Poetry is the journey of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance - Carl Sandburg..........Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject - John Keats .........Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge - William Wordsworth ..........Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand - Plato .........No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language - Samuel Taylor Coleridge .........One demands two things of a poem. Firstly, it must be a well-made verbal object that does honor to the language in which it is written. Secondly, it must say something significant about a reality common to us all, but perceived from a unique perspective. What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves - W. H. Auden ...........Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash - Leonard Cohen .........There is a pleasure in poetic pains which only poets know - William Cowper .........Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood -T. S. Eliot ..........Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason - Novalis...........He who draws noble delights from sentiments of poetry is a true poet, though he has never written a line in all his life - George Sand .........A poem is never finished, only abandoned - Paul Valery ........A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland - Kahlil Gibran.............Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance - John Keats..........To be a poet is a condition, not a profession - Robert Frost........A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself - E. M. Forster.........Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo - Don Marquis...........Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things - T. S. Eliot ..........You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick. You're back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in - Dylan Thomas .........Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words - Paul Engle......... There is not a joy the world can give like that it takes away! Lord Byron

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Alexey Filimonov - Russia


Я люблю тебя, леплю

Из невидимого снега,

Или статую твою,

Иль не тающую негу.


Отголоски слов ловлю,

Буквы в косы заплетаю,

Жду мороза и терплю

Обжигающую стаю


Горних ангелов, как тать

В сон сигающих хранимый,

И не в силах отличать

Ледяного херувима


От прообраза, и жду

Хлопьев реющего снега,

И янтарную звезду

Над зиянием ковчега

I love you, and I sculpture you

Out of invisible blizzard.

Is it your statue,

or non-melting bliss?


I catch the words’ after sounds

and I braid letters,

I wait for the frost and suffer

the heavenly angels’ scorching fleet


Leaping thievishly

into the cherished dream;

And, unable to distinguish the icy cherub

from the prefiguration,


I am waiting for the flakes

of soaring snow

and for an amber star

above the ark’s gape.


Translated by Tatiana Surganova





Порой природа пахнет кровью,

росой и смертью той Войны,

и неразгаданною болью

в деревьях прорастают сны,  


не долетевшие к солдатам,

застывшим в бездне на бегу, –

и это я из автомата

во сне стреляю, как могу.


И треугольного конверта

мне не дождаться в синеве.

Я здесь и там – в разрывах ветра,

блистающего на Неве


вином закатного забвенья,

виной Синявинских болот.

И ангел позднего спасенья –

наш краснозвёздный самолёт.




Dream of Memory


At times nature smells of blood,

of dew and of this War’s death,

and dreams of unsolved pain   

grow through trees,


not having reached the soldiers,

who were frozen in the abyss on the run, -

and it is I who from a machine gun

shoots in dreams, like I can.


I will never see a three-cornered letter

reach me in the dark blue.

I’m here and there - in gusts of wind,

shining on the Neva


With the wine of sunset oblivion,

with the guilt of Sinyavinsky swamps.

And the angel of  late salvation -

our red-starred plane.


30. 03. 2010


Tr. by Molly Zuckerman and Madeline Tingle 





Вздохи синих крыл,
Вспыхнувшая книга
Средь паникадил.

В пламени объятий
Думы вещества,
В расщепленье ятей
Колкая молва.

Крыльям двуязыким
Выкликаю днесь:

– Бездне повели-ка
Опрокинуть взвесь,

Думы и нектара
Первородный пыл -
На сей глобус старый,
На возмездья быль.


2013, 5, 20


The sighs of the blue wings,
Flashed book
Among church chandeliers.

The thoughts of matter are
In the flame of embraces,
Burning rumor is
In the splitting of yates.

I call out today
Bilingual wings:
- Lead the abyss
Suspend the slurry,

Original ardor
Of thoughts and nectar
On an old globe,
On the last retribution.


Translated by the author



Alexey Filimonov – poet, literary critic, translator and lexicographer. Born may 22, 1965 in the town Elektrostal, Moscow region, after serving in the army, he graduated from the journalism faculty of Moscow state University and Higher literary courses at the Literary Institute A. M. Gorky. He translated Chinese poets of the 20th and 21st centuries. Researcher and translator of the work of Vladimir Nabokov. He is the creator of the literary and philosophical direction "Vnevizm". The author of  seven books. Participant of scientific conferences and poetry forums.

Lives in St.-Petersburg.


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