Los Cuadernos de Julia

London Music: Rathbone Place And St. Pancras Improvisations

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Fri, 17 May 2013 22:23:00 +0000

It's sometimes difficult to find a reason to use the word "serendipity", however the videos may well justify it. It's when a great thing happens naturally, without you planning for it. First, in Rathbone Place a guy from Hobgoblin music shop and a cyclist across the road improvised a James Brown cover. Imagine sitting still, sipping your perfect Illy coffee in a cafe in the same street? I cannot, so I put my cup down and recorded the singer. And when I arrived from Paris I was greeted by a practising amateur pianist, whom I also decided to record. As they began to offer piano music as a free entertainment in one of Moscow's railway terminals, I wondered if the guy was also being paid to play. No, he replied, but the piano is free to use, so he takes this as an opportunity to exercise.

I'm sad I cannot include an audio recording of Paul Dean's magnificent organ recital at St. Paul's Cathedral, but perhaps I'll find the means to let you hear how good he is (and so is the organ music).

Over to you, guys :-)

London 2013 - A Bookstore Shelf

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Thu, 16 May 2013 08:08:00 +0000

London 2013, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

This is a real bookshelf in a real bookstore in Holborn district of London. I was impressed by the range of titles: James Joyce, Jack Kerouac, Stief Larsson, John Fowles, Oscar Wilde, John Keats, William Blake, William Wordsworth and Geoffrey Chaucer (the latter five - on the bottom shelf), etc, etc. But little could be as grotesque as placing Fifty Shades Freed next to Joyce's Ulysses, the former being criticised for the quality of prose, and the latter being praised for the exact same thing.

One may say that it is a strange sign of our times when novels, so different, can not only stand on the same shelf, but practically rub shoulders with one another.

Attending a Service On Russian Easter In Aldgate

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Tue, 07 May 2013 23:22:00 +0000

It's amazing what you can find in London! I stumbled upon a lovely church in Aldgate and went in for a "look". I ended up attending a church service that coincided with Russian Easter. Shortly before that I attended an organ recital by Paul Dean at St. Paul's Cathedral, which was splendid.

At the church I was in for a few surprises. One, it was a Reformed Scottish church, and two, the service rested heavily on reading the Psalter and singing psalms. Last time I sang psalms was at the Advent service in Birmingham in 2008, where the text was projected on large screens. Here we each had a book of Psalms given before the sermon, and I had time to familiarise myself with the text of Psalm 122.

Along with several others, Psalm 122 constitutes the Book of Accents that pilgrims used to take with them, to read and sing during the pilgrimage. It is the story of joy of embracing Jerusalem and of dedication to praising it.

The preacher was one of a kind - slim, light ginger headed Scot, dressed in a gray suit, accompanied with a tie with doggy print. I mean, on the tie dogs were printed. The manner was somewhat American, that coachy style of addressing the audience. I cannot say I disliked it, but my first question was if all Scottish Church preachers were like him. Apparently, he's walking his own line in this.

Although I'm not religious as far as official church doctrines and rituals are concerned, I do like going into a church, either for a visit or even for a sermon. I must admit I prefer foreign churches for this, and as my experience here is by and large limited to Britain, British clergy and believers have always been very nice. They gladly break the ice and start a conversation. In a Russian church you feel like the building itself is making you a favour, not to mention people. As soon as the sermon finishes, the guards practically drive you out of the building. You will agree this is not the way to feel in what is supposed to be God's home.

My childhood were marked by reading a book "The Bible for believers and non-believers", written in late 1920s in the USSR and propagating the ideas, the gist of which you can easily imagine. The teens and youth brought in more literature that questioned the Bible and various concepts relating to God. However, it was only in England that I began to reconsider certain ideas, and, as I said before, although I remain outside a church or confession, I'm much more accepting of an idea of the Higher Reason being involved in our lives. In doing so, I am more inclined to the Judaic concepts rather than Christian, insofar as the figure of God is concerned. But as yet I don't observe Saturday!

So, after the sermon I went for a walk around Islington, of which George Mikes wrote that all poor people migrated there and turned it into a fashionable district. I don't know how "poor" Islington people are 50 years later, but the area is buzzing with building and development, so it certainly remains fashionable.

And near the church there was a fountain with some lovely inhabitants - see in the photo!

Manchester 2013 [Flickr]

loscuadernosdejulia — Tue, 07 May 2013 16:14:45 PDT

loscuadernosdejulia posted a photo:

Manchester 2013 [Flickr]

loscuadernosdejulia — Tue, 07 May 2013 16:14:02 PDT

loscuadernosdejulia posted a photo:

Manchester 2013 [Flickr]

loscuadernosdejulia — Tue, 07 May 2013 15:48:24 PDT

loscuadernosdejulia posted a photo:

Manchester 2013 [Flickr]

loscuadernosdejulia — Tue, 07 May 2013 15:47:47 PDT

loscuadernosdejulia posted a photo:

Manchester 2013 [Flickr]

loscuadernosdejulia — Tue, 07 May 2013 15:47:12 PDT

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Les Notes Parisiennes

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sat, 04 May 2013 21:50:00 +0000

Et bon, mes chers lecteurs, enfin j'ai visite Paris. Pardonnez-moi l'absence des articles, mais il n'y a pas de langue francaise a mon telephone.

Those of you who have been reading the blog for a while will know that this was a very long-standing dream that finally came true. According to French themselves, I speak their language very well, although this was the first time I really had to converse with native speakers. I managed to keep my writing skills up, while living in the UK, but I was quite fearing for the spoken language. Thankfully, there is nothing to fear about any longer.

I've only had two days, so I somehow chose to visit the Sacre Coeur, the Eiffel Tower, the Pere Lachese cemetery, and the Louvre. Maybe I should make a different choice, but the positive impressions abound anyway. In addition to visiting these great sites, I ate at various lovely places where there was always good food and good service, both at good value. The majority thought I was English, if I had to "switch" the language to better express myself. I took buses and metro, I climbed 300 stairs up the Sacre Coeur to see the unforgettable Parisian panorama in broad daylight. Naturally, I chose to use the ascenseur (elevator) to visit la Tour Eiffel, for otherwise I'd overdo climbing for the day. I was still rewarded with spectacular views of Paris by night and a short illumination.

The French were generally very helpful - perhaps because they sensed the chance to practise their English. As soon as I arrived and was trying to figure out where to go, a map in my hand, a lovely French lady came up and offered me help. I always do this kind of thing in Moscow, so it looks like this was the instance of "the good you do comes back to you".

And then there were two funny situations, both at the Eiffel Tower. First, I saw two security guards studying a small bottle of champagne they confiscated from someone. The conversation went thus:

I: "Are you going to give it back, if they ask?"
Guard: "Me? This is going to cost!" - and he made a gesture with his fingers, hinting at the money they'd have to pay to get the bottle back.

Obviously, this was a joke.

A better one followed during my own security check before going for the elevator. Our conversation:

Guard: Knives? Pistols?
I: Of course, not!
Guard: A bomb?
I: Well, I haven't thought about it.

At one of the bistros where I stopped we had a pleasant conversation with a gentleman from Biarritz. Eventually, we arrived to a conclusion that Biarritz was even more expensive than Nice because of its exclusivity. In return, I explained the meaning of the word "issue", and how it can be used in English language.

Prior to going to Paris I read Villa "Amalia" by Pascal Quignard. It was a Russian translation, a moving story of a woman-artist. I remember trying to read Dance, Dance, Dance by Mourakami in English years ago, and I couldn't get far with it because it felt like I was "reading" a film by some Asian director, Wong Kar-wai perhaps. As much as I love Kar-wai's films, "reading" it in another author's novel was too much. I didn't get past a few opening chapters.

With Villa "Amalia" there was also a feeling that it was a very cinematographic novel, I could easily see it being adapted to the screen, and the little parts, into which the bigger chapters are broken, may in fact be separate scenes in a feature. And in this the novel is every bit a French film at its best: rich yet succinct, and always with a good "afterthought", as in "aftertaste". Isabelle Hupper could certainly play Anna Hidden. I guess this plainly shows a huge French cinema fan in me.

In the story, as well, "Hidden" is a pseudonym. The protagonist is half-Jewish, she took the pseudo after a suggestion from her lover, but her father has spent a lifetime escaping various things, family included. Anna herself "hides" from relationships and, at some point, from people, while retaining her privacy. And as she is not widely known by face, she remains "hidden". Apart from everything else in the novel, this is a beautiful play on words from another language, to portray a character.

