Lamar Howell's Weblog

Yury Khorshunov’s story wrapped me in the arms of Mother Russia

Mrs. Khorsunov was Yury’s mother, and what she did endears me forever to her, to Nizhneudinsk, Siberia, and to the soil of Russia itself. Here’s his story: In March 1946, Mrs. Khorsunov was on her way from home after her work as a conductor on a train which regularly delivered prisoners to the Siberian wasteland. The driver of a sledge passed her with a load of dead prisoners. He told her one of the prisoners was still breathing and asked her what he should do, since it would be wrong, according to his Orthodox faith, to bury someone alive. (more…)

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Nostalgia

Nostalgia is the rarest of emotions.

The richest and choicest enclave of the soul,

the thickest and least stirred of any waters.

No one goes there willingly.

Something, someone—a friend in the guise of a foe—

takes the heart where the mind dreads to go.

Then somewhere in between you feel forced to stop

and nurse a lump in the throat,

you gulp at empty space for a full draught of an unsatisfying drink.

An invisible force sucks the breath from your chest,

and a haunting memory of a shadowy experience,

something ethereal but powerful,

grips the frontal cortex.

 It only lets go when you stand up to breathe.

It hangs like a smoke ring over your head, then withers.

Nostalgia is when the creditor takes stock of your debts,

the Clockmaker tinkers with the gears of an unfinished timepiece 

and the child within comes back for the forgotten promise.

Nostalgia is what I most dread longing for.

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