Reading Russian



Does anyone else think “man, I really wish I could read Russian?
I don’t even need to write in it or be fluent, yet. Just read it.
As some may know, I’m in the process of learning a few foreign languages. One thing they have in common is a familiar alphabet. Whether or not I have learned the words I can come upon any paragraph, sentence, caption etc. and have some idea of what it could be saying. Attempting to read words I don’t understand is an enjoyable process for me because it feels like it’s adding something to my brain.

Not so much with Russian. I mean sure, I’ve seen the alphabet thanks to the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics, but it’s left my head just like anything else that has to do with Winter Olympics.
“You bet I’ll keep up with all the international figure skating competitions!” an eager fan once said.
I even looked it up online to get a more thorough idea since they were so fast during opening ceremonies. Unfortunately, without having any real grasp on the alphabet or the language, it might as well be Japanese.

Why do I wish I could read it?
Because just like any other culture in the world, there’s beauty in it and it’s a way to connect. Be it through art, literature, music or just thoughts. And when I follow or interact with people who share their art and parts of themselves, I don’t scoff and think “wish they’d write in English sometime.” I think, “dammit, wish I knew more languages.”

Sleeping Beauty?


In honor of #WorldPoetryDay, and maybe a classic animated film that was on earlier, I came up with this…

https://subliminalquibbles.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/f3053-11085158_381608205369754_1414052162_n.jpg

© L.A. Lanier

Sleeping beauty?
I could be
For someones close
Each said to me
They found a joy
To watch during sleep
Because I was
Elegant and Graceful
Breathing softly
Without a peep
And I guess it makes
A bit of sense
To say the least
One of the only times
I ever feel at peace

Bluebird By Charles Bukowski


In honor of #WorldPoetryDay and the season of Spring, I’m sharing a snippet from one of Bukowski’s numerous poems that connected with me the first time I read it, and it’s one that I think will continue to stick with me for good.

Bluebird

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there…

To read the poem in its entirety go here or here for whichever mood you like best.