I don’t remember when, or how, I developed this strange fascination for streetlights. The fascination is such that I admitted a few years ago in a company of the uni friends that I approach each streetlight as a person – hence when I take a photo of one, I conceive of it as a portrait.
In Moscow, I had this tall streetlight outside my house. It stood on the opposite side of the road, close to the bus stop, and was very tall – I lived on the fifth floor, and its “head” was almost parallel to my window. I had two streetlights opposite and one streetlight close to the gate of my old house, and where I live now, there is also a streetlight opposite my abode. While it may not seem significant in itself, for the person who, like me, is conscious of having had a streetlight clearly visible from the window all their life, it would probably make a huge difference, had they found themselves in such place where they could not see any streetlight from the window.
Arguably, the most fascinating moment is the interpretation of this image. My heart melt when I read The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis for the first time ever (that was in 2005) and saw an illustration in the book with exactly the kind of streetlight I like the most. The lampshade had four sides, with a crown. It is a typical fairy-tale visualisation of a streetlight, and it may be interesting to observe that the illustrator of the book did not try to draw something original. On the one hand, the illustrator probably took inspiration from the streetlights of C. S. Lewis’s era; on the other, as much as fairy-tales can be original, there is a strong element of the typical in each of them, and therefore it probably did not serve to be too original.
As in Lewis’s story as in the broadest cultural sense, a streetlight is a symbol of light and faith. How we interpret this, is a different story. I know that with Lewis’s Narnia books there is a strong temptation to interpret it in the Biblical context. I do believe, however, that to narrow the Narnia stories to a kind of “Bible for kids” is to impoverish the book, hence even as far as The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe is concerned, a streetlight should just be seen as a symbol of light – with all the array of meanings. The meanings can be: a candle in the wind; a lantern with which a Greek philosopher Diogenes looked for the Man; a lighthouse. A streetlight can be seen as a lamp in the house which is “thy castle”, thus marking a place that we define both as familiar and familial. It is akin to a steady flame of an emotion, an idea, or a principle (and faith, for that matter). At the same time, it evokes the message of the Parisian motto: “fluctuat, nec mergitur” (shaken, but not sunk). A streetlight, being essentially a tall metal pole with a lampshade and an electric bulb, is very much like a boat – and the very fact that it does not fall or extinguish in the wind feeds our craving for hope and security.
In spite of the fact that I would describe myself as a communicable and sociable person, I have always liked to be alone. There is a lot I could say about this, and it certainly does not mean that I want to be alone. But, as I said before, I do treasure the moments of loneliness, be it creative or just a time on my own. However – and I have just caught myself on this thought – I have never been totally alone. Wherever I was, I have always been accompanied by a streetlight, which fact and experience I recorded in a poem five years ago. You can read the original Russian text here; below is the verbatim translation. It is true that, due to how I see streetlights, in the poem the streetlight is anthropomorphic (and masculine – mostly for grammatical reasons). It is a person, with whom I can share the deepest secrets, and whom I sometimes ignore – possibly for the mere fact of its being silent. In effect, both of us are lonely, but we both need one another poetically, as pragmatically. A streetlight can be an inspiration (poetic); but I need it to shine on me and on my walk (however we understand the word “walk”), and the streetlights need me (or someone like me) because without us they no longer are.
A Streetlight
Shines into my window
We are used to each other,
And so we don’t care.
Its slim silhouette,
With a very a big, flat
And grey shade
Unlit for a long time,
Or, like a candle,
It trembles in the wind.
What can you do… such a pity…
For too long a time and too faithfully
This streetlight shines on me,
Too often at night
I address it, –
Only it understands
My thoughts,
No-one else knows everything,
I will tell to no-one but it
Of whom I need, and who is close,
And for whom I don’t wait.
Is worth all the words to me.
And so it happens
That in the morning
I once again follow the sun,
Having shed the past burden,
And it’s waiting, knowing for sure
That I will be back soon.
English translation © Julia Shuvalova
Below is my “Streetlights” photoset on Flickr.
