Marya Zaturenska, a Ukrainian-born American poet, remains an extraordinary but often overlooked figure in the realm of poetry. Despite her remarkable contribution to lyric poetry and the notable recognition of having been awarded a Pulitzer Prize, Zaturenska’s work has not enjoyed the widespread acclaim it arguably deserves.
Born in Kyiv on this day September 12, 1902, Zaturenska immigrated to the United States at a young age. Her poetic journey began early, and she soon found herself crafting exquisite pieces of lyric poetry, a genre that emphasizes personal emotions and thoughts. Zaturenska’s unique style of intertwining personal experiences with broader human sentiments resulted in deeply moving and relatable works that resonated with a wide range of readers.
In 1938, Zaturenska was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her collection Cold Morning Sky. This anthology was lauded for its profound exploration of human emotions and the intricacies of life, all delivered with a beautiful lyrical cadence that became synonymous with her work. Despite this high honor and recognition from one of the most prestigious literary awards in the world, Zaturenska’s name remains less well-known compared to other poets of her time.
Her work, nonetheless, continues to be cherished by poetry enthusiasts who appreciate her unique contribution to lyric poetry. The beauty and depth of her poems continue to speak volumes about her talent as a poet and provide insight into her introspective mind. Indeed, even though she may be considered a poet in the shadows, Marya Zaturenska’s impact on poetry is far from insignificant. Her extraordinary body of work continues to inspire generations of poets and readers alike, ensuring that her legacy lives on.
The Daisy
Having so rich a treasurey, so fine a hord
Of beauty water-bright before my eyes,
I plucked the daisy only, simple and white
In its fringed frock and brooch of innocent gold.
So is all equilibrium restored:
I leave the noontide wealth of richer bloom
To the destroyer, the impatient ravisher,
The intemperate bee, the immoderate bird.
Of all this beauty felt and seen and heard
I can be frugal and devout and plain,
Deprived so long of light and air and grass,
The shyest flower is sweetest to uncover.
How poor I was: and yet no richer lover
Discovered joy so deep in earth and water;
And in the air that fades from blue to pearl,
And in a flower white-frocked like my small daughter.
-Marya Zaturenska
Curated by Jennifer
