Posts tagged w/ russian history

Word of the Week: «Время» [Time]

Posted by Josefina

Sometimes Russian Blog’s Word of the Week is solely grammatically interesting, sometimes purely culturally or historically fascinating. Seldom can our Russian word of the week be both. But this week’s word is actually both! The Russian word «время» [time] is grammatically interesting because it is a neuter noun despite ending on «я» [ya] (which is usually the marker for feminine nouns) and has a highly intriguing declension in the six cases (just wait for it!) that might confuse you the first time but is well worth learning by heart. The Russian concept «время» [time] is culturally and historically fascinating since Russia is an enormous country with a total of eleven time zones. And that’s even though the entire «европейская часть России» [European part of Russia (that's all of Russia in front of the Ural Mountains)] has one and the same time - colloquially as well as officially known as «московское время» [Moscow time]. Historically the time in Moscow has been more important than the time in the rest of the ten Russian time zones; for example, all train times are according to «московское время». Though on your train tickets you’ll see that this is written as «время московское» [the change would make it correct to translate as ‘the time is Moscow time']. On plane tickets, however, the time marked for take-off and landing is always «время местное» [local time]. In Russia one often meets Moscow time on TV (news are often broadcast according to the capital), and also on the radio - yet after a while you will have learned to ignore it and apprehend that the popular provincial saying from the Soviet times: «Что Москва? Москва далеко» [What about Moscow? Moscow's far away], is very true indeed.

If you don’t live in Moscow and listen to the radio «в провинции» [in the province] you might hear the following: «Сейчас два часа дня по Москве». Probably you understand the part about ‘now it is two o’clock [p.m.]‘ but what does «по Москве» mean? Clearly not “on Moscow”. It is actually short for «по московскому времени» [according to Moscow time].

When talking about «время» [time] in Russian language and culture we could also bring up the Russian approach to time. What makes the Russian approach different from our own (now I mean to compare mostly with European or Western approach to time, since that’s closest to home for me)? Is it simply prejudice to say that «русские всегда опаздывают» [Russians are always late] or is there some truth to it? Speaking from my own personal experience I have to admit that it’s more than just a little bit true; even though one should always keep in mind that «все русские разные» [all Russians are different]. During five years in Russia I’ve learned that it is best to tell Russians to be somewhere at 11.30, for example, if you want to be sure that they’ll have arrived in time for 12.00. I don’t know why a majority of Russians can never be on time - is it because their lives are so full of stress? That they have too much to do? Or is it due to those «бесконечные пробки на улицах» [endless trafficjams on the streets] which we cannot even imagine before we’ve seen them (not to speak of getting stuck in one of them!)? When I discussed this with one of my professors in Yekaterinburg she said that before, «в советские времена» [in Soviet times], people weren’t at all late as often as they are now. She said it’s mostly «молодёжь» [young people; youth] that is never on time in Russia today. I couldn’t argue with her, obviously, since I’ve never lived in the Soviet Union due to being born in the beginning of «перестройка» ['perestroika' - or, more correctly translated as reconstruction; conversion; realignment; alteration]. That’s why I don’t know what kind of approach the average «гражданин Советского союза» [citizen of the Soviet Union] had. Maybe someone of you readers know more about this? Maybe someone has seen ‘time’ in both the Soviet Union and the Russian Federation?

Okay, enough with the cultural ponderings - let’s decline this noun!

A good way of showing what happens to «время» [time] in the six cases depending on whether it’s SINGULAR or PLURAL («времена» [times] - did you see how the stress just jumped from being on the first vowel in singular to the last in plural? Now that’s confusing to me!) is to give twelve sentences in which this word is portrayed in all of its twelve forms. Okay? Let’s do it then!

«ЕДИНСТВЕННОЕ ЧИСЛО» [SINGULAR]:

Nominative: «Время - деньги» - [Time is money].

Genitive: «У меня нет времени» - [I don't have the time].

Dative: «Поезд придёт в Иркутск в пять часов утра по местному времени» - [The train arrives in Irkutsk at five in the morning according to local time].

Accusative: «Какое время года ты любишь?» - [What time of the year do you love?]

