Friday, 3 December 2010
Reflect well on the fact that the US Republican Party gave its blessing to the Georgian aggression against South Ossetia, and that US military ”advisors” were present with invading Georgian forces. John McCain and Randall Schneuermann were paid lobbyists for Saakashvili’s junta… which meant that Sweet Little Miss Sarah toddled along with a slack idiot’s grin on her face.
This war started with a surprise rocket barrage on sleeping civilians at 22.00 after Saakashvili gave his word that his forces were standing down. The Bush administration didn’t even slap him on the wrist for that… they DEFENDED him. That explains John Kyl’s attempts to derail START… the Republican Party wishes to bring down Russia, as the Russian government won’t bend over and let the multinationals screw ‘em to the wall, as is done in the USA and other countries (remember Enron? How about WorldCom or Silverado?).
Take a GOOD look… THIS is what the Republican Party does to those who anger them. Don’t forget how Joe Miller’s goons handcuffed a reporter, and how Glenn Beck’s thugs tried to rough up a RT TV crew. They don’t learn, do they? If we don’t fight for our freedom, we don’t deserve it, and we won’t keep it long.
They have set a Christmas tree up in a hospital ward.
It clearly feels out of place in a cloister of suffering.
The moon over Leningrad comes to my window ledge
but does not stay long… many windows, much waiting.
The moon moves on to a spry, independent old woman;
outside you can hear the susurrus sound of her trying
to hide from her neighbours and from her own shallow sleep
her breaking the norm… the blunder of illegal crying.
All the patients are worse; still, it is a Christmas Eve.
Tomorrow will some get news; some gifts; some, calls.
Life and death remain neighbours: the stretcher is always loaded;
through the long night the elevator squeaks as it falls.
Rejoice eternally, Virgin! You bore the Child at night.
There is no other reason for hope, but that matters so much,
is so huge, so eternally endless, that it
consoles the unknown, underground anchorite.
Even here in the ward where the tree makes some people cry
(did not want it; a nurse, in fact, ordered it brought)
the listening heart beats, and you hear people say,
“Hey, look! The Star of Bethlehem’s in the sky!”
The only sure facts are the cattle’s lament in the shred,
the Wise Men’s haste, the inexperienced mother’s elbow
marking The Child with a miraculous spot on His brow.
All the rest is absurd, an age-old but fugitive lie.
What matters more or brings more joy to sick flesh
wasted by work and by war than so simple a scene?
But they reproach you for drinking or some other fault
and stuff your brain with the bones of a system picked clean.
I watched the day begin breaking some time past nine;
it was a drop, a black light shining absurdly
onto the window. People dream that they heard
a little toy bell-ringer ringing the bell on the tree.
The day as it downed was week, not much of a sight.
The light was paler than pink, pastel, not harsh,
the way an amethyst shimmers on a young girl’s neck.
All looked down, once they had seen the sad, humble cross.
And when they arose, reluctantly opening their eyes,
a trolley flew by through the snowstorm, gold trim inside it.
They crowded the window like children… “Hey, look at that car!
Like a perch that’s gotten away, all speckled with fire!”
They sat down for breakfast; they argued, got tired, lay down.
The view from the window was such that Leningrad’s secrets
and splendours brought tears to my eyes, filled me with love.
“Isn’t there something you want?” “No, there’s nothing”.
I have long been accused of making frivolous things.
Frivolity maker, I look at those here around me:
O Mother of God, have mercy! And beg your Son, too.
On the day of His birth, pray and weep for us each.
Bella Akhmadulina (1937-2010), Honorary Member of the Russian Academy of Fine Arts
The funeral of poet Bella Akhmadulina, who died 29 November of a heart attack in suburban Peredelkino, will be held Friday morning at the Church of Ss Cosmas and Damian in Moscow. In 2008, the same church was the site of the funeral of another poet, Rimma Kazakova, Aleksandr Gerasimov, the press secretary of the Union of Writers in Moscow, told Interfax. At noon, a secular farewell service in the Great Hall of the Central House of Writers will begin, after which Bella Akhatovna’s body will be buried in the old part of the Novodevichy Cemetery, in the third section. This was offered by the Moscow municipal government and was agreed to by her surviving family. Six months ago, the body of the poet Andrei Voznesensky was buried in the same part of the cemetery. Bella Akhatovna Akhmadulina was born in Moscow on 10 April 1937. She won many awards, both in Russia, and abroad. Bella Akhatovna graduated from the Literary Institute in 1960. In 1962, her first collection of poems, Струна (String), was published; in 1970, Уроки музыки (Music Lessons) appeared, the anthology Свеча (Candle) came out in 1977, and she wrote Тайна (Secret) in 1983. In 1989, she received the State Prize of the USSR for the poetry collection Сад (The Garden), which was released in 1987.
2 December 2010