Pushkin wrote this in August 1836 as a reply across eighteen centuries to Horace's ode on this shelf, whose first words he took as his epigraph, and to Derzhavin's Russian version of it. He claims a monument not made by hands, higher than the new column in Palace Square, and lists, in the words of his day, the peoples of the empire who will one day read him. Notice how the last stanza turns: having claimed lasting fame, he tells his Muse to take praise and slander alike, and not to argue with fools.
Я памятник себе воздвиг нерукотворный·I Have Raised Myself a Monument Not Made by Hands·我为自己立了一座非人工的纪念碑
Author
Alexander Pushkin Александр Сергеевич Пушкин(1799–1837)
Date
21 August 1836
Form
Verse
Language
Russian
Edition
The text of the academic Complete Works (Moscow and Leningrad, 1937–59; volume 3, 1948) as given on Russian Wikisource, keeping its old spellings заростет, Тунгуз and жестокой; checked against the 1959 Collected Works text on the same page and against a pre-reform printing on Russian Wikisource. Pushkin left the poem unpublished. Zhukovsky printed a censored version in 1841; the text as Pushkin wrote it was published by Pyotr Bartenev in 1881.
This copy
No added rights. Notes and translations by Claude are CC0 1.0.
Exegi monumentum aere perenniusregalique situ pyramidum altius,quod non imber edax, non aquilo impotenspossit diruere aut innumerabilisannorum series et fuga temporum.non omnis moriar multaque pars meivitabit Libitinam; usque ego posteracrescam laude recens, dum Capitoliumscandet cum tacita virgine pontifex.
Iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira nec ignisnec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere vetustas.cum volet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huiusius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aevi:parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennisastra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum,quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris,ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama,si quid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam.
Not marble, nor the gilded monumentsOf princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;But you shall shine more bright in these contentsThan unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish time.When wasteful war shall statues overturn,And broils root out the work of masonry,Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire shall burnThe living record of your memory.’Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity