[silence]
Yesterday A. and I were talking about our favorite poems. I don’t like poetry generally. Or to be more precise, I don’t understand the essence of poetry. I studied literature before, almost for five years, and I can somehow understand some poetic basics, but usually poems don’t connect with me in any way. I can admire it from more mathematical perspective: how was it composed and how precise rhythm is, but usually I don’t feel anything, while reading poetry. There are five exceptions, and I want to share one of them, because it’s so breathtakingly beautiful, so I feel that it is a sin to keep it to myself. The original poem was written by Fedor Tutchev, back in 1830, in Russian language. But almost in a century it was translated to English by Vladimir Nabokov, and it is something exceptional. (Am I overselling it?)
Silentium!
Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal the way you dream, the things you feel. Deep in your spirit let them rise akin to stars in crystal skies that set before the night is blurred: delight in them and speak no word.
How can a heart expression find? How should another know your mind? Will he discern what quickens you? A thought once uttered is untrue. Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred: drink at the source and speak no word.
Live in your inner self alone within your soul a world has grown, the magic of veiled thoughts that might be blinded by the outer light, drowned in the noise of day, unheard… take in their song and speak no word.