And on the way back from Paris I was again reading Les Champs Magnetiques by A. Breton and Ph. Soupault.

Donc, a bientot!

Arrival (Departure)

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 21:41:00 +0000

Arrival, originally uploaded by per henning.

One of my Flickr contacts has posted this wonderful capture that reminds of the time when we fly away and take rest.

Opus - Let's Think About It (Опус - Надо Подумать)

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 18:15:00 +0000

I'm going through a wonderful stage of recalling my earlier years (that's early 1980s), all thanks to a song "Let's Think About It" (Надо подумать) by the Latvian group, Opus. Before 1978 the group was headed by Raimonds Pauls who was changed by Zigmars Liepiņš, and the group was renamed from Modo into Opus.

In 1984 the group produced their opus magnum (it's hard to resist a pun here), Let's Think About It. The singers Mirdza Zīvere and Imants Vanzovičs brilliantly acted out the first courtship. The girl is first being very modest and hesitant, explaining that she's afraid of the ants and mosquitos, and that her parents wouldn't approve of her seeing a young man. The young man is obviously ready to fight away the smallest mosquito... then there comes a change of heart, and now it's the girl's turn to promise to drive away the ants from her beloved. The song was awarded a top prize at the Song of the Year contest in 1984, and the catchy tune is likely to stay in your head for some time.

The group dissolved in 1988. Mirdza went on to become a producer and currently leads the advertising department at the Latvian radio SWH, headed by her husband Zigmars Liepiņš. She was awarded the Order of Three Stars.

Imants's birthday was on April 19, so happy birthday! After an attempt of a comeback as a singer in 1990s, he's moved to showbusiness and now directs a series of aqua-musical performances, being the head of Imishow International Ltd and an official representative of the French Aquatique show international.

Have you heard of Opus before now? Did you like the song/tune?

All About Eve: Expressing the Mood In Sculpture

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 09:31:00 +0000

The character of Eve, the second woman created (successfully) by God, who was supposed to be a good wife to Adam but ended up expelling both herself and her husband from Paradise, has long been popular in fine arts. The sculptors in this post very differently conveyed the mood and expressions of Eve, both prior and after the Fall.

The English sculptor Edward Hodges Baily (1788-1867) presented Eve at the moment she was listening to Satan. She makes a warning gesture, while her face expresses attention and interest. Apparently the composition was inspired by a passage from John Milton's Paradise Lost, and a very similar sculpture, carved in 1822, can be seen at the Bristol City Art Gallery. The 1842 sculpture can be seen at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

Edward Hodges Baily, Eve listening to the voice (1842, V&A Museum, London)

Edward Hodges Baily, Eve by the water (1822, Bristol City Art Gallery)

Another English sculptor Thomas Brock depicted Eve after the Fall. Her left hand is covering a shoulder in a somewhat protective gesture (and, since this is a left hand, we're again reminded of Baily's Eve), but the whole figure produces a strange blend of sensuality, submission, and shame. A life-size plaster figure was showcased by Brock at the Royal Academy in 1898, and the marble sculpture was shown at the Paris Exhibition. The marble sculpture can be seen at the +Tate Gallery in London.

Sir Thomas Brock, Eve (1900, a copy, V&A Museum, London)

Finally, Auguste Rodin, whose black Eve is on display at the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery, was originally making this sculpture for the Gates of Hell, his large-scale project, on which he began to work in 1881. He did not finish the sculpture because his sitter was getting heavier and heavier with child, and this is reflected in the rough ending of the original bronze model.

But the figure he created must have held tight on his own imagination: a year later, in 1882, he produced a smaller, smooth statue, repeating the original Eve's protective gesture. This became a hit both with the critics and the public and was reproduced in bronze, marble, and terracota.

Auguste Rodin, Eve (after 1882, Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery)

#Helloweekend Getaways In Stockholm, Madrid, Milan, and Paris

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 14:37:00 +0000

We are heading into a long week of holidays in Russia that will start on May 1st and continue through until May 10th. Strictly speaking, May 5-8 are working days, but mostly likely many people will take leaves.

Now there are also weekend breaks, and although I am not using any of them yet, there is no reason why you should not say #helloweekend. A great offer from the British Airways will see you jetting off to one of these enviable destinations. A visit to Stockholm may be for ABBA fans, as well as those who cherish Arstrid Lindgren children stories. The capital of Spain awaits the visitors with El Prado, Escorial, and a vibrant mix of everything, according to Pedro Almodovar. Paris needs no introduction; if you have been thinking of popping a question, this is your chance (at a bargain price, too!) And Milan is ideal for shopping, star gazing and architecture studies at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, loitering Il Duomo, or listening to the opera at La Scala.

Any flight should be booked between Wednesday and Friday. Once you choose your destination, you will be taken to a page where to personalise your choice. More details on breaks:

- Madrid Flights + 2 nights at a 4* Hotel from £139pp

- Milan Flights + 2 nights at a 3* Hotel from £139pp

- Paris Flights + 2 nights at a 2* Hotel Hotel from £159pp

- Stockholm Flights + 2 nights at a 3* Hotel from £179pp

Other destinations include Jersey (from £119pp) and Amsterdam (from £169pp).

Available for later dates: Alicante (from £139pp), Costa del Sol (from £189pp), Copenhagen (from £195pp), Prague (from £199pp), Rome (from £269pp), Belfast (from £179pp), Pisa (from £189pp), Nice (from £195pp), and Larnaca (from £229pp). #helloweekend expires on May 3, 2013.

The flights and breaks are served by BA.com, one of the world's leading air carriers.

(This is a promotional offer for Los Cuadernos de Julia readers. If you landed on this blog through search for the first time, please feel free to make use of the offer, but do consider to picking up our RSS so to stay aware of the next ones).

William Shakespeare Sonnets Recited And Filmed Throughout New York

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 10:12:00 +0000

To celebrate another of William Shakespeare's "round dates" in 2014, NY Shakespeare Exchange has called on directors and actors to participate in a ground-breaking project. The Sonnet Project fuses urban settings of New York's five boroughs with new technology and approach to film making and Shakespeare's verse.

CREATIVE PARAMETERS FOR THE SONNET PROJECT:

The "starring roles" in each video are Shakespeare's language, the specific NYC location, and the director's interpretation.
Director is responsible for equipment needs.
New York Shakespeare Exchange will assign the sonnet location.
Each film should contain only one actor. A highly skilled classical actor from the files of NYSX will be cast based on each particular sonnet. Director requests for basic actor type (e.g., gender, age-range, etc.) will be taken into consideration when possible. Requests to work with a specific actor will be taken on a case-by-case basis.
An NYSX text coach will work with each actor on interpreting the language, and will be present "on set" to assist with rhetorical technique and clarity of Shakespearean thought. The text coach will also be available to the director for any textual analysis questions.
Video length must be 120 seconds or less.
Submitted footage must be fully edited and in an "audience ready" form. NY Shakespeare Exchange will provide logos and specifications for titles and credits.
The delivery format is 1080 HD 23.98P with sync sound.
Video must be delivered no later than April 30, 2013.*

A director may take on a secondary video, having submitted the first one. The deadline for the secondary video is July 31, 2013.

A submission form asks you to list the filming and editing software you intend to use, and whatever qualifications, links, and the names of collaborators you would like to share. If your application is successful, a formal Work for Hire Agreement will be signed between you as a director and the NY Shakespeare Exchange.

If you decide to participate, having read the information on Shakespeare in Translation, please kindly consider mentioning us as a source of information. Thanks!

Goodbye, Maggie! The End of a Lady Politician

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 13:27:00 +0000

I don't remember much of the early 1980s TV, but when Gorbachev came to power in 1985 he was rather quickly drawn into the global politics arena, and we began to regularly hear the names of Helmut Kohl, Ronald Reagan, and, of course, Margaret Thatcher. Only much later did it emerge that this triumvirate somehow managed to lead Gorbachev into a deal that effectively dissolved Socialist Europe and ran the final nail into the USSR's coffin. However, Thatcher's policy being totally unknown to me at the time, she nonetheless looked proper, beautiful, immaculate - every inch a lady.

I shared one of her sayings here some time ago: Being powerful is like being a lady: if you have to tell people that you are then you aren't.

Years followed; I came to specialise in British History, and although not in the 20th c., I still had to delve deeper into Thatcher's three ministeries. Then I went to live in England, in Manchester of all places, which was severely affected by the various measures of her cabinets. In all 7 years in the UK I've met dozens of people who were waiting to dance on her grave.

