Recently a Russian query has led to my blog: “и повторится все как встарь аптека улица”. So here is my English translation of a well-known poem by Alexander Blok, Night, a Streetlight, a Street, a Chemist’s, where the Russian line comes from. The poem studies the life’s ennui that is persistent despite time and place.
Night, a streetlight, a street, a chemist's, All in a dim and useless light. In the next twenty-five years They'll still prevail, against one's plight. And you may die, but then, returning, You'll see again the same old night, The icy canal's waters running, The street, the chemist's, the streetlight.
The end of May is wonderful, mostly warm, sometimes windy, but ever so hopeful. I recall the moments when I felt down, and I smile because I have since well learnt the wisdom of Nietzsche, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Wherever I happen to be, is the best place on Earth – because I choose it to be. Manchester was good for many years, now it is Moscow, the place where I was born but that I seem to have barely known. Not to mention Russia – I don’t think I know it at all.
Everything I planned to do between February and May has been accomplished. Of the things I planned for May and June, I’m well on track to accomplish those, too. There’s still a lot more to do until the end of the year. Obviously, when you don’t have to worry about providing every single thing for yourself it becomes easier to do whatever you set your sights upon.
In France, they discovered the mysterious “carnet” of Balzac, with sketches and plans for the Human Comedy. More than ever before I agree with Picasso, it is futile and unnecessary and, in fact, dangerous to create something that is “beautiful”, especially today. Beauty is a compromise between the artist’s vision and the audience’s sensibilities. We are creating something that has good artistic taste; whether it is beautiful or not, is decided by a point of view.
I nearly wrote “no more statements”, but that’s a statement in itself. In one way or another, over the past few years, I managed to let life become too small, too complex, but it’s pointless to think, why, or how it happened. Perhaps, it had to happen. I do believe that certain things happen to us to teach us a lesson. The past months show that I’ve probably learnt mine.
You see, when you have so many gifts you have to carve your own niche in every field, even life itself is just another place to be different. So, it’s hard to be me, really. But I wouldn’t give up any of it.
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