И пела словно первая гроза
“...And she sang like the first thunderstorm...”
—Anna Akhmatova
Even the candle at the Virgin’s feet
will tremble, waver, gutter and subside,
although our tears refuse to disappear.
Even the hours of midnight’s wake recede
to welcome morning’s crepuscular gift,
since every star once began as a spore
in the gravid abyss of the cosmos.
Even the dew on a petal wearies
of its velvet bed, seduced by the cloud
that invites: Come, evaporate and rise.
Every deceit wears the guise of promise
and sweet waves of delight hide shoals that scald.
Our bright shadows roam through solace and strife
such uneven paths of beauty and grief.
Conunova plays Vivaldi: Winter (II. Largo)
Conunova plays Bruch Violin Concerto