Last week they finally rejoiced: Baroness Thatcher died from a stroke. Somebody on Twitter made "the best typo ever", substituting "stroke" with "strike". The Ding Dong song climbed to no.2 on iTunes. Tributes, insults, and analyses all followed.

I have no doubt that years later Russians will be dancing to the news of Mr. Putin's death. Or maybe some other, more odious figure, will take the limelight, and not a person will notice him passing away. Or perhaps he'll be ignored.

I'm not a Tory, and I'm not Putin's supporter. Simply, the possession of power suggests that it should be delegated, and delegated it is - but not always to those who are ready to follow the course. Whether it is corruption or a mere inability to do things, both start with a specific person involved. It is in the nature of the leader to take responsibility for the course of action, even if the implementation does not rest entirely with him. And in this respect Thatcher's many actions were good as ideas, yet in practice they did not yield the expected results.

As ruthless as she was, she was right in one simple thing - every person is a leader of their own life, and it rests with them what they do to attain the life they want. These adages are now printed in zillions of books, and more people are willing to try, but back in 1970s-80s this was quite implausible. The situation is similar in Russia today. Many people believe there are only two ways of doing business or offering a good service, both by avoiding the law. Either you work single-handedly and break the law, or you find people who break the law for you. I am continuously being told that there is no way of being a law-abiding leader in Russia. Psychopathy is served in place of psychotherapy. You come to a psychotherapist as an ill person and together you study other ill people so you can get better. In case with Russia, you come to a psychopath as a healthy person, and he teaches you that in this country you should not, and should never be, healthy. Still many more people believe the State must look after all its subjects.

I know this will sound strange but in this particular climate I would certainly want to have Margaret Thatcher, or one of her kind, to rule Russia now. When the majority prefer to scold every initiative while sitting on the backbench, the only thing to do is to destroy the backbench. In a way this is precisely what happened in late 1980s-early 1990s when everyone was given a carte-blanche at business and other ventures, while being thrown in the open waters of market economy. Most people who bit the bullet had many twists and turns, but they were never bored. Out of pocket, or exiled, but never the victims of the bourgeois ennui that has marked the faces of many Russians since the Noughties.

Many words will be said about the good and bad traits of this remarkable woman, of successes and failures of her policy. But one thing she did not lack was the ability to make a decision and to stand by it. It could be an unpopular decision, but she still remained firm. Take all bad overtones away, and we're left with an amazing quality of taking responsibility for the chosen course. Today's leaders have turned into celebrities who depend on the electorate, like a pop star depends on her fans. Before Thatcher was betrayed by her own Party she'd won the General Elections three times (!), no small feat for Russia or America. How does that sit together with the growing disdain for her policy? And given the mark she's left on the Tories, how does this explain the willingness of young Brits from Labour families to vote for David Cameron in 2010? It is this power that emanated from her in all years since she'd become the Prime Minister, and it remained even when she was suffering from dementia.

Strictly speaking, there was no need to celebrate the news of her death. Suffering from dementia in the last 10 years of her life, Margaret Thatcher was gradually losing the power of mind that brought her from a rather modest background to the forefront of the world politics. Forgetting the dearest moments of her life could be the worst punishment, if she had to be punished. As for me, since I cannot change the course of events since 1985, I choose to learn the best she could teach me. We can all choose a different course, but will we be able to stick to it?

Below is my favourite photo of Baroness Thatcher. I own this copy of The Sunday Times Magazine from 2004 where her photographs by Lord Snowdon featured.

Margaret Thatcher by Lord Snowdon (The Sunday Times Magazine)

I previously mentioned Margaret Thatcher in this post: Who's On Top? A New Look At the Body Politic.

(And just for those who want to vent their splin at the now late Baroness, there's that famous story about Joan Crawford and Betty Davis who were famous rivals. When Crawford died in 1977, Davis said: “You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good. Joan Crawford is dead. Good.”)

Infographic: The Deaths of William Shakespeare Characters

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 22:52:00 +0000

People all over the world is having trouble memorising Shakespeare. For some, he is downright boring. But looking at the infographic shared by Shakespeare's Globe Theatre on their Facebook page and subsequently posted on various Tumblr blogs, the guy had a good sense of humour.

Democracy In Iceland: How To Make the Best Of an Economic Crisis

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 21:53:00 +0000

I translated the text below from Russian for two reasons. One, it would be really great if more countries followed in the footsteps of Iceland. Nevermind loans and debts, this is the great example of democratic government, by people and for the people, and this is something that must be known, discussed and - hopefully - studied and used.

Secondly, as I was reading the story I kept going back to Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America. Writing his book so that the French could figure out how to create a democracy in their country, this royalist descendant who foresaw the inevitable arrival of democracy also mentioned one curious thing: that for a country to successfully implement a democratic regime, it must either be very small or very young. In his time, the first half of 19th c., only two countries satisfied the criteria: Switzerland in Europe, and the United States, the former being small, the latter young. In case with Iceland, the size and language are likely to cement the achievement. Reading the comments Russian people make in social media, I wonder if anything like this may ever be possible here because the common memory seems to run very deep, and these undercurrents are unlikely to be abandoned any time soon. Even before one considers the size of Russia one has to admit that the country would quite likely take all historical and emotional baggage into the new era and to continue "harking back" to the times immemorial because all of them supposedly constitute an important part of the national "fabric". This is not to say that Russia cannot be democratic, but for that the country would have to learn to let go.

And at the same time the example of Iceland can be used for personal study, how to use the critical situation to adhere to and to advance your own interests. As it often happens, life gets in the way, and we try to get on with life, abandoning or indefinitely postponing the realisation of our goals. Iceland teaches us how we can take matters in our hands and to carry on with our course, no matter what life events get in the way.

Translated by Julie Delvaux. Original Russian text. An article in Komsomolskaya Pravda about the events.

Have you heard of what happened in Iceland on October 20, 2012? Probably not. You know, why? Because on October 20 Iceland has survived a revolution - absolutely peaceful but a revolution nonetheless. It showed at once how "dangerous" it is when "democratic procedures", of which the liberals talk so much, are controlled by the majority and not by the minority, as usual. This is precisely the reason why the world media keep mum about the demonstrative example of Iceland, all but concealing it. For it is the last thing that the powers that be of this world would want to happen - that Iceland could really lead other countries. However, let's take it steady.

On October 20, 2012 a referendum took place in Iceland approving of the new Constitution. This referendum struck the final note in the battle the Icelandic people have fought since 2008 when they suddenly found out that, due to the financial crisis, their country (which is not a member of the EU, as a matter of fact) literally became bankrupt.

The news was sudden because it came after the five years of flourishing, sustained by the "most effective" neoliberal economy based on privatisation of all banks in the country (in 2003). To attract foreign investments, the banks extensively used online banking system that provides fairly high profits against the minimal spend.

Indeed, the Icelandic banks attracted funds from many small British and Dutch investors, everything was grand, and, as far as neoliberals were concerned, the economy was in a great state. All was good, except for one thing: the more investments were attracted, the quicker grew the external debt of the banks. Whereas in 2003 this debt made 200% of GNP, by 2007 it was 900%. The global financial crisis of 2008 dealt the death blow to Iceland's economy. Three leading banks - Landbanki, Kapthing, and Glitnir - went bankrupt and were nationalised, while the krona lost 85% of its value against the euro. At the end of the year Iceland announced bankruptcy.

Now it is time to remember that Iceland is a democratic country. At first the citizens decided to rely on the "usual" representative democracy. Several months after the banks' collapse the Icelanders took to the streets, protesting against the bankers, responsible for the crisis, and the ignorant politicians who allowed the crisis to develop. The protests and public unrest eventually forced the Government to resign.

The new elections took place in April 2009, and the coalition of left forces came to power. On the one hand, it instantly denounced the neoliberal economy, but, on the other hand, the new government quickly gave in to the demands of the World Bank and the members of the EU to pay the banks' debts - altogether, 3,5bln euro. This meant that every citizen in Iceland would have to pay 100 euro monthly for the next 15 years, in order to repay the debts of private persons (the bank owners) to other private persons.

This was too much even for the phlegmatic Icelanders and has led to a rather extraordinary course of events. The idea to pay for the mistakes of private financiers, that the entire country must be subjected to a toll to repay the private debts, was so unacceptable that a new wave of mass protests ensued. These practically forced the government to side with the majority of people. As a result, the President Olafur Ragnar Grimsson refused to ratify the law, already passed through the Parliament, that would make the citizens responsible for the bankers' debts, and called a referendum.

