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ULEA
About
Poetry, its
ambiguous role and
sophisticated way of development, not
always appreciated by editors and readers; and
about
the universe that has been created exactly in the same way as a poetic work some thoughts and speculations written in different times by the same modest scholar The Artist is the creator of beautiful things. Art is quite useless. -Oscar Wilde The
picture of Dorian Gray GOD AND EDITORS (note 3) In six days God created the world, Six times He appreciated His own creation, As if He had a general idea while pronouncing His Word But wasn't sure how it would look in three dimensions. If He were a poet, a nameless young guy Naively seeking a literary agent And hopelessly researching a literary guide, What kind of criticism he'd receive-- one can only imagine. Indeed, "Where's the logic?" the editor would say, Rejecting the manuscript, "You first created light And then the celestial bodies--only on the fourth day!" And he would be absolutely right. Thank God, God wasn't obliged to participate in such a battle: He managed to establish on time certain connections. So they finally accepted for the Bible His golden collection. GOD AND THE ARTIST: SIMILARITY OF METHODS (note 5) What is in common between God's and the artist's creation That both are against any programmed linkage Between final and initial steps. This turns on their imagination And makes unexpected any upcoming image. They both start from a complete mess, Both create the unique, not the rules, Both are constantly changing in many ways And are not familiar to the stable Truth. All the diversity descended from light, Hatched out like artistic details evolving a predisposition. Both God and the artist elaborate this technique to apply it, And this is their only goal and their only mission. ARTISTIC MIND VERSUS COMMON SENSE (note 9) Scientists keep their universe in complete order. Their logic's just as a train that drives one from station to station. The artist creates his kingdom on water, And one must build linkages, using his imagination. The state of artists is based on subjectivity, Consolidated in the first paragraph of its constitution, That defends all kinds of useless creativity From common sense, like air from pollution. SOME THOUGHTS AND SUGESTIONS (note
21) If you are born to win the admiration of thousands and thousands (As you concluded when you rhymed your first lines), You must be told that you are not Barbara Streisand And that the hall will be empty all the time. You'll enjoy, though considerably later, A small space with your devoted chair, The acoustics in your silent theater And the sense of "no one near." Daily life takes over every one in this world. Even God couldn't avoid it: He started as a poet but in getting old He felt like eating everyday—something homemade. The creation of Eden cost God a fortune, And it must be a good lesson For poets who're still carelessly searching For a delicatessen. If you wear nimbus, don't crave the crown, Don't strive to be popular like turkey on Thanksgiving Day. Always give your preferences to the noun Through which the first thought of the world was conveyed. SEASHELL (translated from the Russian by Esther Cameron) Upon my palm you fade and fade, Extinguish your mother-of-pearl, The way the soul is scattered Only to condense again In the sky Like the meditation of a grownup Or the daydream of a child. With my fingers I scan you, take possession of you, of the structure and contour that divide you from the Creator. Thus I have taken possession of a beloved face, but never -- never once! -- of its features. The nacreous gleam is waning. To me -- what is mine. What is immortal -- to the sea. Why must you leave me! Why do you make me watch As the essence of action distorts itself, and you darken -- You are no longer a seashell, But just an empty casing. I seem to have taken you To bring out the hidden death Ulea
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