i love english. this is my favourite language and has always been since my first trip to the states.
it's direct and therefore faithful.
i'm positive it's so much easier to tell some things in english rather then in russian to be understood correctly.
i enjoy the language. i'm good at it but i still do my best to learn more and feel the slightest differences in styles and notions.
to make my english more colorful and comprehensive. to be able not to miss a single feature of what i have to say.
but it's so weird to translate alexander's lines into english.
i have no troubles translating my own. or my parents. or my russian friends.
but with him i can't get rid of the permanent sensation that something is missing, something graspless was left out of picture.
as if there's no way to embrace all these hidden meanings and undertones every word of him might contain.
as well as i can't read brodsky in english. i can clearly feel that that's not all he had to say, that it's just a cover, a mask of his thoughts and i'm eager to get through. bi keep unwrapping it instead of being there and it keeps me busy but i can't get enough. cause it's not adequate, it's not what i was meant to be.
same with alexander. my respect and admiration for him are too great to think that i can express it all by myself in thw right way.
he's a head taller than me. and yet he loves me. or loved at least - i must confess it hurts to say or even to think of it in past.
unbelieveable.