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So, my Russian poem of choice, as mention mere minutes ago, is 225 buy Osip Mandelstam. For your viewing pleasure, I shall post it here

#225
After midnight the heart picks the locked silence
right out of your hands. Then it may remain
quiet, or it may raise the roof.
Like it or not, it’s the only one of its kind.

Like it or not, you may know it but you’ll never catch it,
so why shiver, now, like a thrown-out child?
After midnight the heart has its banquet,
gnawing on a silvery mouse.
Moscow. March 1931

And, in the original Russian:

После полуночи сердце ворует
Прямо из рук запрещенную тишь.
Тихо живет — хорошо озорует,
Любишь — не любишь: ни с чем не сравнишь…

Любишь — не любишь, поймешь — не поймаешь.
Не потому ль, как подкидыш, молчишь,
Что пополуночи сердце пирует,
Взяв на прикус серебристую мышь?

Март 1931

I could go on an analytical kind of flex, talking about why I chose it, but later. Instead I’ll tell you this is the poem that brought me to my love of Russian poets in the first place. I found out about it three – almost four – years ago, now. It was in a creative writing group, and for the exercise we had to write something inspired by or as a response to the poem we picked. I picked 225.

Now I wasn’t too happy with what I wrote – I was going through a dry spell. But the poem was a good thing, and I haven’t let go of it.

So yeah. That is my theme poem.

Also, sudden title inspiration. This time it’s French. Les Jeux sont faits. The words have been playing about in my mind since I watched Bob le flambeur for one of my French modules. Oh, progress, progess…

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