THE POET WITH A GUN
The dualism of a nobler past. A general, soothing the violent reminiscence of his trade with a gentle pastoral of natural existence. A strophe of calm, louder than grenades.
Victorious battles in a war lost on paper and a forced early retirement rendered the generals live meaningless and void. Retreating to poetry and countryside life, in a Slavic tradition, was his attempt to rise above the mundane, letting him forget the history he almost succeeded to shape.
We remember soldiers by heroic battles, we measure their merit in square miles spanning under our flags. He measured his by the modest yet sincere verses he coined, by the villagers he took care of and the oblivion he temporarily touched. Is a little poet is greater than a big general?