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Pauline Raina

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Re: The Man in the Glass :-)
10/28/2008 5:54:45 AM

Dear Sara,

good to see you about Adland again, hope you are feeling better now. Got you in prayer:-)

Take care my friend.

hugz

Pauline R

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Ana Maria Padurean

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Re: The Man in the Glass :-)
10/28/2008 6:28:02 AM
Hello Pauline :-)

As soon as Myrna already posted my favorite graphic here what I have to do is just a simple



I loved this poem; its a pity we don't know its author?! ... but it might be coming from the peoples wisdom as many of our (Romanian) folk poems ... and than the message is even deeper: its coming from collective mind!

Even thou, I would also add something about BIG-HEADS!
It is important to see yourself powerful but every one must take care of measures?! BIG HEAD is as well a dangerouse and poisoning option as ... how should I call it?!... LITTLE HEAD! ;-)

Hugs and lots of friendship,
Anamaria

PS: I would add something more though: as long as LITTLE HEADS are mainly dangerous for themselves (on the first hand!), BIG HEADS are for the society (on the first hand!)
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Branka Babic

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Re: The Man in the Glass :-)
10/28/2008 6:30:02 AM

Dear Pauline,

Thank you for this great poem!

Having my own mirror always in front of me, is one of most important things in my life, just because I know how our senses were made with a virtue to play incredible games with us. After discovering God, my first prayer was: please, give me your mirror to see who I am ... I knew that mirror isn`t possible to corrupt :) ...

I was very young (about twelve) when found a poem "Black Man" , by Sergey Aleksandrovich Yesenin and that poem has played one of most important roles in my relationship with myself. I`ll post it here:

The Black Man
Translated by Geoffrey Hurley


My friend, my friend,
How sick I am. Nor do I know
Whence came this sickness.
Either the wind whistles
Over the desolate unpeopled field,
Or as September strips a copse,
Alcohol strips my brain.

My head waves my ears
Like a bird its wings.
Unendurably it looms my neck
When I walk.
The black man,
The black, black,
Black man
Sits by me on the bed all night,
Won't let me sleep.

This black man
Runs his fingers over a vile book,
And, twanging above me,
Like a sleepy monk over a corpse,
Reads a life
Of some drunken wretch,
Filling my heart with longing and despair.
The black man,
Oh black man.

"Listen, listen"--
He mutters to me --
The book is full of beautiful
Plans and resolutions.
This fellow lived
His life in a land of most repulsive
Thieves and charlatans.

And in that land the December snow
Is pure as the very devil,
And the snowstorms drive
Merry spinning-wheels.
This man was an adventurer,
Though of the highest
And the best quality.
Oh, he was elegant,
And the poet at that,
Albeit of a slight
But useful gift.
And some woman,
Of forty or so,
He called his "naughty girl,"
His "love."

Happiness--he said--
Is a quickness of hand and mind.
Slow fools are always
Known for being unhappy.
heartaches, we know,
Derive
From broken, lying gestures,

At thunder and tempest,
At the world's coldheartedness,
During times of heavy loss
And when you're sad
The greatest art on earth
Is to seem uncomplicatedly gay.

"Black man!
Don't you dare!
You do not live as
A deep-sea diver.
What's the life
Of a scandalous poet to me?
Please read this story
To someone else."

The black man
Looks me straight in the eye
And his eyes are filmed
With blue vomit--
As if he wanted to say,
I'm a thief and rogue
Who'd robbed a man
Openly, without shame.

Ah friend, my friend,
How sick I am. Now do I know
Whence came this sickness.
Either the wind whistles
Over the desolate unpeopled field,
Or as September strips a copse,
Alcohol strips my brain.

The night is freezing
Still peace at the crossroads.
I am alone at the window,
Expecting neither visitor nor friend.
The whole plain is covered
With soft quick-lime,
And the trees, like riders,
Assembled in our garden.

Somewhere a night bird,
Ill-omened, is sobbing.
The wooden riders
Scatter hoofbeats.
And again the black
Man is sitting in my chair,
He lifts his top hat
And, casual, takes off his cape.

"Listen! listen!"--he croaks,
Eyes on my face,
Leaning closer and closer.
I never saw
Any scoundrel
Suffer so stupidly, pointlessly,
From insomnia.

Well, I could be wrong.
There is a moon tonight.
What else is needed
By your sleep-drunken world?
Perhaps, "She" will come,
With her fat thighs,
In secret, and you'll read
Your languid, carrion
Verse to her.

Ah, how I love these poets!
A funny race!
I always find in them
A story known to my heart--
How a long-haired monster
Profusing sexual languor
Tells of worlds
To a pimply girl-student.

I don't know, don't remember,
In some village,
Kaluga perhaps, or
Maybe Ryazan,
There lived a boy
Of simple peasant stock,
Blond-haired
And angel-eyed...

And he grew up,
Grew up into a poet
Of slight but
Useful talent,
And some woman,
Of forty or so,
He called his "naughty girl,"
His "love."

"Black man!
Most odious guest!
Your fame has long resounded."
I'm enraged, possessed,
Amd my cane flies
Straight across
The bridge of his nose.


The moon has died.
Dawn glimmers in the window.
Ah, night!
What, night, what have you ruined?
I stand top-hatted.
No one is with me.
I am alone...
And the mirror is broken.

1925

 

This poem is not light and sweet as the pome written by unknown author ... but in time when I was blessed to read it ... it informed me off importance to have the mirror and ... to chose to deal more gently by myself, than this great Russian poet ever did.

Love and blessings to you Pauline and to all!

Branka

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Pauline Raina

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Re: The Man in the Glass :-)
10/28/2008 6:39:05 AM

Dearest Ana,

Thank you for your thoughts here and the lovely graphic too.

Yes everything in good measure is good for our lives and ourselves.

We are all born to win, its within our power, knowing how to use that power efficiently, honestly & truthfully is what makes us winners. Not by imagining our selves greater than what we are, or even less than what we are for that matter, or even think the world  wouldnt be what it is without us. The world revolves around none :-) we have many friends who fool themselves in thinking so, thereby deceiving themselves. It serves us well to be always grounded & sincere to ourselves, only then we can be that to others :-)

many hugz to you sweet friend, and always so good to see you !

Pauline R

 

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Pauline Raina

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Re: The Man in the Glass :-)
10/28/2008 6:48:54 AM

Dearest Branka,

that is one awesome and meaningful poem. I had goose bumps reading it. Thankyou  my friend for sharing it here with us all.

I know that you are one great and enlightened soul, your son Luka speakes volumes of YOU !! God bless you for being YOU :-)

Much luv n hugz

Pauline R

 

 

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