Next followed the reaction of the "international community", rather characteristic of the "free world": Iceland was put under the unprecedented pressure. Great Britain and Holland threatened to impose severe economic sanctions, up to a complete isolation of Iceland, if the debts are not repaid. The World Monetary Fund threatened to withdraw any help. The British government threatened to freeze the savings and current accounts of Icelandic citizens. But Iceland stood firm, while the President Grimsson remarked: "We were told that, if we did not accept the conditions of the global community, we would become the Northern Cuba. Yet if we did accept them, we'd become the Northern Haiti".

The referendum took place in March 2010. 93% of Icelanders decided not to repay the debts to the foreign creditors - Britain and Holland. The World Monetary Fund immediately freeze all credits. But nothing could any longer stop the Icelanders. With popular support the government initiated civil and criminal investigations against the individuals responsible for the financial crisis. Interpol gave an arrest order against the ex-President of Kaupthing Bank, Sigurd Einarsson, while other bankers, involved in bringing the country to bankruptcy, fled Iceland.

Yet even this was not the end. The Icelanders decided to create a new Constitution that would liberate the country from the power of global finance and virtual money. At the same time, the Icelanders wanted to write the Constitution themselves, as one nation. And they succeeded! The project of the Constitution was written by 950 ordinary citizens, randomly selected (as in a lottery) by the members of the National Assemble in 2010.

To complete the Constitution, the people of Iceland elected a Constitutional Council consisting of 25 people. Fishermen, farmers, doctors, and even housewives were elected from 522 adult citizens who did not belong to any political party and who was each recommended by at least 30 people.

As a Russian journalist wrote in his article (the name of the article referring to the famous quote from Lenin, that "every cooker can sit in the government"), "let us underline specifically that nobody in Iceland resented the fact that they could not read through all 522 bios and political platforms, let alone to find their way in the bulletin that contained the names of so many people".

Next, the citizens began to polish the text of the Constitution. Let us cite the same Russian journalist: "After this the Council used the system of crowd-sourcing and provided access to its work for everybody. The citizens' feedback was collected on Facebook, Twitter, and even YouTube. Altogether 3600 comments and 370 amendments were made. Every week the Council published online the new articles, to be discussed by people. Two or three weeks later, having considered all suggestions from the citizens and experts, the Council published a final draft of the articles that could then be discussed for one last time. Apart from this, the members of the Council recorded weekly bulletins about their work and uploaded them to YouTube, and the Council meetings could be watched online in real time. In the end, all 25 members voted to end the work on the Constitution. "We, the people of Iceland, want to create a fair society where each of us will have an equal place at the common table", - such is the opening paragraph of the Constitution".

In their comments the members of the Constitutional Council admit that in other languages this phrase sounds rough, but, in their opinion, the idea is clear to all Icelanders and better than any other reflects the aspiration to create equal opportunities for everyone. According to the Constitution, the natural resources of the island are declared the public property. Of a particular interest is the article "Open information and fairness" that obliges the government to provide a public access to all of its documents, unless they constitute the state secret. The Constitution also calls the government to work for the benefit of the Earth and biosphere, and not people alone. A separate article supports the animal rights. This innovative document incorporates a rather archaic article, omitted from the majority of European constitutions: according to it, the Evangelical-Lutheran church of Iceland retains its national status.

One important point should be noted, as it influenced the course of events. The Constitutional Council turned to be, as it were, "Eurosocialist" - not so much because the majority of Icelanders adhere to the leftist program, but because of the short-sighted and downright silly attitude of the Icelandic right forces. Previously in power, The Progressive Party and The Party of Independence appealed to their members to boycott the elections to the Council and subsequent work on the Constitution, which appeal the members followed. As a result, the right forces and the conservatives were in the minority.

Thus, due to the joint influence of both objective and subjective factors, the majority suddenly held all the trumps in their hands. They were the majority in the Constitutional Council, in the committee that developed the Constitution, and then at the referendum. The result "exceeded all expectations" to such extent that for a long time now the world media keep eloquent silence about the results of the referendum on October 23, when the Constitution was approved by 80% of Icelanders, with 66% turnout.

So, you got it? As soon as the majority was allowed to develop and vote for the Constitution, then privatisation as a panacea to all economic maladies was "swapped" for nationalisation, the state secret became the common knowledge, and instead of the strictly representative democracy the elements of true democracy have emerged.

God forbid, think the neoliberal governments throughout the world, the example of Iceland is followed elsewhere. Today the same solutions are offered to other countries. Greece is told that privatisation of the public sector is the only solution. The same is told to Spain, Italy, and Portugal. But what if they followed the example of Iceland? What a horrible thought to entertain...

Yet this can happen. Many Russian tourists who constantly suffer through the endlessly striking "European PIGS" (Portugal, Italy, Greece, Spain) note that many manifestation banners mention Iceland. But none of this is mentioned in the news. The main focus is on what conditions these "pigs" consent to a gracious offer of a loan to repay the debts of bankrupt private banks.

This is why you never knew about the Icelandic referendum. The world media pretend that nothing happened. For the media, just like governments and parliaments, also represent the interests of the ruling classes who do not want the majority of citizens to have a say in the government matters.

But for all those who support the majority and who are not indifferent to the true democracy, the story of Iceland is a lesson. It is a lesson in an organised majority, in direct democracy, in the real exercise of the rights of the majority, in popular legislation and self-government. It is the lesson in all the things that make any democracy possible in the first place.

Important update:

I have just found an article submitted to Reddit and published on March 30, 2013 by Torvaldur Gylfason. It reads:

In sum, it was clear that in a secret ballot the constitutional bill would never have had a chance of being adopted by parliament, not even after the national referendum on the bill on 20 October 2012 where 67% of the electorate expressed their support for the bill as well as for its main individual provisions, including national ownership of natural resources (83% said Yes), direct democracy (73% said Yes), and ‘one person, one vote’ (67% said Yes). But the parliament does not vote in secret. In fact, 32 out of 63 members of parliament were induced by an e-mail campaign organized by ordinary citizens to declare that they supported the bill and wanted to adopt it now. Despite these public declarations, however, the bill was not brought to a vote in the parliament, a heinous betrayal – and probably also an illegal act committed with impunity by the president of the parliament. Rather, the parliament decided to disrespect its own publicly declared will as well as the popular will as expressed in the national referendum by putting the bill on ice and, to add insult to injury, hastily requiring 2/3 of parliament plus 40% of the popular vote to approve any change in the constitution in the next parliament, meaning that at least 80% voter turnout would be required for a constitutional reform to be accepted in the next session of parliament. The politicians apparently paid no heed to the fact that under these rules Iceland’s separation from Denmark would not have been accepted in the referendum of 1918. In practice, this means that we are back to square one as intended by the enemies of the new constitution. There is faint hope that the new parliament will respect the will of the people if the outgoing one failed to do so despite its promises. In her farewell address, the outgoing Prime Minister, Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, declared this to be the saddest day of her 35 years in parliament.

One can see that the future of Iceland is yet far from certain, but the hope remains.

Poesie En Russe: A History Lesson

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 23:31:00 +0000

I am teaching World History to a young student, and last time the topic was the Hundred Years War and Tudor England. We have to cover a fairly long period of time, so have to skim through History. I am glad as I have to do revision, and it's always great to refresh your memory...

...so naturally we had to look at the timeline of the Tudor dinasty, which involved mentioning the notorious "six wives of Henry VIII". I don't mean that all of them were notorious, merely that this is such a worn-out subject that one almost wants there had been 4 or 5 spouses less.

It suddenly downed on me that there had been a strange repetition in Henry's marrying pattern. It's like all his six marriages could be split into 2 period, almost identical but for a small "yet". In the first period, Henry divorced his first wife (Catherine of Aragon), sent the second to the scaffold (Anne Boleyn), and had the third die in labour (Jane Seymour). A small pause, and then the story repeated itself: he divorced the fourth wife (Anne of Cleves), sent the second to the scaffold (Katherine Howard)..., and then died himself, leaving Catherine Parr, his 6th queen, a widow.

What a story! What a coincidence! Awe-inspiring and marvellous as it is, I thought in context it could be seen as a proof that Nature (God, etc.) doesn't like anything that is dull and repetitive. And since Henry went on to follow the exact same pattern with his 4th and 5th marriages, as he did in 1st and 2nd, Nature decided it was high time to do things differently. As a matter of fact, soon after Henry's death Catherine Parr married a member of the Privy Council, had a daughter who may or may not have survived, and died soon after. In effect, she could follow in Jane Seymour's footsteps, had Henry not died first, and then God knows how many times Henry would have to remarry.

