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.
Category Archives: pushkin
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
The Russian Winter-The Russian Soul
The Russian winter…
It is a hard one.
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
October 4, 2013
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
What will tomorrow bring?
All the things that we hope for and desire
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
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
Like the sunny summer
He would disappear
by James Tucci
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,
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. Forever!
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.
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.
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!
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
My note wil lie buried
Never to be read nor seen
Of no value
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
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