Sunday, May 16, 2010

Kрасивая печаль

Since I discovered the Russian language at 21, after being engaged to a beautiful Moscovite for a brief stint, I have sought out opportunities to be closer to their culture, music and literature. Simply put, I love Russians (u ya lublu Ruski yazik).

I am tied to their passion, their pain. Their ability to adapt and create amidst shift and structure, plague and suture. The gift of insight into all that is flawed, that is human.

And so. I am always moved to tears watching this, the two, together. This union of omni-potens between the man who breaks my heart (20 years now) Vladimir Vysotsky, and the man who puts it back together, Mikhail Baryshnikov.


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