Image courtesy: tartx.deviantart.com

This is, in fact, the story of the poem I wrote yesterday, in Russian.

Король Генрих Восьмой
С своей первой женой
Разошелся по собственной воле.
Он вторую казнил,
А уж третью любил,
Но, увы, схоронил, полный горя.

Знал бы Генрих, что скоро
Повторится все снова,
Но уже по-другому немного...

Вот с четвертой женой
Король Генрих Восьмой
Разошелся по собственной воле,
Пятую он казнил,
А шестую любил..,
И навек упокоился вскоре.

Вспоминай Короля:
Ведь, наверно, не зря
Повторяется жизнь у тебя, -

Если станут опять
Ту же нить Мойры прясть,
Они могут, увы, заскучать...

Julie Delvaux, March 18, 2013

The Persistence of Pancakes: Artemy Lebedev Studio Revisits Salvador Dali's Painting

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 12:20:00 +0000

A renowned Russian design studio run by Artemy Lebedev revisited the famous 1931 painting by Salvador Dali, The Persistence of Memory.

Salvador Dali, The Persistence of Memory (1931)

Dali's work was painted during his Freudian phase, but also allegedly contained reference to Albert Einstein's relativity theory. Even if the second argument was not quite true, the Time is clearly seen in this work as a moving substance, something not solid, and therefore, relative.

Artemy Lebedev design studio revisited the image in the context of the Pancake Week craze. So we see pancakes instead of pocket watches. Since a pancake's substance is soft by nature, Dali's idea becomes inverted and follows a different track, not from exactness to relativity, but from movement to immobility. Here pancakes represent a fixture that, despite its unenduring state, persists in time and in mind.

I am not sure what name the Russian designers gave to their work (the inscription on the image merely says "Happy Pancake Week"), so I thought that the paraphrase of Dali's original image was rather fit.

Artemy Lebedev Studio's image

Vita Sackville-West - A Sonnet (For...)

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 21:44:00 +0000

I have now updated the post to include a photo of Vita with her sons Benedict and Nigel and Virginia Woolf (found on Pinterest) and my narration of both the original poem and translation.

A bench at Sissinghurst Castle Garden
(courtesy of National Trust).

Source: thevictorianlady.tumblr.com via Robert on Pinterest

Стихи, что я писала для тебя,
Ни ты, ни кто другой не прочитает.
Лишь много лет забвения спустя,
Страницы запыленные листая,

Откроет кто-то песнь о милых днях,
Когда все мимолетное нам было
Всех слаще слов, а музыка в ветвях
Таинственно звенела и манила.

В той песне, безыскусной и простой, -
Любовь двоих, чиста и неделима.
Читатель века нового, постой:
Ужель пройдешь без состраданья мимо
Нас, так любивших и любимых?
Ужели слез не стоит даже то,
Что все живое стало так мертво?

23 декабря 2012 г.
Translated from English by © Julie Delvaux

No eyes shall see the poems that I write
For you; not even yours; but after long
Forgetful years that passed on our delight
Some hand may chance upon a dusty song

Of those fond days when every spoken word
Was sweet, and all the fleeting things unspoken
Yet sweeter, and the music half unheard
Murmured through forests as a charm unbroken.

It is a plain and ordinary page
Of two who loved, sole-spirited and clear.
Will you, a stranger of another age,
Not grant a human and compassioned tear
To us, who each the other held so dear?
A single tear fraternal, sadly shed,
Since that which was so living, is so dead.

Poesie En Russe: The English Diary, 2003-2004

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 00:38:00 +0000

THE ENGLISH DIARY, 2003-2004

-1-
Я вижу башню,
Что напоминает
Мне рыбий хвост.
А рыбы голова
Уходит вниз,
В фундаменте растаяв...
Вертушка-флюгер
Движется едва,
Хотя давно и ветрено, и грустно,
И с дерева летит последний лист,
И дождь идет, и на аллеях пусто,
И только самолета тяжкий свист
Взрывает на секунду наважденье,
Как бой часов, – и снова тишина,
И осень вновь в порыве вдохновенья
Все краски смешивает. Низко небеса
Склонились и своею синевою
Накрыли город, башню и меня.
Мы все в своем нырке вниз головою
Застыли, равновесие храня.

Manchester, 31 октября 2003 г.,
библиотека Манчестерского университета

Summary: the protagonist is watching the chimney tower of one of the Manchester University's buildings. It resembles a tail of a fish that dipped head down into the pavement. Silence and the sense of immobility descend on town, aggravated by occasional noises.

-2-
Текут минуты за дождем,
Стекло покрыв узором капель.
Мне хорошо со мной вдвоем,
Себе вернейший я приятель.

Я ничего не говорю,
Мои слова давно иссякли.
Лишь зачарованно смотрю
На утекающие капли.

Поймать бы их, - но есть ли смысл
Ловить мгновенье? В нем ли вечность?
И за дождем исчезла мысль,
Нырнув с разбегу в бесконечность,

И, как Офелия, плывет,
Найдя покой в прохладе бурной.
Она с собой меня зовет,
А я так рада быть безумной.

Manchester, 15 ноября 2003 г.

Summary: the poem is the first to document the experience of surviving the long-lasting English rain. The protagonist feels the lack of expressive methods to spell out the feeling of loneliness.

-3-
Я вас не знаю, и вы меня тоже.
Вы на меня чем-то очень похожи.
Кажется мне отчего-то, что знаю,
Где я вас видел, и кто вы такая.

Вы улыбаетесь – это понятно:
Что б ни случилось, - ушло безвозвратно.
Вы забываете, - я вспоминаю:
Где я вас видел и что о вас знаю.

Пусть не тревожит вас это вниманье, -
Губ не покинут мольба и признанье.
Вам уходить, ну а мне оставаться.
Надо ли было вас вспомнить пытаться?

Manchester, 07 декабря 2003 г.

Summary: a mocking poem, it is written in male voice, the man trying to figure out what makes the female figure so recognisable to him.

-4-
В бессонной осени покой
Стремлюсь найти, и безуспешно.
Так лист касается окна
И удаляется поспешно,

Летя за гусями на юг
И отражаясь в водной глади.
Я что-то все хочу прочесть
В осеннем тихом листопаде.

Но вместе с ветром к облакам
Опять уносится страница,
И капли стройной вереницей
Текут вослед моим стихам.

Manchester, 07 декабря 2003 г.

Summary: with strong references to sleepless nights when poetry is written, the poem follows the change in season and the protagonist's desperate attempts to pin oneself down in the ever-changing world.

-5-
В тусклых осени красках
Я забыт и потерян,
Словно время исчезло,
Улетело на юг,
И в дожде растворились
Месяца и недели,
И почти невозможно
Мне дождаться здесь вьюг.

Я тоскую по снегу,
Но, прозрачною дымкой
От травы поднимаясь,
Серебрится туман,
Здесь тепло, а мне зябко,
Я рыдаю и стыну,
С головой погружаясь
В ливень, как в океан.

И с навязчивой мыслью
И растерзанным сердцем
Снова жду, ненавидя
Долгих дней суету,
Что, как птица,
Ища покрасивей одеться,
Воровато уносит
У зимы красоту.

Manchester, 16 декабря 2003 г.

Summary: perhaps, the most outspoken poem about the experience of living through a then barely un-autumn-like winter. A part of the first stanza has been translated as:

I am lost and forgotten
In the dim shades of autumn,
And the Time disappeared
On its way to the south...

-6-
Манчестер машет мне
Неоновой рукою,
Приветствуя конец
Очередного дня.
И спальни тусклый свет
Зовет меня к покою,
А к мысли – книга,
И теряюсь я,

Пытаюсь выбирать,
В чем большая потребность,
Что мне из этих двух
Оставить на потом.
Но к книгам у меня
Особенная ревность,
И, право, то не мой,
А книг оживших дом.

И, с полки взяв одну,
Я вскоре за другою
До полночи сижу,
Забыв покой и сон.
Манчестер светит мне
Неоновой Луною,
И я машу в ответ
Из буквенных окон.

Manchester, 04 марта 2004 г.

Summary: following several months of adaptation, by March my spirits had risen somewhat, and this poem is a far cry from the repetitive exhultations about the Engish weather. The protagonist spends time reading, forsaking the nigh sleep for "intellectual solitude".

-7-
Горел Манеж. Летели искры в небо.
Разинув рты, глядела вся страна:
Ведь в кои веки зрелищем, не хлебом,
Тоска толпы была утолена.

