Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Alexander Pushkin was a Russian poet, playwright, and novelist of the Romantic era. Pushkin is considered by many to be the greatest Russian poet and the founder of modern Russian literature.
|Born:|| ||June 6, 1799;|| ||Moscow, Russia|
|Died:|| ||February 10, 1837;|| ||Saint Petersburg, Russia|
My friend, it’s time!
The heart demands a break —
Day after day flies by, and every hour takes
A bit of being from us, while you and I
Make plans to live together — we may die.
There is no happiness, but there is peace of heart.
So many years I’ve dreamt about this part —
So many years, a tired slave, I planned my flight
Someplace where I will work to my delight.
“I can't wash out the lines of sadness…”
When, for the mortal one, is stilled the noisy day,
And, on the silent city’s buildings,
The easy shadow of night is softly laid,
And sleep – the prize for daily grindings,
Then in the silent air they painfully drag on –
My hours, sleepless ones and endless:
Bites of the remorse-snake, in my heart, stronger burn
In night’s unquestionable blankness.
My fancies boil. My mind, under a pine,
Is overfilled with meditations;
Remembrance silently, before sad eyes of mine,
Unrolls its scroll in lines’ successions.
And reading with despite the life, I had before,
I curse the world, and tremble, breathless,
And bitterly complain, and shed my tears sore,
But don’t wash out the lines of sadness.
“With freedom's seed the desert sowing…”
"BEHOLD A SOWER WENT FORTH TO SOW"
With freedom's seed the desert sowing,
I walked before the morning star;
From pure and guiltless fingers throwing —
Where slavish plows had left a scar —
The fecund seed, the procreator;
Но потерял я только время,
Oh vain and sad disseminator,
I learned then what lost labors are. …
Graze if you will, you peaceful nations,
Who never rouse at honor's horn!
Should flocks heed freedom's invocations?
Their part is to be slain or shorn,
Their dower the yoke their sires have worn
Through snug and sheepish generations.
The ability to see dreams…
As for inspiration it stands on a completely different plane. This is grace, the acquisition of the Spirit, aimed at creativity, creative service. It is irrational in another sense: it cannot be caused by a conscious will, by a rational decision, it comes from the unconscious (according to Plato, it is sacred madness, “Mania”). But I distinguish between subconscious and superconscious. Inspiration requires the participation of both. So in Pushkin: “I dreamed of cute objects and my soul kept their secret image, after the muse revived them”… — this is the activity of the subconscious. “But let the Word divinely drop and on his harking ears fall lightly”… this is the perception of the superconscious. Every lofty inspiration comes from above: “breathed the living soul…”. It is charisma, grace, a good gift, a divine call. In this sense, the definition of poetic creativity is good: the ability to see dreams, and there are, of course, prophetic dreams, prophetic dreams, as well as funny dreams.