I am choreographing a dance to Regina Spektor's Après Moi. It is called the Art of Falling and involves weight, momentum, community, balance, learning to get caught, gravity and solitude.

In the middle, a 1912 poem by Boris Pasternak:

[here i had pasted the russian version but it didn't show up when I hit publish but the link would be:

http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/30397-Boris-Pasternak-Black-spring--Pick-up-your-pen--and-weeping---  ]

Which translates as:

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.
 

kindof.

February is the hardest month of the year, that's why it's so short. I remember writing that sentence in my journal maybe 4 years ago. Mum died on the 24th, Katarzyna on the 27th, Ohio is full of snow and the sun doesn't get through.

The irony of the roaring torrents is also incredible.

In 2010 I need to go back to Mauzac and dance near the river. Or stand still and look at it. I wish I had someone I love to take with me then. I am so tired of being alone.