О, если бы я могла из-за Ла-Манша
Остановить безжалостный пожар!
И в немощи болело тело страшно
И чувствовало нестерпимый жар.

И я горела, - молча, некрасиво,
Как бывшие конюшни у Кремля.
Я не жалела; но мне грустно было
За все, что здесь осталось без меня,

Что в один день исчезнет в горьком дыме,
А мы, смахнув слезу, пройдем вперед...
Мне тех невежество невыносимо,
Кто смерть надеждой чьею-то зовет.

Manchester, 14 марта 2004 г.

Summary: the poem was written on the day of the Manezh Fire that followed Putin's election. It was triggered, however, by the reaction at home where someone was saying that this could be the rise of the new Russia. Read about the poem here.

-8-
Я ищу тебя в городе этом,
Не надеясь когда-то найти.
Ты, как Муза, бросаешь поэта,
И расходятся наши пути.

Я ищу тебя в книгах старинных,
Где виньетка – разгадка судьбы.
В переулках, на улицах длинных
Чутко слушаю чьи-то шаги.

Я ищу... я ищу тебя всюду,
Даже там, где не стоит искать,
Но я верю, я верю и буду,
Не надеясь, но все-таки ждать,

Чтобы в день, когда ты будешь рядом,
Не заметив, пройти. И тогда
Снова ждать и искать тебя взглядом...
Я искать тебя буду всегда.

London, 04-05 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: I went to London on April 2, 2004, which was Friday. The weekend was spent walking around town, and the next two weeks saw a never-ending flood of poetry. The first poem written is a story of a person in search of a soul-mate, forever anticipating, hoping, and always passing them by.

-9-
Отчего мне так грустно?
Оттого, что не знаю,
Что приносит на крыльях
Ветр грядущего дня,
Штор тяжелых покров
Раздувая, срывая,
Все мечты разбивая,
Убивая меня.

И, испуганный страшно
И за жизнь опасаясь,
Я ему позволяю
Растворить мне глаза,
Как от шторы – окно,
И смеюсь и рыдаю,
И радужно восходит
Очищенья слеза...

London, 05 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: London was like Moscow - vast, populous, bustling, noisy, spacious, greeny, cultural - and it also brought about a realisation that in personal sense I was barking up the wrong tree. Or that I was pursuing the wrong needs. Or that I tried to be someone I needed not to be (a wife in a traditional sense). The poem was written on a rather windy evening, then the curtains were blowing, and the window eventually opened. Written in the first person, the poem describes one's liberation from illusion and false goals as the window getting opened by wind, and the curtain blowing in the wind.

-10-
Моментом пользуюсь -
Для вечности писать.
Чтобы успеть сказать,
Как важно быть безумным,
Ждать невозможного,
О призрачном мечтать,
Жить очарованно
И доверять бездумно.

И я спешу о том
Сказать, пока один,
Пока еще живу
Наедине с собою,
Лишь время Мира мне –
Всесильный господин,
А людям я открыт
Восторженной душою

И принимаю все
Их страсти, как радар,
Все их мечты, любовь,
И веру, и безверье....
Моментом пользуюсь,
Чтоб воплотить свой дар,
Пока мне Мир свои
Распахивает двери.

London, 05 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: the protagonist expresses the awareness of the fleeting nature of inspiration and openness to the Creator. In my case, I was also aware that my "freedom" was only to last till after Easter, then I'd be back to Manchester. Nevertheless, the protagonist (as also I) sees oneself as a radar for people's aspirations, thoughts, and passions, and literally "takes a moment" (=carpe diem) to put one's gift at the World's service.

-11-
Мне нравятся открытые шторы
Так чтобы настежь без претензий
На целомудрие
Пусть вечер целует меня
И город глядит очарованный
Нашей любовью
Что мне чьи-то глаза
Когда только твои я люблю
И слова когда голос твой силы лишает
Мне не стыдно любить
И показывать всем свое счастье
Пусть будут открыты шторы
Всю ночь. И завтра. И вечно.

London, 06 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: Manchester somehow got associated with the lack of love, so in London I immediately found myself platonically in love with the city and an abstract bel ami. There was also a need for freedom in the intimate "department", hence the poem is somewhat voyeuristic, proclaiming the pleasure of kissing at the open window.

-12-
Мне сегодня не спится.
За окном уже утро,
И под визг тормозов
Пробуждается город.
Я гляжу в потолок,
Нависающий хмуро,
И предчувствую северный
Дождь или холод.

Мне не спится совсем.
Разворочав подушку,
Я таращусь на стены
И на неба полоску,
Что видна из-под штор.
Мне становится душно,
Одеяло с матрацем
Превращаются в доски,

И, расплющенный ими,
Я беспомощно плачу
От бессилья забыться
Хрупким сном предрассветным...
Шлейф Авроры мне
Розовым светом маячит,
Полчаса до восьми
Отсчитав незаметно.

London, 06 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: all emotions and experiences apparently deprived me of sleep on this day. This is an exact description of how I felt having been awake all night, while desperately wanting to sleep. In the second stanza the protagonist feels suffocated and sandwiched between the blanket and the mattress.

-13-
Отдайте мне ваши губы, -
Я сделаю из них лодку,
Что понесет меня к центру
Жаждущей ласк Земли,
И веслами будут пальцы,
А я – неопытным юнгой,
И пусть утону я в море
Безбрежной твоей любви.

London, 07 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: one of the first poems of mine that I translated into English, partly because it has rhythm and no rhyme. Read it in English here (it's about a kiss).

-14-
Я к Рассел Сквер направляюсь,
Сжимая в руках буклет.
Ты выдохнул: «Как Вы красивы!»,
И я улыбнулась в ответ.

И шум фонтана разносит
На многие сотни лет
Твое «Как Вы красивы!»
С моей улыбкой в ответ.

London, 10 апреля 2004 г.,
Рассел Сквер

Summary: an absolutely real story. I was going to the Tower and walked from Fitzroy St. into Montague St. behind the British Museum towards Russell Sq. I didn't even notice the man who walked towards the Museum (apparently he worked there), until I heard him breathing out admiringly: "Oh my God, you are beautiful". I believe I blushed and barely muttered "Thank you". You have to understand my reaction, as in Russia to this day it is not common (if permissable, as far as some people are concerned) to compliment a person, even a man-to-woman compliment is a rarity. Back then I was smitten, flushed, went to Russell Square and wrote the poem. It's very simple:

I'm walking towards Russell Square
With a booklet in hand.
You breathed out: "How beautiful you are!"
And I smiled in return.

And the fountain preserves in its sounds
For hundreds of years to come
Your "how beautiful you are!"
With my smile in return.

It happened so that we stumbled into each other again on the same day, just I walked out from Russell Sq park, I received another compliment, and then we parted forever.

-15-
Бессильная, рука вновь тянется к перу,
И я, себя совсем уже не понимая,
Пишу – пишу так, как еще могу,
Пока в ночной тиши день прошлый увядает,

Пока еще слышны мне чьи-то голоса,
И, словно в полусне, я вижу в изумленье
Над мутной Темзою стальные небеса;
И странный силуэт меня, как наважденье,

Преследует. Ему – отдаться просто так,
Забыв про все и про себя впридачу.
Я, замерев, рассматриваю мрак
И понимаю, что напрасно трачу

Свои мечты, пытаясь превратить
Хотя б одну во что-то, что есть Слово;
Что я любимых не могу любить,
А вновь любить кого-то не готова.

Из мыслей всех ясна одна лишь мне;
И я ее хочу осуществленья:
Пусть прошлое горит в зари огне –
Я к новому стремлюсь без сожаленья.

London, 10 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: the day's event (see above) triggered the final realisation that it's impossible to dream of impossible dreams ("I understand that I spend in vain my dreams trying to turn at least one of them into a Word" - the meaning of the last expression being that "Word" stands for something concrete, and the dreams I dreamt had failed to acquire any sort of concreteness). At the same time, the protagonist realises that they do indeed suffer from the lack of love yet are not "ready" to love again. And still the past is cast into the flames of London sunrise for the sake of the new horizons.

-16-
Вы знаете, что темною порой
Я в кухню прихожу, как в мастерскую,
И твердою, привычною рукой
Взамен одной игры творю другую?

Вся жизнь – театр, что сгорел дотла,
И пепел чей скрывает, - как забрало,
Как саван, как чудное покрывало, -
Роскошный занавес и роли красота.

Моя «Олимпия» навек возведена,
И что ей простота ее рожденья?
Француз черпает в кухне вдохновенье,
Как я в игре – свободу для пера.

