONE, right?). But Russian language has plenty of nouns that only exist in plural despite them being singular in many other languages, like «ножницы» [scissors], «сумерки» [twilight] and «сутки» [day, period of 24 hours] for example. Here’s how this rule looks when applied to different nouns:

«один мальчик» - [one boy].

«одна девушка» - [one girl].

«одно окно» – [one window].

«одни сутки» - [one day; one peroid of 24 hours].

When it comes to the number two, then the rule is that «два» goes both for masculine, neuter and plural nouns and «две» applies for feminine. After the numbers «два», «две» [two], «три» [three] and «четыре» [four] the nouns are always in GENITIVE SINGULAR. This rule can be illustrated rather simply like this:

«два мальчика/окна» - [two boys/windows].

«две девушки» – [two girls].

This also goes for all the other Russian numbers ending with two, three or four:

«двадцать два мальчика» – [twenty-two boys].

«тридцать три девушки» – [thirty-three girls].

«сорок четыре окна» – [forty-four windows].

After all the rest of Russian numbers the case used is GENITIVE PLURAL:

«пять мальчиков» – [five boys].

«десять девушек» – [ten girls].

«пятьдесят шесть суток» – [fifty-six days].

«сто окон» – [a hundred windows].

Here’s the numbers 0 – 100 in Russian! Mind the stress when pronouncing them out loud! That’s what the stress is there for anyway… (Russians count using only the ‘masculine’ forms of the numbers, by the way).

0 – «нуль» or «ноль»

1 – «один» or «одна» or «одно» or «одни»

2 – «два» or «две»

3 – «три»

4 – «четыре»

5 – «пять»

6 – «шесть»

7 – «семь»

8 – «восемь»

9 – «девять»

10 – «десять»

11 – «одиннадцать»

12 – «двенадцать»

13 – «тринадцать»

14 – «четырнадцать»

15 – «пятнадцать»

16 – «шестнадцать»

17 – «семнадцать»

18 – «восемнадцать»

19 – «девятнадцать»

20 – «двадцать»

21 – «двадцать один/одна/одно»

22 – «двадцать два/две»

23 – «двадцать три»

24 – «двадцать четыре»

25 – «двадцать пять»

26 – «двадцать шесть»

27 – «двадцать семь»

28 – «двадцать восемь»

29 – «двадцать девять»

30 – «тридцать»

31 – «тридцать один/одна/одно»

32 – «тридцать два/две»

33 – «тридцать три»

34 – «тридцать четыре»

35 – «тридцать пять»

36 – «тридцать шесть»

37 – «тридцать семь»

38 – «тридцать восемь»

39 – «тридцать девять»

40 – «сорок»

41 – «сорок один/одна/одно»

42 – «сорок два/две»

43 – «сорок три»

44 – «сорок четыре»

45 – «сорок пять»

46 – «сорок шесть»

47 – «сорок семь»

48 – «сорок восемь»

49 – «сорок девять»

50 – «пятьдесят»

51 – «пятьдесят один/одна/одно»

52 – «пятьдесят два/две»

53 – «пятьдесят три»

54 – «пятьдесят четыре»

55 – «пятьдесят пять»

56 – «пятьдесят шесть»

57 – «пятьдесят семь»

58 – «пятьдесят восемь»

59 – «пятьдесят девять»

60 – «шестьдесят»

61 – «шестьдесят один/одна/одно»

62 – «шестьдесят два/две»

63 – «шестьдесят три»

64 – «шестьдесят четыре»

65 – «шестьдесят пять»

66 – «шестьдесят шесть»

67 – «шестьдесят семь»

68 – «шестьдесят восемь»

69 – «шестьдесят девять»

70 – «семьдесят»

71 – «семьдесят один/одна/одно»

72 – «семьдесят два/две»

73 – «семьдесят три»

74 – «семьдесят четыре»

75 – «семьдесят пять»

76 – «семьдесят шесть»

77 – «семьдесят семь»

78 – «семьдесят восемь»

79 – «семьдесят девять»

80 – «восемьдесят»

81 – «восемьдесят один/одна/одно»

82 – «восемьдесят два/две»

83 – «восемьдесят три»

84 – «восемьдесят четыре»

85 – «восемьдесят пять»

86 – «восемьдесят шесть»

87 – «восемьдесят семь»

88 – «восемьдесят восемь»

89 – «восемьдесят девять»

90 – «девяносто»

91 – «девяносто один/одна/одно»

92 – «девяносто два/две»

93 – «девяносто три»

94 – «девяносто четыре»

95 – «девяносто пять»

96 – «девяносто шесть»

97 – «девяносто семь»

98 – «девяносто восемь»

99 – «девяносто девять»

100 – «сто»

And here’s a little extra for those of you who have already counted to a hundred and back again and forward for the second time and thus learnt all the numbers in Russian by heart already:

200 – «двести»

300 – «триста»

400 – «четыреста»

500 – «пятьсот»

600 – «шестьсот»

700 – «семьсот»

800 – «восемьсот»

900 – «девятьсот»

1000 – «(одна) тысяча»

Now next time when we’re talking numbers in Russian, let’s focus on how to say different years… How do you say, for example, the following sentence correctly: «Русский писатель Венедикт Ерофеев родился в 1938 году» [The Russian writer Venedikt Yerofeev was born in 1938]?

P.S. if you’re native you can’t answer this question! Вам же это вообще нетрудно!

Well, that’s an interesting question to start the new week with, now isn’t it: «Сколько ты знаешь о России?» [How much do you know about Russia?]. There may be several answers to this question. In Russian these answers might look and sound like any of the four below (or come up with your own!):

«Ответ нескромных» [Answer of the immodest]: «Я знаю всё о России» [I know everything about Russia].

«Ответ тех, кто поскромнее» [Answer of those who are a bit more modest]: «Я знаю много о России» [I know a lot about Russia].

«Ответ скромных» [Answer of the modest]: «Я знаю мало о России» [I know little about Russia].

«Ответ уж очень скромных» [Answer of those who are very modest]: «Я ничего не знаю о России» [I don’t know anything about Russia].

 No matter what your initial and perhaps automatic answer to this question may be, here’s a quiz that you can take (in English) and find out what your knowledge actually amounts to: Do the Russia Quiz! And because this quiz finishes with a question containing an open hint (or hidden invitation) for everybody to come visit «Урал» [the Urals] here’s a fresh picture of what it’s like in the Urals in late March 2010 (taken by me earlier this evening):

«Холод и снег – неотделимые составляющие русской зимы» [Cold and snow – inseperable components of the Russian winter]. «Но когда, когда же зима кончится?» [But when, when will the winter end?] «И когда, когда же начнётся наконец-то весна[And when, when will the spring finally begin?]

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