Locative: «Он не ориентируется во времени и пространстве» - [He doesn't orientate himself in time and space].

Instrumental: «Со временем ты меня поймёшь» - [With time you'll understand me].

«МНОЖЕСТВЕННОЕ ЧИСЛО» [PLURAL]:

Nominative: «Что за новые времена - [What kind of new times are these!]

Genitive: «Кто сейчас помнит нравы старых времён?» - [Who remembers the manners of old times now?]

Dative: «А ты скучаешь по старым временам?» - [(But) do you miss the old times?]

Accusative: «Я-то стараюсь забыть старые времена - [I for one try to forget the old times!]

Locative: «Не будем говорить о старых временах тогда» - [Let's not talk about the old times then].

Instrumental: «Всё изменится с новыми временами» - [Everything will change with the new times].

I hope that you found these twelve sentences to be helpful and that you’ll be able to forgive me for only using the word combinations «новые времена» [new times] and «старые времена» [old times] in plural. Suddenly, while writing this post, I came to suffer from instant brain freeze and couldn’t come up with any other combinations in which you use the word ‘time’ in plural in Russian. If anyone else out there has a clue, please leave it in a comment! I love to read your comments; they help me make this blog better. And I really want this blog to be the best - the best for learning Russian and keeping one’s affectionate feelings for Russian culture in the best of shapes.

 

«Вести дневник» [To Write a Diary], or «Крутой маршрут» Евгении Гинзбург [Yevgenia Ginzburg's “Journey into the Whirlwind”]

Posted by Josefina

Don’t let the fact that it takes a while to pronounce the long title above today scare you from reading today’s post! This long title is an attempt of mine to combine two equally interesting subjects worthy of one post each but really also equally interconnected with each other and thus worthy of being mentioned in one sentence (like the sentence I used in today’s complicated title above). Do I have your attention? Then «давай!» [come on!] and hear me out on this one. Have you ever tried keeping a diary in Russian? «Это хорошая идея, и, на самом деле, очень даже хорошая идея» [It is a good idea and in fact a very good idea indeed]. It could be a simple way of practicing the language at least a couple of times a week, if you, for example, keep finding yourself unable to write something every single day. I have never actually tried it myself (yet!), but during my years as a student of Russian language in Russia I’ve met many other students from around the world that have been accurate keepers of such ‘practice diaries’ in Russian. Perhaps this phenomenon could be called something like «дневники для практики языка» [diaries for language practice] in Russian? Some of my fellow students have been so persistent in their diary writing that they have given their notebooks to their professors for proof reading and thus also grammar correction every week.

What’s important to know before you start writing your Russian diary is that in Russian you do not «писать» [write] but actually «вести» [lead, conduct, guide; drive, navigate, pilot; carry on; hold, keep; prosecute, carry out an activity; give, transact] your «дневник» [diary; journal; day book]. If that was too many English verbs to one Russian verb for you to handle, then focus on the translation of «вести» here as ‘to keep’ and you’ll understand the phrase «я веду дневник» as ‘I keep a diary’ and can be fully content with this as it is a completely satisfactory comprehension of it. You’ll also be able to answer the question «ты ведёшь дневник?» [do you keep a diary?] (that’s the informal way to inquire, the formal way would of course be: «Вы ведёте дневник?» [do You keep a diary?]).

Have there ever been moments in your life when you’ve wished that you could back and check details from your past in diaries? Only to realize that you either а) didn’t keep a diary at the time; or б) didn’t write down what was truly significant? Have there ever been times when you have wanted to retell stories from long ago? Important accounts you wished you had written down? Things you have now forgotten? Names of people lost forever into the deepest corners of your memory? Not all of us can rely on our «память» [memory; recall; recollection] but have to write things down as they occur in order to later make them «воспоминание» [sg. recollection, memory, remembrance; flashback; memorial; reminiscence] first and later part of our «воспоминания» [pl. memoirs; reminiscence; memorials]. Some of us, however, are blessed with another gift - a gift to «запоминать» [memorize; mark] in order to much later «вспоминать» [recall, recollect, remember; reminisce]. The past month I’ve spent together with the memoir of a person blessed with such an amazing ability to remember every thing - from names of important people to the tiniest of details. During the past month I’ve been traveling through a memoir written with the accuracy of a diary - «Крутой маршрут» ["Journey into the Whirlwind"] by the brilliant, intelligent and lovely «Евгения Гинзбург» [Yevgenia Ginzburg].

