To... by Pushkin

To start with! Here is one of my favorite poems by Aleksandr Pushkin. A poem written almost 200 hundred years ago, but yet resonates in this age with such tenderness!

To...

I just recall this wondrous instant:

You have arrived before my face --
A vision, fleeting in a distance,
A spirit of the pure grace.

In pine of sorrow unfair,
In worldly harassment and noise
I dreamed of your beloved air
And heard your quiet, gentle voice.

Years passed. The tempests' rebel senders
Have scattered this delightful dream,
And I forgot this sound tender
And how heavenly you seemed.

In gloomy dark of isolation,
My days were gradually moved,
Without faith and inspiration,
Without tears, life, and love.

My soul awoke with decision:
And you again came as a blest,
Like an enchanting fleeting vision,
A spirit of the pure grace.

My heart beats on in resurrection --
It has again for what to strive:
Divinity and inspiration,
Life, tears, and eternal love.

-- Aleksandr Pushkin

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Brunelleschi and his visual experiment

H e was drilling a small hole in the panel. For the past few weeks he had painted the panel with utmost concentration. The painting was of the Florence Baptistry and its surrounding, as it looked when seen from the Cathedral. There was something special in this painting when compared to all other paintings of that time. Once done, he set the panel to face the view that inspired it. Now he stood behind the panel and leaned forward to peep through the hole. For an onlooker, all this might have looked crazy, or even worse he or she would have accused this painter of plotting something shady. As he was peeping through the hole, Brunelleschi picks up a mirror and holds the mirror at arm's length, in front of the panel. Now he was able to see the reflection of the painting in the mirror. As he continued to view through the hole, he moved the mirror in and out of his line of sight. It was now clear that he was trying to compare his painting to the real Baptistery. But...

Just like that!

One of my nephews is three and a half years old now. If you have spent a good amount of time with a kid this age, you would relate to the fact that they ask a zillion questions. Or should I say they ask the same question a zillion times? As most things are new to them, kids look at everything with boundless curiosity. As such, I am now being barraged with so many WHYs on a daily basis. Upto a point I would answer his questions patiently, but then it gets down to basics where it becomes increasingly difficult to answer. These basics are something I always believed that I understood, but with one of his simple 'why?', he destroys my illusion in no time. When it gets difficult to answer, I get angry. Because my ego is hurt! Is he teasing me? No! Because I can see the innocence in his face and these questions coming out of pure curiosity. Yet, that doesn't seem to be a very good reasoning. I try to console myself by thinking he is not old enough to understand all the nuances. H...

[Poem] The Burned Letter - by Pushkin

Farewell, Letter of Love! farewell: it's her desire. How long did I delay! How long refused, in ire, I to destroy the single joy of mine!... Enough! The time has come. Burn, scripts of love divine. I'm ready; nothing else can call for my sad soul… Now the greedy flame is touching its form whole… A minute!… it is flamed and blazing – smoke, light, With my bitter laments, is flying off my sight. And now the ring's stamp forfeited its form previous – It's boiling – the seal wax… O, Providence of Heavens! That's all! The letter's leaves are twisted, now black; On their light ashes their well known track Is whitening… My heart is squeezed. Oh, dear ashes, In my sad destiny, my poor consolations, Forever lie on breast, so fully, fully wracked…

Heart Complex

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