Pushkin It’s Time, My Friend

It's time, my friend, it's time! The peace is craved by hearts...  
Days flow after days -- each hour departs
A bit of life -- and both, you and I,
Plan a long life, but could abruptly die.

The world hasn't happiness, but there is freedom, peace.
And long have I daydreamed the life of bliss --
And long have planned, a tired slave, the flight
To the removed abode of labor and delight.  

To do Good for One Another

To do Good for One Another.


The Reality of Life

It is not easy to navigate the currents of our lives

We are born with an appearance and a nature

Both infused with the essence of life

This is the point at which we start the journey

From there we use our innate power and energy

To make the decisions, the causes, the choices

Which influence us and those around us

Eventually the effects of our energies are realized

For the better or the worse.

We can only hope that along the way

We have been true to our hearts and souls and inner beings

And that the actions we have taken make us proud

Proud to be alive

Proud to be doing something for the world and those around us.

Only time will tell how the fruits of our actions are borne out

And only time will tell whether the marks we leave upon this world

Are those which will further mankind in its endeavor

To finally and fully realize for all eternity

That we come from the one to form the one

Making it our lifetime mission to do good for one another

James Tucci


Russian Winter- Russian Soul

Russian Winter- Russian Soul.


The Russian Winter-The Russian Soul

The Russian winter…

It is a hard one.

Epiphany frosts,

The hinterland of Yakutia,

The degrees fall fast,

And the Sun

Forgets Mother Russia.

Yet the winter is often Russia’s greatest ally.

Turning back the Swedes,

While later the winds of December and the gales of January

Saw the Germans starve and surrender at Stalingrad.

The ice and the snow had vanquished the German foes.

The Red Banner flew over the city in triumph.

The descendants of Peter and Catherine had prevailed.

The enemy but destroyed by the snows and ice,

That on many occasions have been Russia’s strongest friends.

The Russian winter is often a white splendor,

Sparkling and glittering in the waning light of the day.

Yet more than that,

It has forged the Russian soul,

A soul that runs deeper and wider

Then those in other places.

A soul with the capacity to love, to fight, to seek, to feel the life

To know the life and understand it.

Yes from the winter, the cold, the fury,

Comes the Russian soul

It is the Russian winter

That sets apart the Russian soul

And makes the Russian man and the Russian woman

Sparkle like bright stars

Amidst the Milky Way

At times the same as all the rest

But for all time always different

James Tucci

Miami, Florida

October 4, 2013


The Russian Winter. It is not an easy one.

The Russian Winter. It is not an easy one.

The Russian Winter

For a visitor to Moscow,
Whether it be from the States or Western Europe,
The city is at first a bit daunting
And seemingly closed to strangers.
But once that initial contact is made,
From one person to another,
It is readily apparent
That no matter our place of origin
Nor where we make our home,
We emanate from the one
And it is here in Moscow that we form the one.
We are all children of the universe
And Gogol’s Russian soul runs deep
In this very cold and beautiful world.
I left my time in Moscow
With the words of Pushkin pulsating in my heart
“I Loved You.”

James Tucci 2013

The Love Remains

The Love Remains

What will tomorrow bring?

All the things that we hope for and desire

Or disappointment?

Regardless of the outcome

We shall survive

And we shall live

To face the next day

And the next sunrise

And when the sun sets in the west

We shall carry the day’s memories with us

For they can never take the memories from us

And those memories shall see us through

Till the next day

And the love that we have for those special ones around us

Shall remain in our hearts

The End of Summer- by James Tucci

The End of Summer- by James Tucci.

The End of Summer

The bay was rather still

It doesn’t blow most days till the afternoon

The leaves on the trees slightly moved

They would be turning orange and red in another few weeks.

The sand was still hot in the afternoon

And the skies were blue

White clouds floated around

These were the waning days of summer

He lived for the summertime

And soon it would be over

The first chill in the air was only a week or two away

Fall, winter and spring were on their way

Bringing the cold, the gray, the rain and the snow

The leaves on the trees would be on the lawns and in the gutter

The sands on the beach would be cold and damp

People would be wearing their coats and jackets

The sad part was

Another summer of his life was about to go away

Never to return

These days would turn to memories

No longer the glorious moments

In time and space that he so enjoyed

When the air was fresh and salty and filled with the scents of the grass and the flowers

All he was left with

Was to pine for the next summer

But in a short amount of time

It too would disappear

Never to return

And someday

Like the sunny summer

He would disappear

by James Tucci

Miami, Florida

Anna Akhmatova writes as Mother Russia Fights to Survive the Nazi Hordes

Anna Akhmatova writes as Mother Russia Fights to Survive the Nazi Hordes.


