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A Bunch of Agapanthuses

Updated: Jun 17


She hired You

Because You were so Handsome

She fired you

Because You were too Serious

A young Ballet Teacher

From Novosibirsk

A nice career in Moscow

Shortened by Misfortune

A Child of the USSR

You left Eltsin's Russia

And cold-hearted Austria

In search of a position

You chose Italy

And you found

Berlusconia

You loved the Sea

So you went to Sicily

But you discovered

How cold and damp

Could be Palermo

And how provincial

Were ballet schools

Full of spoiled Fools

And little Harpies.


Thirty-two, blond,

Blue-eyed guy,

Shy and naive,

Speaking only

Russian and French

("Qu'est-ce que c'est pregare ?",

You asked Me once)

You came to Me

(A Stubborn Sixteen)

Unexpected and

At first Unwanted

("What a joke!

He's too young and

Too handsome

To be a teacher!")

But You proved to be

The Bestest Teacher

I could hope to find

In my Desperate Town

And thus, of course,

As all the Good Things

And the Good People

I've met and had in my Life,

You couldn't last for long.


June 16th in the Evening,

At the ending of the Dance Recital

A royal bunch of Agapanthuses

Was given to You

By your youngest Pupils' Mothers

But You gave it to Me

For I deserved It

As I was the only One who danced

Just for the sake of Terpsichore

The only One who worked hard

To add Technique to Talent

And also the only One

Who took You seriously

And really cared for You.


As expected, We were

Both bad-mouthed

By all the Harpies

Who could neither stand nor understand

A Gesture so Natural and Pure,

Selfless, Innocent and Kind,

From a Good Teacher to his Best Pupil.


As those beautiful Agapanthuses

You and I, We were both

Too much "Fleurs bleues"

For the Vulgar Crowd.


As you were too Earnest,

You were not Useful, so

You had to leave:

You moved to Naples,

Then You disappeared

And I didn't find anymore

A Ballet Teacher like You.


Where are You now? I wish I could know.

I hope You are Healthy, Safe and Happy,

Somewhere in this World

So Rude and Unwelcoming

To a bunch of Agapanthuses.


To A., with all my Gratitude and Affection.


(C) Vera da Pozzo

(C) Italy is Mine and It owes Me a Living





Above: the artwork I made today, remembering A., my Russian ballet teacher.

Below: English translation by me.


A.: "For You, Vera!".


Me: "But... they offered these flowers to You!".


A.: "But YOU [have] worked!".


Me: "I thought they were Cornflowers but, some years later, I learnt they were Agapanthuses... The only flowers I received that I've really appreciated! For it was a kind, innocent and absolutely sincere and disinterested gesture...

Wherever You are, A., I do hope You are fine!".


A. chose for me "Aysha's Dance", from the beautiful ballet Gayane (1942) by the Armenian and Soviet composer Aram Ilyich Khachaturian (6th June 1903 - 1st May 1978).

You can listen here an accredited version of this beautiful music, played by the Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra, conducted by Evgeny Svetlanov. This version is very similar to the one I danced at the ballet school recital.

Here, another version - probably much older and unfortunately unaccredited - of "Aysha's Dance": it is the first one I have found on YouTube and is a bit different: maybe is this version more faithful to Khachaturian's and / or conducted by the composer himself? I hope I will find more informations and, if I do, I will update my article.


As for Agapanthus, I could not post my article without some photographs taken by me: I took these pictures last year in Dublin, during my short holiday in this beautiful City.


Agapanthuses dancing in the fresh, moisty Irish wind. Somewhere in Dublin, in the evening before the first Morrissey's gig at Vicar's Street.



Below: details (left and right side) of the previous picture.




Below: the very first Agapanthuses I have seen last year in Dublin.

In Sicily, they blossom and flourish mostly in June; the very last flowers can bee seen around mid-July.



Below: Agapanthus blossoms in the charming garden of the Marsh's Library I had the great pleasure to visit.



Below: a detail of the previous picture.



(C) Vera da Pozzo

(C) Italy is Mine and It owes Me a Living


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