Boris Pasternak (born on 10 February 1890 and died of lung cancer on 30 May 1960 filled with pain and suffering) is widely regarded as the greatest of the Russian philosophical lyric poets. During my school years I was deeply influenced and inspired by his poetic world laden with profound and complex imagery and I have even attempted to create a portrait of Boris Pasternak on the glass plate.
This CEREBRART work attempts to illustrate some of his philosophical thoughts. An approximate translation of just one great excerpt would sound like:
…But older age is Rome, demanding
From actors not a gaudy blend
Of props and reading, but in earnest
A tragedy, with tragic end.
A slave is sent to the arena
When feeling has produced a line.
Then breathing soil and fate take over
And art has done and must resign.
Vita brevis, ars longa...
ReplyDeleteSo your theory is that Pasternak’s beautiful poetic words “soil and fate take over”, not used in ordinary conversation, meant the real tragedy of Phineas Gage, when a large iron rod he was using to tamp gunpowder into a hole in a soil caused an explosion, was propelled through his brain and therefore his tragic fate was determined?
ReplyDelete@Hmyrj: Nisi efficiamini sicut parvi
ReplyDelete@Dave: Unfortunately, I have no idea whether Boris Pasternak knew or not the tragedy of Phineas Gage,
ReplyDeleteФевраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
ReplyDeleteПисать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною черною горит.
Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен,
Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес,
Перенестись туда, где ливень
Еще шумней чернил и слез.
Где, как обугленные груши,
С деревьев тысячи грачей
Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
Сухую грусть на дно очей.
Под ней проталины чернеют,
И ветер криками изрыт,
И чем случайней, тем вернее
Слагаются стихи навзрыд.