Russian Poet and Putin Critic Lev Rubenstein Dies After Car Crash
The final thoughts of an ageing artist.
Newsflash⚡ directly copies the world’s top headlines and imagines the stories behind them.
There was a point at which Yul wondered if he was, in fact, a good man.
Not many people reach the age of seventy. Hell, he was seventy-six. After enough time – after enough time to go wrong, he thought – the sum of one’s mistakes became unbearable, like a heavy weight, and pushed at your shoulders, pulled at the position of your neck. This was why he walked with a stoop.
He liked to think that his posture was a blessing. It was a gift, to grow old, and he knew this. In some ways, he took pride in his age; he was slower to wake up, faster to fall asleep, and moved at a steady pace through his days. Certainly, the work that he had needed to do had been done. He had changed a small part of his Russia; he had changed a small part of its thinking; in his own way, he had changed a small part of its history. And for this he felt proud. If they would end his life now, he would be happy with his influence.
He wondered how many people did indeed feel this way. In some ways, he felt quite evil. He felt, in his soul, that he had achieved something – but what about the others? What about the hundreds – no, thousands – who had read his work? What about the people at the edges? What about the people the world would soon forget?
He felt happy to have provided them with some solace. At his centre this, really, was how he felt. An old man cannot hope for more than the feeling of, once, having helped others. Truthfully, he almost believed in this sentiment. The majority of his years were behind him; at least he had done some good.
His work, however, had attached a guilt to his name. Yul Koronevich. A name that, he knew, meant “youthful prince.” He spent the majority of his days walking, but forced a laugh as he stood over the bathroom sink, with its sickly-white lights and its pill-boxes. No, there were not too many days of youth left in him now. The fools with loud voices had made quite sure of that. All that was left was a feeling of, once, having helped, and a feeling of, now, being quite undeserving.
You see, Yul had never been a servant. His eyebrows would tell you as much – white, knotted, anarchic. He had been fiercely independent, and beyond that, he had been willing to work. Or at least, he had been, when his bones had moved with such energy. But there were moments in his life that stayed with him; moments he would not wish to remember, and moments he would not wish to describe.
He thought of the men whose thoughts he had stolen. He thought of the women whose bodies he had borrowed. Ivan, the drunken lawyer, who had told him: life is given to us humans, but it’s taken back again, so go figure…. Maxim, the homeless immigrant, who had said: best to hide away, and hold it still. And Irina. Of course, he thought of Irina.
He had reached the age of seventy-six. He had long since abandoned his body, had long since abandoned its requests. He had only worked. He had only written. He had been alone for many nights – more nights than he had shared, and he knew this. He believed, in his soul, that he had helped.
Though he wondered, with a neck that stiffened as he did so, whether he was really a man that deserved this feeling. He wondered endlessly about the people he had known. He wondered about this no end. He wondered about those they would forget. He wondered about those who would remember.
He wondered, in fact, if he was a man that deserved anything at all.
And it was in this spirit that he set off for a walk, with his usual stoop, that Monday morning, and-
Read the original article (Malu Cursino - BBC News):
Russian poet and Putin critic Lev Rubinstein dies after car crash - BBC News
A Final Note:
Thank you for reading newsflash all the way down to here. You utter legend. If you liked this story, you might enjoy some of my other articles based on creativity and its influence, like this one, on the late Benjamin Zephaniah:
Or this one - a little more historically informed:
(disclaimer)
The views expressed in this publication do not reflect the views of the author. The stories themselves are based on imagined events. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is fictitious and should not be taken as representative.
Anarchic eyebrows, stolen thoughts and borrowed bodies - a new novel by......
My mother told me if you get to '3 score and 10' be content. Reached that goal and still carrying on in rebel manner!
Always two sides to a story and more!------How many died between 2014 and 2021!?!?--
----------Giulietto Chiesa, an Italian journalist since 2014 too, was talking about West intervention and the coup probably organised by the US. He also added that Ukraine is where War World Three could start (or started).
Bill Blum----So why are you and others like you in mainstream media creating the same mentality that started the First World War (and the Cold War)?…….That is, demonizing Putin and Russia instead of showing the history and motivation of Western invasion and interference in Ukraine. Then ask why NATO even exists in a post Cold War world.------------------Late Bill Blum wrote a book called the ROGUE STATE. He had worked for USA government but left and became a writer etc!?!?--------------------------Giulietto Chiesa (1940 - 2020)
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Giulietto Chiesa (1940 - 2020). Italy. Professional journalist; former Member of the European parliament (2004-2009). Previous positions: correspondent in ...