While «в Кургане» [in Kurgan] on the 20th of July I came across this «хроника времён культа личности» [chronicle of the times of the personality cult] on sale in a bookstore and just had to buy it. Only when the Russian writer «Василий Павлович Аксёнов» [Vasily Pavlovich Aksyonov] died on the 6th of July did I realize that he was the son of «Евгения Гинзбург», whom I had known as the author of this spectacular work about 18 years spent on Kolyma ever since reading the notebooks of «Варлам Шаламов»… which I did in April this year. Time and time again it keeps being proved to me that to love Russia is to constantly discover something new about this country!

I started reading «Крутой маршрут» [the title could more literally be translated as ‘a steep route'] as soon as I had brought it home from the bookstore and since then I haven’t been able to let it go nor finished reading it. Finish reading it is not something done over a weekend - this memoir is over 800 pages long. And that’s one of the best things about it! I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit old-fashioned in the way that I prefer long works of fiction (or long memoirs, for that matter…) and now that I have only about 150 pages to go as I’m posting this I have to confess that I don’t really want it to ever end. I am absolutely and completely in love with Yevgenia Ginzburg. After spending almost the entire spring of 2009 with Shalamov and his tales from «Колыма» [Kolyma] it was not just interesting but also refreshing and surprising to read a woman’s account of the same place at the same time. Both Ginzburg and Shalamov were arrested during the terrible year of 1937 during ‘the infamous great purge’ and spent a total of 18 years in prison, camps and exile. Shalamov arrived in Kolyma already in 1937, Ginzburg only two years later - after spending two years in a prison cell in Yaroslavl. Of course one shouldn’t compare these two people because they are very different, but I can’t help myself. Both of them left important accounts of their life during this particular time in this region’s history behind that are well worth reading, even though they should be separate already by their different genres - Shalamov wrote many short stories, Ginzburg wrote one long memoir. Ginzburg is personal where Shalamov is not. They had different intentions with what they wrote and thus what they left for us to read are very different accounts. Yet many things remain alike and true even though - just like they both keep repeating in their works - there are many, many truths out there.

But while reading Ginzburg what kept coming back to me again and again was one single thought - that there seems to have been a lot more humor on the women’s side of the barbed wire. Not only Ginzburg, but all the other women surrounding Ginzburg in prison and in camps and in hospitals, keep joking and laughing long after Shalamov’s men have grown silent and stern and harsh. And the first thing the women in Ginzburg’s memoir say when they see the male prisoners upon arrival in Vladivostok after a month on a train is: “Oh no! And they who have such poor ability to endure pain!” (in Russian: «Они же так плохо переносят боль!») Women are really better prepared to endure that kind of cruel pain, and better prepared physically for hunger, which is why they did not die as fast and mercilessly as the men did on Kolyma.

Ginzburg was not able to keep a diary during her years in prison, camps and exile. And yet she remembered everything. In this work you’ll find hundreds of dialogues and an equal amount of names of real people from this time. «Крутой маршрут» is a terrible, beautiful, true chronicle of this time in the history of this country. Not only do I highly recommend it because of its value as a source for historical facts, but as a document of what it means to be a woman. Ginzburg is first and foremost a woman. I don’t really know how to explain it, but that’s what I found most in this memoir - her pride of herself and her sex combined with a marvelous dedication to motherhood which I have never read anywhere else before (but then again, I haven’t read that many books written by women - yet!). What I would recommend above everything else is of course to read it in the original Russian - not only because Ginzburg has a rich language, but also because she often quotes poetry. Both her own poems and the poems of many famous Russian poets. Poetry helped her survive these hardships. Poetry saved her life.

To me reading this memoir is one of the greatest reading experiences of my life. And the best part about admitting to this is that I haven’t finished it yet - thus the greatest reading experience of my life will continue!