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Award Thursdays: Alexander Pushkin and Mortality

Post by: Snehith Kumbla

 

There is something about dying early especially among writers and poets. In an ironical turn, we are not to see them grow old ever. We do not see what they have may ultimately turned out to be. Take for example the English poet John Keats; his passing away at 26 was a tragedy, but also gave us a body of work that was romantic and unaffected by what may have turned into the bitterness of old age.

 

Dear bookworms, we honour today one of the greatest of the romantic poets who blazed a trail in Russian literature. His name was Alexander Pushkin and he was born on this very day in 1799. By the time of his passing at the age of 37, Pushkin had made his place in the literature hall of fame permanent. To conclude, here are a few lines, translated from the Russian, by the great poet. The poem is titled - Farewell:

 

It’s the last time, when I dare

To cradle your image in my mind,

To wake a dream by my heart, bare,

With exultation, shy and air,

To cue your love that's left behind.

The years run promptly; their fire

Changes the world, and me, and you.

For me, you now are attired

In dark of vaults o’er them who died,

For you -- your friend extinguished too.

My dear friend, so sweet and distant,

Take farewell from all my heart,

As takes a wid in a somber instant,

As takes a friend before a prison

Will split those dear friends apart.

 

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