One of James Tucci’s favorite poets is Anna Akhmatova . Here she writes about Mother Russia’s valiant effort to free herself in World War II from the Nazi hordes. This poem is a call to arms, valor and courage. Anna Akhmatova writes this brilliantly.

James Tucci is the co-host on http://www.i-netradio.com, including the English Speaking Russian Talk Radio Show, “Springtime in Moscow.” He is always looking for interesting guests, including poets and those with a Russian connection. As James sits on his porch in Palm Beach, Fla., and watches the waves roll into the beach, he hopes that this poem stirs you soul as much as it does his,

Anna Akhmatova



We know what is now on History’s scales,
What is, in the world, going now.
The hour of courage shew our clock’s hands.
Our courage will not bend its brow.
None fears to die under the bullet’s siege,
None bitters to lose one’s home here, --
And we will preserve you, O great Russian speech,
O Russian great word, we all bear.
We’ll carry you out, clear and free, as a wave,
Give you to our heirs, and from slavery save.

Pushkin-In Her Shade Impossible to Seek Another Pretty Maid

Pushkin-In Her Shade Impossible to Seek Another Pretty Maid.

The Maiden


I always said to you: beware the maiden dear!

I knew she lures hearts with strengths she can’t forebear.

Oh, my presumptuous friend! I knew that in her shade

Impossible to seek another pretty maid.

And, having lost his hope, forgot of treason’s pleasures,

In her vicinity a thoughtful youngster blazes,

Pets of great gods and captains of fate’s fleets

Bring their love prayers to her charming feet;

But all their ardency is scorned by the girl proud –

Which, cast down her glance, not sees nor hears around.


An Hour

I met her

Only for an hour

But it was an hour of my life

That I never will forget

The blue jacket

The white blouse

The long tan skirt

All graced by the smile

The smile of a goddess

And an angel combined

Her brown locks pulled back

The face with a radiant glow

Just for a short moment

The blink of an eye

In the time of the universe

But I will never be the same

Her face is to be forever etched in my mind

Her loveliness to be ensconced in my soul and in my heart

I will never see her again

But the sight of her

I never will forget

And I will never feel the same again

For any other woman.

For me

There will be only one woman

Whom I would ever want to with on our beloved earth

She robbed me of my love for others

But it is a price I would gladly pay

To have spent an hour

In her presence.


http://www.i-netradio.com poets come on our show!

Pushkin and The Burned Letter and Tucci-Never to be Read

Pushkin and The Burned Letter and Tucci-Never to be Read.


The Burned letter

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 of 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…



Never to be Read

I wanted to tell you

How much I loved you

I wrote a birthday poem for you

From the heart and the soul

My thoughts and love were bared

Naked for you to behold

You would know how deep my feelings were

How much I cared for you

And loved you

When the day of your birth came

I could not send it

I could not let you know

How much I yearned for you

I could not let you see inside my secret being

My deepest thoughts

I just could not let you know

I could not bring myself to tell you

What you meant to me

Instead I kept it

Never to be seen

Never to be read

For you to never see my folly

And how foolish I’ve become

I wish that I could have let you know

How joyful I was

That on this day

You graced the earth

And made the world a better place

And let me know what the deep deep Russian love

That you once explained to me

Really is

My note wil lie buried

Never to be read nor seen

Of no value

Or purpose

Just a note of affection

That the intended will never receive

My little note

Will someday be destroyed

When my papers are discarded

And turned to ashes

Having never been read by you my beloved





Russia’s Eternal Glory- A beautiful Poem, the Wanderer by Dmitry Bazilenko

Russia’s Eternal Glory- A beautiful Poem, the Wanderer by Dmitry Bazilenko.

Dmitry Bazilenko
Heavy road wanderer.
Not a penny to his name.
And as if his feet bare,

on the cobblestones.
Blood oozing, knocked legs hurt.
Heart beating out of my chest.
Like a lonely bird,
from the depths to the heights breaks.
Broad Russian mother.
Throughout the temples and palaces.
But everywhere on the porch,
Poverty is missing.
Though Russia eternal glory
the breadth of his soul.
How to find a shelter.
If everywhere is not so.
As written in Scripture,
Is not that for us.
And everywhere now wanderers
and deceit in business.
From very early in the morning mayhem.
The first guests at the ball.
Those that remember you gentlemen,
Remember his Christ.
In the church I see often go.
Not only on you cross.
And with chains of gold,
Decoration of Satan.
After all, the camel is even easier
jump through the eye of a needle.
On the perfidy of your gold,
on tears and blood.
And that is where the wanderer
to find happiness.
After all, Russia eternal glory
the breadth of his soul.

We hope to have Dmitry as a guest soon on English Speaking Russian Talk Radio I-NETRADIO.COM