И до тех пор хранит оно свой яд,
В чьей сладости его успех таится,
Пока с самим собой играть я рад,
Пока мне видится, предчувствуется, мнится.

Москва, 2 августа 2003 г. - Manchester, 18 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: the poem was started in Moscow in August 2003 and finished in Manchester in April 2004, upon returning from London. The first stanza sets the scene: a poet who comes to the kitchen by night to "make a play". This is personal in that for a long time then and occasionally now my kitchen is my study. The second stanza sets the ground for defense of such "low-key" place for a study, stating that all life is a theatre that burnt down and whose ashes are covered by the grandeur of the role and curtain. As a Frenchman takes inspiration in his cuisine, so the protagonist finds it in the kitchen (a deliberate play on words, of course). The inspiration continues until the protagonist is happy to make oneself an active participant of the play, or the game being played.

-17-
И я тоскую по бессонной ночи,
Когда затихнет город в первом сне,
Когда летят, сменя друг друга, строчки,
И утро зарождается в огне

Светила, скрытого под абажуром,
И падает перо устало вбок,
И смотрит на меня фонарь чуть хмуро,
И шины дробят времени песок.

Manchester, 21 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: coming back to Manchester brought about some difficulties, altough I found it easier to live there now that I had London in me. But as the poem states,

I long for a sleepless night
When the city falls mute with the first dream,
When the lines fly one after another,
And the morning rises in the light

Of the sun hidden under the lampshade,
And the tired pen falls to the side,
And the streetlight watches me with a slight grudge,
And the car tires crush the sand of Time.

-18-
Я жажду новых впечатлений,
И стран, и городов чужих, -
Душа нуждается в прозреньях
И о себе, и о других.

Я жажду новых встреч, иллюзий,
Смешных романов, легких снов,
Капризов новых старой Музы
И новой Музы сладких слов.

Мне так оно необходимо,
Что я готов туда идти,
Отринув все, что было мило,
Презрев все прошлые пути,

И напролом – к азам творений,
Per aspera – к звезде своей.
Я жажду новых впечатлений,
Явлений, мыслей и людей.

Manchester, 21 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: building upon the newly-found craving for freedom and novelty, the protagonist declares a readiness to meet new people, to make new illusions, to experience new impressions.

-19-
Я – пассажир случайный корабля.
Всхожу на борт, сказав «прощай» покою,
И, оставляя берег за собою,
Плыву вперед, куда глаза глядят.

Кондуктор-капитан признал меня
И мостик со мной делит без обиды.
И вот теряю землю я из виду,
За волнами восторженно следя.

И в миг, когда корабль в океан
Выходит, и к нему из дальних стран
Слетают чайки, грусть неся свою,

Я чувствую: мне мир принадлежит.
А там, внизу, волной шоссе бежит,
И с ветром я свободы песнь пою.

Manchester, 26 апреля 2004 г.

Summary: a poem dedicated to the old London double-deckers, with an open back entrance. You can read it here.

-20-
Мне видятся Ваши глаза
Я с ними так часто встречаюсь
Вы что-то хотите сказать
А я вас услышать пытаюсь

Но шум посторонний слова
Слетевшие с губ заглушает
И вот я Вас вижу едва
И Ваш силуэт быстро тает

И я Вас не помню опять
Но чувствую Ваши взгляды
И стану с надеждою ждать
Когда Вы окажетесь рядом.

Manchester, 07 мая 2004 г.

Summary: the "You" in the poem has no particular prototype. It's one of the poems I tried to write in an "English" way, without a direct reference to gender, hence "You" and "I" can be any gender combination. The protagonist sees someone and tries to listen to them, but the noise covers the voice, the "You" vanishes, and the protagonist remains "in the waiting".

-21-
Я стремлюсь в безлюбовном пространстве
Не прибиться к тоски берегам.
Я, как прежде, хочу поклоняться
Вечно юным и мудрым богам.

Как и прежде, обуян я страстью,
Чей огонь я краду, как титан,
И моей покоряются власти,
Кто не в силах нести его сам.

Я живу лишь одною надеждой:
Что покой никогда не придет,
Пусть я буду страдать, как и прежде,
Без любви, что меня где-то ждет,

Но я стану, как жрец одинокий,
В вечном храме свой пламень хранить
И, как прежде, свивать искры-строки
В путеводную звездную нить.

Manchester, 08 июня 2004 г.

Summary: a poetic statement drawing on my childhood fascination with Greek mythology. The protagonist tries hard to not fall prey to the ennui of the everyday life.

-22-
Манчестер. Утро. Пять часов.
Разбужены зарей, поют повсюду птицы.
Я слышу приближенье голосов,
А вдалеке куда-то быстро мчится

За ночь не отдохнувшее шоссе.
Я горизонт смотрю, весь желтый от рассвета,
Мне хорошо, но не свободно мне,
Лишь утру раннему могу сказать об этом,

Чтоб днем и вечером молчание хранить,
И ночи ждать, и чтоб, рассвет встречая,
Мечтой кого-то навестить,
О ком-то в первый раз забыть,
И, смутному наитью доверяя,
Кого-то неизвестного любить.

Manchester, 16 июня 2004 г.

Summary: two months after coming back to Manchester, I was standing stronger against some of the problems, and the poem indicates the necessity to lead a kind of double life, keeping the attained status quo while preparing for a change.

The Case For Aliens (Exercises in Loneliness-XI)

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 06:10:00 +0000

If we take George Mikes's title literally and add to it the fact that each of us is a rather solitary figure in this world, then each of us is an alien. Either an Englishman in New York, or a Russian in Manchester, we depend on ourselves and always get back to ourselves as a point of reference.

Then another George comes to mind - that's Orwell with his "some animals more equal than other animals". By extension, some aliens are more equal than other aliens, provided they constitute the majority - of population, religion, sexual orientation etc.

At this carrefour originates a seeming necessity to be less alien than other aliens, and this necessity sometimes can yield unexpected results.

It was probably in 2010 that I went into a Tesco Express, one of many in Manchester city centre. The girl who was working at the till belonged to the Afro-Caribbean community and was absolutely lovely - except a typically Caribbean accent. She was trying to give me change and asked for a two pence coin. I was distracted so I didn't hear her at first. She repeated, and I genuinely couldn't understand. Again she said it, this time I made it out and gave the coin. She laughed:

- You're foreign, that's why you don't understand my accent.

- No, - I replied, - I'm British.

I didn't mean to be nasty, and I wasn't really offended. After all, I was foreign in Manchester once. I suppose the whole conversation was a matter of fact, at least as far as I was concerned. It was strange and funny yet that we - both actually foreign in one way or another - engaged in guessing the "degree" of alienness, one of us ultimately losing.

Now, on my recent visit to Edinburgh I went into one of many souvenir shops . An owner with a recognisable European accent was selling ladies' kilts to a group of Italian donne interpreted by an 11-year-old girl. "I can tell you, ladies", he was confidently telling them in a high voice, "almost all souvenir shops here are taken by the Indians, there are only 5 or 6 authentic shops". His was evidently one of the authentic shops.

I was attended to next. I think for the best of his business I shall omit the reference to the exact country of his origin. The point, however, is that he was as much alien to Scotland as the Indians (or Pakistani). And yet - be it due to skin colour or merely parroting what he might hear in pubs and from other vendors - he considers himself superior to people who at any rate have been associated with the UK for longer than his country of origin.

The stories are quite similar, as you can see. People assume superiority over their neighbour by assuming that the neighbour is alien. Greeks did the same when they called the rest of the world barbarians. They couldn't understand that rather imperfect language, but it was the barbarians' fault anyway. And as if the realisation of one's solitary existence and loneliness in this world was not enough, there comes, sooner or later, the understanding that there are aliens who are more equal.

Poetry Reading: Alexander Pushkin, Confession; W. H. Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 10:39:00 +0000

(Image: http://good-wallpapers.com/)

By way of celebrating the International Women's Day, here are recordings I made in English of Alexander Pushkin's poem, Confession, and of Wystan Hugh Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening. Confession appeared earlier in Russian, recited by Innokenty Smoktunovsky; and for meanings and themes of Auden's poem, check out these pages: Lavanet.no, Will Green's blog, and English Department of Southeast University (this one analyses the poem by stanzas).

Poetry of Geoffrey Chaucer (To the Purse and Counsel)

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 14:37:00 +0000

Geoffrey Chaucer

To the majority of readers Geoffrey Chaucer is known as the author The Canterbury Tales and Troilus and Cressida. But there were smaller poems he composed, and here come the two of them. In the first, Chaucer addressed his purse; the second he was said to have written on his deathbed, "lying in anguish".

