Thank you for the compliment on my writing. Though, what do you mean by feeling of him like a “sociopath”? I am just curious, in what way he is close to those types of people. Костя, распространись,пожалуйста.
Well, "I think I love you" as the first words, an unannounced visit, the random marriage proposal—any of these would probably be considered bizarre in our times. This felt creepy and not romantic at all as I was reading this.
It especially comes into context given his occupation, which was revealed later. At least from this text, he feels like he was never sincere in any of the earlier interactions with you, that all his love confessions and proposals were a part of some KGB-related activity. That level of cynical playing with another person's feelings feels a little sociopathic.
Well, in my youth, I was a very literary girl (still am), and Chekhov's story, for example, and others, were on my mind, I think. Do you remember, "I love you, Naden'ka." Forgot the title of the story. Anyway, what you call a sociopath, I call "neediness.' Guy lost his career, hardly starting it. An artistic guy fell in love with an artistic girl, got into high society in Leningrad, being a provincial himself, and hoped for a career abroad. After her foreign friends lost his career, he was sent to the provinces. It is a usual hard situation for him. Later, he married a daughter of the Hero of the Soviet Union. Regular thing. Nothing sociopathic from my point of view. I am thankful for our conversation.
Larisa, what a bittersweet love story, so brilliantly told! Those charming Russians boys and men, with their songs, and poems, and romantic words... I know a thing or two about it all.
"Les feuilles mortes" was written by Jacques Prévert and sung – among others – by Yves Montand, great French singer and actor, but born in Italy, from where his parents escaped Mussolini's regime.
I'd have loved to see your Natasha Rostova pink dress, you must have looked enchanting in it.
Thank you, Portia. I know now that it is J. Prevert, but at my student time, everything was so romantically literal. And the song belonged only to Yves Montand . (I am still listening to it in his rendition.)
I never wore this dress again (had no occasion). Besides, never caring about material things too much, I left my belongings in the suitcase in the attic of our last dorm and never returned to claim them. There was also the enormous volume of the full edition of Pushkin, which my father gave my mother as a present in 1937.
Yes, Portia, sometimes, I think to myself, what they did or still do with the old suitcases left by the students for a life in the dorms. Of course, I have the full Pushkin in the better modern edition, but the old one became a rare book because it was 100 years celebratory edition. Thank you for the interaction of our thoughts.
Ok, Mosby Woods, I listened to Francois Hardy and tell you that I never would have fallen in love with her voice, so boring it is. The best and only performer of this song is Yves Montand. The song is called Les Feuilles Mortes. I wrote about it in Russian, but my subscriber and friend Portia gave me the correct names in French, which I had completely forgotten from my old years, and thanks to my English.
OK that's fair. I found Montand here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xo1C6E7jbPw I remember my aunt singing the song when I was very little. We had something new, "a tape recorder," and she would sing a little then stop, laughing, over and over. Not quite the same.
(without making my comment too long- playing guitar, reciting poems, and knowing languages would all fall into some positive loops for me, signaling "like XYZ from my family" that's really easy to fall in love with, even though not sufficient by itself of course. but even some names hold special importance to us because they are names of people we love already)
Thank you, dear. I have already written my answer, but it is not here. You know, I remember all the poetry of our first meetings still with pleasure. I will continue writing about him in my life. Now, I look at all this as from the outside.
Thank you, Larisa. I restacked and wrote a brief note on your post. It’s a beautifully haunted story, and it’s beautifully written. 🤍🤍🤍
Thank you, Victoria.
Beautiful work, as always, Larisa- I'm thrilled to come back and read your work again. (And more Marina Tsvetaeva, yes!)
Ella, I am so glad that you are back and reading my work, and liking it. Thank you, thank you, thank you…
You're just the best!
Don'd say that, you will spoil me.
Larisa,
Another excellent chapter from your life. The narrative is so good!
Thank you, Roger. It is a narrative of my life. Thank you for your interest. This is Soviet Russia. You can fall in love with anybody...
yes, you life is very interesting for sure.
