Andrei Tarkovsky

A stone lies by the jasmine.
Under the stone is a treasure.
Father stands on the path.
It’s a bright, bright day.
The silver poplars are in bloom,
And the centifolia too,
Behind them rambling roses
And milky grass.
Never have I been
As happy as then.
Never have I been
As happy as then.
It’s impossible to go back,
Nor can I express
How full of bliss
This garden was, like paradise

the bitterness of loss eclipsed the light of hope

He didn’t want to be vulnerable any more, his heart wide open, rushing toward the deceptive temptation of loving and being loved.

Saba,as they call the traces of the aging of things, is true rustiness, the charm of antiquity, the stamp of time

You are still walking in your black dress.
The night will pass, you await the dawn,
You are still awake in the spacious house,
As if living in a song.
The bell-like wind is blowing
In the domes of the churches by night.
Your unwilling sleep is flying
Past your chamber.
It is good that in the spacious house,
There are no mirrors and no darkness,
So you are still walking in your black dress
And you have forgotten me. (…

If I were haughty like before,
I would have left you forever;
Everything that I couldn’t do without,
Everything that wasn’t worth the effort,—
And divide d my kingdom in two. I would say:
“You’re going off with
100 promises, 100 celebrations, 100
Words. You can take it with you.”
I’m left with a cold dawn,
100 late trams and 100
Raindrops on the tram tracks,
100 lanes, 100 streets and 100
Raindrops in pursuit

when you hold on to something dear to you, you are always worried

You were a dream and you became music,
Become a name and be the memory.
With your tanned girlish palm,
Touch my half-opened eyes
So that I can see the golden sky,
So that in my beloved’s widened pupils,
Like in mirrors, a reflection will appear
Of a double star that guides ships

When the lilac blooms, and you dive into it, you feel like you are all alone in the world, and this world is heaven

“All his life an artist feeds on his childhood and his own memories, the sense of immortality, his keen reflexes and simple happiness.”
Andrei Tarkovsky