The Complaint Of Chaucer To His Purse

To you, my purse, and to none other wight,

Complain I, for ye be my lady dear!

I am sorry now that ye be so light,

For certes ye now make me heavy cheer;

Me were as lief be laid upon my bier.

For which unto your mercy thus I cry,

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Now vouchesafe this day, ere it be night,

That I of you the blissful sound may hear,

Or see your colour like the sunne bright,

That of yellowness hadde peer.Ye be my life!

Ye be my hearte's steer! rudder

Queen of comfort and of good company!

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Now, purse! that art to me my life's light

And savour, as down in this worlde here,

Out of this towne help me through your might,

Since that you will not be my treasurere;

For I am shave as nigh as any frere.

But now I pray unto your courtesy,

Be heavy again, or elles must I die!

Chaucer's Envoy to the King.

O conqueror of Brute's Albion,

Which by lineage and free election

Be very king, this song to you I send;

And ye which may all mine harm amend,

Have mind upon my supplication!

Good Counsel Of Chaucer

Flee from the press, and dwell with soothfastness;

Suffice thee thy good, though it be small;

For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,

Press hath envy, and weal is blent o'er all,

Savour no more than thee behove shall;

And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.

Paine thee not each crooked to redress,

In trust of her that turneth as a ball;

Great rest standeth in little business:

Beware also to spurn against a nail;

Strive not as doth a crocke with a wall;

Deeme thyself that deemest others' deed,

And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.

What thee is sent, receive in buxomness;

The wrestling of this world asketh a fall;

Here is no home, here is but wilderness.

Forth, pilgrim! Forthe beast, out of thy stall!

Look up on high, and thank thy God of all!

Weive thy lust, and let thy ghost thee lead,

And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.

Shaken, Not Stirred: A Brief Review

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 13:41:00 +0000

Tomorrow Russia and a few like-minded countries celebrate the International Women's Day. I wrote a post on this earlier. Some countries, like the UK, celebrate Mother's Day, hence there will be a Mothering Sunday.

For me, these will be days off work that I want to spend exactly as days-off.

In the third week of February I went to the UK and this time I finally crossed the border with Scotland and wandered around Edinburg. I very briefly, for a couple of seconds, contemplated visiting Glasgow, but then I remembered visiting the UK for the first time. I never visited London then, which is the capital city. I reckoned visiting Glasgow instead of Edinburgh would be like entering the same river twice, and since you cannot enter the same river twice, I bought a ticket to Edinburgh.

I was also contracted to do translation work, one project having been completed the day I flew out to Manchester, another that I'm involved in as a collaborator is nearly finished.

There are more work projects, all in the Translation field so far, plus I've surprised myself by going back to teaching. Granted I teach World History, in which I specialised, it is probably no wonder. However, I still did not expect myself to do this, and yet... I have never said "never", so I suppose I could do as I choose.

The best thing, as I feel it, is that certain days and weeks are already booked for months ahead. Only those who know the feeling will understand how grand it is to be able to look into a diary to see that you have things to do three weeks from now.

I have also nearly missed the worldwide craze Harlem Shake videos caused this February. It seems like everybody participated, from Amazon and Google to the Egyptian opposition. And yet I found two videos which you might not have seen yet. Harlem Shake reached the English National Ballet (!) and a group of Russian guys who like an occasional ice-water dip. The eponymous holiday was celebrated in January, but this was quite an Epiphany! I'm afraid you'll have to watch it on YouTube.

And while the Russian TV has to keen a close watch on the age restrictions for programmes, when it comes to Harlem Shake, everyone is doing it, including a popular TV host and actor Ivan Urgant:

(I thus declare that Los Cuadernos de Julia participated in the Harlem Shake global tour).

Poesie en Russe: Marina Tsvetaeva In Tarusa

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Tue, 12 Feb 2013 16:49:00 +0000

К своей Оке непережитой
Застыла ты в схожденье вечном.
И с головою непокрытой,
Ссутулив плечи,

К груди прижав так человечно
Свою неверящую руку,
В себя вбираешь чьи-то речи, -
Какая мука!

Почти спустившись в царство смертных,
Перед своею Эвридикой
Стоит, безмолвствуя, Орфей -

Но под ребром, едва заметна,
Зияет рана. И широко
Течет Ока твоих страстей

(C) Julie Delvaux 2013

This poem was written a week after my return from Tarusa in Kaluga Region. A friend of mine, one of the few painters I got acquainted with in 2012, lives across the river from Polenovo estate that belonged to the artist Polenov. On Tarussian side, however, stands this monument to Marina Tsvetaeva by Boris Messerer, the widower of the poetess Bella Akhmadulina. I know that people usually differ as to its artistic quality, but the poem I wrote takes none of that into account. On my final day in Tarusa this January I was reading an illustrated book on Caravaggio where, among many, there was this painting of Thomas meeting Jesus and, being an unbeliever, putting his finger into Jesus's wound.

The poem, a sonnet, evokes this story together with that of Orpheus. As Marina descends to the Kingdom of Mortals, she is the Bard who watches Euridice in amazement. Yet the gesture with which she touches her chest is reminiscent of that in Caravaggio painting, making her Jesus and Thomas in one.

Yury Bashmet: First Sixty Years In Music

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 12:01:00 +0000

At the end of January I attended the last concert in a series of three dedicated to the sixtieth anniversary of one of the world's finest violists and certainly Russia's greatest viola talent, Yury Bashmet. The concerts took place at the Grand Hall of the Moscow Conservatoire in Bolshaya Nikitskaya St. The conservatoire holds a special place in my heart as I was once admitted there as a pupil. I was to study Composition at the Practice Sector in 1987 but couldn't start due to poor health and certain family reasons. So I channelled my composing talent into Literature instead of Music, but I could very well have seen the Maestro, as Bashmet has been teaching at the Conservatoire since 1978.

Doubtless, Bashmet's most significant contribution to music has been in making a viola a solo instrument. I discovered his art in 1990s when I obtained two audio cassettes with recordings of masterpieces of classical music in rock arrangements. Bashmet recorded these with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and Louis Clark as a conductor as part of Hooked on Classics series.

To mark the 60th anniversary, Bashmet invited Anne-Sophie Mutter (violin, Germany), Michel Portal (clarinet, France), Oleg Maisenberg (piano, Austria), and Giovanni Sollima (cello, Italy). I had the chance to listen to the last two, and what was particularly noticeable and inspiring was Maisenberg's playing by memory. I keep seeing musicians and performers playing off the list, so it is certainly a mark of dedication and talent to play by memory. Giovanni Sollima, on the other hand, is a cello virtuoso who pushes the boundaries of what can be performed on this music instrument. He also blends music and literature, introducing extracts from the works by Giacomo Casanova.

The audience's reaction was uniformily ecstatic, Bashmet's playing solo and also conducting his own string orchestra, The Soloists of Moscow with whom he'd won a Grammy a few years ago. In the video you can see Yury Bashmet entering the stage for the first time during the final concert on January 27.

For the concert I didn't attend, please see the video below:

The Soloists of Moscow were performing on the Stradivarius, Gvarneri, and Amati instruments from the State Collection of Rare Musical Instruments. These have been specially lent to Bashmet and his orchestra on the occasion of his jubilee.

And finally some Soundcloud recordings from the concert on January 27.

Following Penguins: Photos And Stories From Antarctica

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 09:28:00 +0000

Betty Trummel of Science Roadshow blog is currently visiting Antarctica (!), but her friend and colleague Jean Pennycook has finished her research season at Cape Royds and shared some photos from the penguin colony there. We all love watching kittens and puppies, so how about some penguin chicks? To entice you, here are 3 from the photos are going to see over at Betty's blog: A Final Penguing Update.

Quotes On the Front Page: Arbus On Picture, Quignard On Joy

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 15:05:00 +0000

For me the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture. And more complicated. - Diane Arbus.

Человеку дарована лишь одна радость - ощущение жизни, когда она достигает своего апогея. И другой жизни у нас нет. - Паскаль Киньяр.

Quotes On the Front Page: Fidel Castro On Being Right, Nietzsche On Philosophers

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Delvaux) — Sat, 02 Feb 2013 17:41:00 +0000

Отсутствие исторического чувства есть наследственный недостаток всех философов. - Ф. Ницше

You may be able to convince me that I am wrong, but you cannot tell me that I am wrong without convincing me. - Fidel Castro

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