Part Two of MUSE: HOW I CAME TO LIKE POETRY

After such a failure with the Muse, I was very embarrassed and mad at my shaggy neighbor. I wanted nothing to do with poetry anymore. I was done with it!  

However, the very next morning I accidentally ran into the crazy poet again. As usual he was wearing disarranged clothes, had messy hair and was carrying a rather large book under his arm. He said:  

“I am ready to give you another poetry challenge. It’s a great poem.  I’ll read it to you and you tell me who the author is.” 

I interrupted: “Why don’t you JUST tell me who the author is?”  

 “Mayakovski,” he said.  “A great Russian poet.”  

Rubbing my temples, I asked, “So you’re telling me this is another great poet that had been inspired by the Muse?”  He grinned from ear to ear.  “Yes,  and this poem is about love…a great love.”  I stared at him, determined to hear him out.  “OK. Go ahead! Read the poem!” He opened his book, looked down with his flaming eyes and said excitedly, “Yes, yes I will!”  And he read:

           ¹To love

means this:

to run

into the depths of a yard

and, till the rook-black night,

chop wood

with a shining axe. . . .

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?” I said, “Love and chopping wood?  What’s the connection?! It’s nonsense. Now I am sure this MUSE idea is just stupid!  Poetry is stupid too!  Don’t tell me anymore!  I just hate it!” 

Then, he shut his book with a loud thump and said:  “Well, well…live with such ideas, but life will teach you!”  So, we parted, and I vowed to never see him again.

When I came home, there was an official notice posted on my door.  I had been drafted into the Russian  Army, and I forgot all about the shaggy poet.  

************

It was a little more than a year after I joined the Army that they let women serve as nurses and cooks.  One day, our platoon was standing in formation, and a young woman in uniform walked in front of our platoon before we began to march.  When I saw her, my heart surged. My legs seemed to be paralyzed.  When our commander gave the order, “Forward, march!”  I had to whisper to my buddies beside me, “Quick, please help…my legs have given out, and they won’t move!” They chuckled and grabbed me under my arms dragging me along as the platoon began to march.  It took a few seconds before my legs would work again.

Oh, since then I couldn’t sleep – I couldn’t do anything.  I knew I must somehow talk to her, but I was afraid.  But I had to!  Finally, I decided, I MUST see her.  One day, I gathered the courage, and said, “D..d..dear Masha, ah, can we talk sometime?  I would like to tell you something.”

She smiled at me, “OK, why not. You can come over.”  She pointed to a two-story building across the street.  “I live there on the second floor.  You may come tonight at ten o’clock.”  

I could feel the warmth of blushing cheeks.  “I will.”     

After I left her, I thought.  “What did I do?  How can I go to her at ten o’clock?  Soldiers are ordered to bed at nine o’clock, and I am in the Army!  What have I done? This is a mistake, but I can’t resist!  I must go!”

But it was trickier than I thought.  Our barrack was in an old brick building that had been built over one hundred years before.  The windows were locked, and no one knew how to open them no matter how much they tried.  The locks were strange and the secret to opening them had been lost for years.

 I was in bed, and ten o’clock was rapidly approaching.  I whispered to myself, “I promised to go so I must.  But how?  I knew I could not sneak out of the door because of the guards.  The window was my only choice. I just had to figure out how to open the lock. I got dressed quietly, sneaked to the window and started tweaking with the lock. It did not budge. I began to think hard, and then it struck me!  As if a vision had been sent,  I clearly saw how to open the window.  It opened just like I had imagined it! I jumped out, and walked straight to Masha’s house.  

It was autumn, and it was a little cool.  In the near distance I saw a house with smoke coming out of the chimney.  Our regiment was stationed in a little settlement where several wooden houses were situated. All of the houses were heated with firewood.

I found Masha’s building, and as I walked through her yard, I passed stacked blocks of uncut firewood.  I was so nervous that I accidently hit my knee on one of them and almost screamed in pain. Finally I got to her door. I knocked on it softly.  I heard Masha’s angelic voice call, “Come in, please.”

  

 Oh, my heart was now pounding!  I opened the door, went in, and said, “Good evening my dear Ma…”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sergeant Pavlov from another company of our regiment sitting at a table and drinking a cup of tea.  Sergeant Pavlov was a drill sergeant and the whole regiment was terrified by him. His eyes bulged when he saw me. 

“Private Lebedinskiy, what are you doing here at this time of night when it is clear that you should be asleep?”  

Automatically, I saluted him and somehow words came out of my mouth which I didn’t expect.  “Comrade Sergeant, I am here on orders from the kitchen.”  It was a lie that I had to make up to get out of this mess.  What else could I do?  I continued, “I was sent here to chop wood for Private Petrova.”  

Sergeant Pavlov stood up, looked out of the window, and saw the blocks of wood in the yard.  He turned to me and smiled, “Ah…that’s alright…Well, I give you just thirty minutes to chop those three blocks of wood.  Then to report back to me.”  

I saluted, “Yes Comrade Sergeant!"  He nodded and said, “There’s an axe in the foyer.  Use it.”  I grabbed the axe and hurried out the front door, never so happy to do a late night chore.  Masha chuckled as I stumbled outside. 

   

Pleased that I escaped punishment, I immediately started to chop the wood. I had more strength than  I ever had before. I was full of tension from fear, love, and jealousy. I chopped the wood with such vigor that it immediately fell to pieces onto  the ground.  

Suddenly, the moon appeared from behind the clouds and my axe started to glisten in its light.  Oh, I thought, “This reminds me of something.”  I had to rack my brain to remind myself what exactly it was.  Oh, yes…it was Mayakovski’s words from my shaggy neighbor. 

¹To love

means this:

 to run

into the depths of a yard

and, till the rook-black night,

chop wood

with a shining axe. . . .

I smiled. It was here that I realized that poetry is something great.  It spoke to my heart like nothing had before.  At last, I understood!  Poetry IS the essence of life.  

I also learned to never trust a woman for the rest of my life. 

REFERENCES:

Translated by: Elena Cully  

                                                       

Edited by: Mark Honeycutt and Gail Askins 

¹ Vladimir Mayakovsky’s poem excerpt from Francine du Plessix Gray’s book, THEM: A Memoir of Parents