There is plenty of romance here, but to an outsider (outside of both place and time) like me, Sasha feels a little like a sociopath....
Amazingly written, though.
Thank you for the compliment on my writing. Though, what do you mean by feeling of him like a “sociopath”? I am just curious, in what way he is close to those types of people. Костя, распространись,пожалуйста.
Well, "I think I love you" as the first words, an unannounced visit, the random marriage proposal—any of these would probably be considered bizarre in our times. This felt creepy and not romantic at all as I was reading this.
It especially comes into context given his occupation, which was revealed later. At least from this text, he feels like he was never sincere in any of the earlier interactions with you, that all his love confessions and proposals were a part of some KGB-related activity. That level of cynical playing with another person's feelings feels a little sociopathic.
Well, in my youth, I was a very literary girl (still am), and Chekhov's story, for example, and others, were on my mind, I think. Do you remember, "I love you, Naden'ka." Forgot the title of the story. Anyway, what you call a sociopath, I call "neediness.' Guy lost his career, hardly starting it. An artistic guy fell in love with an artistic girl, got into high society in Leningrad, being a provincial himself, and hoped for a career abroad. After her foreign friends lost his career, he was sent to the provinces. It is a usual hard situation for him. Later, he married a daughter of the Hero of the Soviet Union. Regular thing. Nothing sociopathic from my point of view. I am thankful for our conversation.
Larisa, what a bittersweet love story, so brilliantly told! Those charming Russians boys and men, with their songs, and poems, and romantic words... I know a thing or two about it all.
"Les feuilles mortes" was written by Jacques Prévert and sung – among others – by Yves Montand, great French singer and actor, but born in Italy, from where his parents escaped Mussolini's regime.
I'd have loved to see your Natasha Rostova pink dress, you must have looked enchanting in it.
Thank you, Portia. I know now that it is J. Prevert, but at my student time, everything was so romantically literal. And the song belonged only to Yves Montand . (I am still listening to it in his rendition.)
I never wore this dress again (had no occasion). Besides, never caring about material things too much, I left my belongings in the suitcase in the attic of our last dorm and never returned to claim them. There was also the enormous volume of the full edition of Pushkin, which my father gave my mother as a present in 1937.
I like to think that someone found your suitcase and got to read Pushkin in your book. Let things change hands, and books go to many other readers.
Yes, Portia, sometimes, I think to myself, what they did or still do with the old suitcases left by the students for a life in the dorms. Of course, I have the full Pushkin in the better modern edition, but the old one became a rare book because it was 100 years celebratory edition. Thank you for the interaction of our thoughts.
Wow! So much going on, youth, love and KGB... PS I looked up one of the songs you mentioned: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrR4fVUd1cs
Ok, Mosby Woods, I listened to Francois Hardy and tell you that I never would have fallen in love with her voice, so boring it is. The best and only performer of this song is Yves Montand. The song is called Les Feuilles Mortes. I wrote about it in Russian, but my subscriber and friend Portia gave me the correct names in French, which I had completely forgotten from my old years, and thanks to my English.
OK that's fair. I found Montand here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xo1C6E7jbPw I remember my aunt singing the song when I was very little. We had something new, "a tape recorder," and she would sing a little then stop, laughing, over and over. Not quite the same.
Thank you. I follow you and do the same.
...thank you❤️❤️❤️
(without making my comment too long- playing guitar, reciting poems, and knowing languages would all fall into some positive loops for me, signaling "like XYZ from my family" that's really easy to fall in love with, even though not sufficient by itself of course. but even some names hold special importance to us because they are names of people we love already)
Thank you, dear. I have already written my answer, but it is not here. You know, I remember all the poetry of our first meetings still with pleasure. I will continue writing about him in my life. Now, I look at all this as from the outside.
yes, it's strange how it happens with some relationships, and not with others. the only thing i learned- one can never predict who'll stay, so to say.
❤️❤️❤️