Elaine Feinstein
English poet and novelist Feinstein’s literary creativity stemmed from two influences - writings of the great Russian poet, Marina Tsvataeva and her own personal experience of her Jewish inheritance. Born in Lancashire and educated in Cambridge, Feinstein worked as a university lecturer, editor and a journalist.
According to a popular scholar - ‘Feinstein’s voice moves slowly through the emotional complexities of her poems, reflecting their measured pace, the discipline of their line breaks, and the pauses she uses on the page to allow time for her words to sink in. The cumulative effect is very moving and intimate – as if she is taking us into her confidence.’
Feinstein’s later poetry collections are Daylight (1997)
Daylight features a number of elegies for deceased writer friends, recalling happy holiday occasions and the sadness of loss: ‘now we’re left only with / a little honey and sun from Mandelstam’s bees’ (‘Homesickness’). Indeed, the collection revolves around friends but also memories of research trips with her husband: ‘at your side I was never afraid, looking for / Dom 99 in the snows of suburban Moscow, / or carrying letters through Hungarian customs’ (‘Bonds’). The lives of writers inspire rueful observations, as when visiting Pushkin’s house and Akhmatova’s single room: ‘Russia treasures her poets, once they’re dead. / In England, we depend on one another’ (‘Dead Writers’).
Adapted from Poets Society blog
Feinstein’s later poetry collections are Daylight (1997)
Daylight features a number of elegies for deceased writer friends, recalling happy holiday occasions and the sadness of loss: ‘now we’re left only with / a little honey and sun from Mandelstam’s bees’ (‘Homesickness’). Indeed, the collection revolves around friends but also memories of research trips with her husband: ‘at your side I was never afraid, looking for / Dom 99 in the snows of suburban Moscow, / or carrying letters through Hungarian customs’ (‘Bonds’). The lives of writers inspire rueful observations, as when visiting Pushkin’s house and Akhmatova’s single room: ‘Russia treasures her poets, once they’re dead. / In England, we depend on one another’ (‘Dead Writers’).
Adapted from Poets Society blog
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