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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352778" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Wind(Four fragments concerning Blok)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who’ll be honoured and praised,<br>who’ll be dead, and abused,<br>that’s only known these days<br>to power’s sycophantic crew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To honour Pushkin or not:<br>perhaps no one would know,<br>were it not for their dissertations<br>that shed light on our darkness so.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Blok, happily, isn’t like that,<br>his case is a different one.<br>He didn’t come down from Sinai<br>or adopt us as his sons.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eternal, owned by no programme,<br>beyond systems and schools,<br>he’s not been manufactured<br>or thrust down our throats by fools.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As the wind: like the wind. Like the wind<br>that shrieked on the estate in those days,<br>when Fil’ka, the postilion still galloped<br>at the head of a team of six bays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And grandfather was still alive<br>crystal-pure Jacobin, radical soul,<br>his gusty grandson close behind<br>by a fingerbreadth, and as bold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That wind, that penetrated<br>under his ribs, into his spirit,<br>entered his verse, and was praised,<br>in good times and in evil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That wind’s everywhere. The house,<br>trees, country, and rain,<br>in his third book of poetry,<br>in The Twelve, in death – the same.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wide, wide, wide,<br>river and field stretch away.<br>It’s haymaking time<br>it’s communal work today.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the mowers at the bend<br>have no time to stand and gaze.<br>The mowing made Blok wild,<br>the young squire grasped a scythe,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">missed a hedgehog at a swipe,<br>then two adders were sliced.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But his lessons weren’t complete.<br>‘You idler, you slacker’, they cried.<br>Ah, childhood! Ah, school, so dry!<br>Oh, the songs of the makers of hay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At twilight, clouds from the east,<br>north and south are overcast.<br>Wind, unseasonable and fierce,<br>suddenly blows in, and hacks<br>at mower’s scythes, at the reeds,<br>hacks at the prickly copse,<br>where the river bends, runs deep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, childhood! Ah, school, so dry!<br>Oh, the songs of the makers of hay!<br>Wide, wide, wide,<br>river and field stretch away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">4</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The horizon’s sinister, sudden,<br>and dawn is streaked with blood,<br>like unhealed lacerations<br>on a reaper’s legs, dark blood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No counting the gaps in the sky,<br>tempests and storms, the omen,<br>and the air of the marsh is high<br>with water that’s rust and iron.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over woods, gullies, and roads<br>over villages and farms,<br>the lightning in the clouds<br>prophesies earth’s harm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the rim of the city sky<br>is purple like that, and rusty<br>the State’s shaken, by and by,<br>a hurricane strikes our country.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blok read the writing above.<br>To him the heavens were set,<br>on foul weather, presages of<br>whirlwind, cyclone, tempest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blok foresaw that storm and stress.<br>It etched, with its fiery features,<br>fear and longing for that excess,<br>on his life, and his verses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Boris+Pasternak">Boris Pasternak</a><div class=q>
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Who’ll be honoured and praised,
who’ll be dead, and abused,
that’s only known these days
to power’s sycophantic crew.

To honour Pushkin or not:
perhaps no one would know,
were it not for their dissertations
that shed light on our darkn..."></div>
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