Sculptum Est Prosa (Volume 1): The Voices of Genius

Copyright © 2019 Ivan Kireevskii.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1 (888) 242-5904

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7700-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7701-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7699-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019906166

Archway Publishing rev. date: 6/6/2019

Contents

when heaven was young

the long toil of understanding

imaginary forces

life

before

leo

a dream of a shadow

learned ghost

tightly folded and measured

my mistress, my soul

edge of nerves

i too am a king

kneel before the virgin

tonight is so sweet

respect for stillness

lust for heaven

i shall be a poet

i fell asleep

heights unimagined

my mind, my thoughts

water-less ocean

spy on yourself

mother of solomon

eiko

the confusion of fantasy

irrelevant and caged

i will get you the moon

a day without yesterday

so the story goes

magic man

charles

this is not a sacrament … this is not a dream

warehouse of memories

if i became a painter

pieces of picasso2

the toll … the rage

days of destruction

who will save the children3

i will sing to you … a thousand operas

illusion of time

For Sandy   81957.png

canvas

sheets of linen fell from the heavens that night

we wove them together tightly

you handed me a brush … i handed you yours’

on our canvas … we painted a french madonna, just like the one in gemaldegalerie

stretched it across a fine wooden frame

in layers of color glides

field painters, renaissance masters and venetian artists look on

as we hung our canvas … you looked up at it, just like an innocent child

years have passed … still not leaving me unmoved

you have never ceased to be

my inamorata for all time

we have painted it together … you and me

Foreword:   81962.png

sculptum est prosa, the voices of genius …

… is the name that I have given to my collection of poems.

Sculptum est prosa is Latin for sculptured prose. From the writings of historians, biographers, scientists and philosophers, I have attempted to re-shape their complex and learned works into fragments of words and thoughts that flow as though they would be almost symphonically read.

It is only against the forgotten back drop of time that we can begin to sense the courage and imagination of these great minds of history.

Their stories are told in a random flexing of the imagination. We learn from them as they respond to the social, spiritual and intellectual demands of their time.

Each compilation of their words is a mold-shattering work of its own.

Human knowledge has become unmanageably vast; the telescope revealed stars and systems beyond the mind of man … geology spoke in terms of millions of years, where men before had thought in terms of thousands; anthropology reconstructed the unsuspected antiquity of man, archeology unearthed buried cities and forgotten states, history proved all history false …

WILL DURANT

Preface:   81967.png

In 1987, at the age of 34, I began this journey … an intense devouring of knowledge … a gluttonous madman in meditation … in a trance … reaching, grabbing frantically … knowing exactly where I was heading and at the same time having no idea where I was going.

In 2013, the first edition of this book was published. Now, six years later I am re-issuing this book with added images and commentary surrounding my poems.

This began as a book of prose … science, literature, philosophy, history, religion and biography. Thousands of pages of notes, hand written on yellow pads stacked to the ceiling … the words, thoughts and theories of the greatest thinkers of times past to the brightest of our day.

The prose began to sing to me and eventually evolved into an Opera, titled; Who is Ivan? Although not yet produced, the music is in still inside of me.

And today, I present my thoughts as sculptured prose.

My words are clouds. They have changed shape as they have passed by. They have fragmented and reformed. But they are always chained to the sky.

Thank you for joining me on my journey.

The following poem is from the libretto of Scene 2 of Who is Ivan, the Opera. 2003.

Here Ivan expresses in a simple, almost childlike, yet confident manner his sincere belief …

I

when heaven was young

i walked to church

father grabbed my heart

mama sang the moment

i absorbed the meaning

i the enlightened one

when heaven was young

lined in ordered patterns

everything understood

it was all explained to me

i absorbed the meaning

i the enlightened one

when heaven was young

In Scene 3, there is a hint that some of his childlike confidence has been shaken as doubts begin to emerge.

won’t ask for any more proof

blindness eclipsed the valley

no need … all things so simply explained

i absorbed the meaning

i the enlightened one

when heaven was young

at this moment … at this crossroad of perfection

i lit the candles, i placed incense at their feet

bowed in acquiescence … absolved in life’s waters

i absorbed the meaning, i celebrated the day

i the enlightened one

when heaven was young

In Scene 4, Ivan’s confidence appears totally shaken … he sings heavenward as if pleading for the skies to open, to explain that all is well.

and then evening … and then morning

i reached out to the ancients

their motifs crashed in upon my soul

i absorbed the meaning

i the enlightened one

when heaven was young

In the wave of religious doubt in the eighteenth century, the English deists and free-thinkers played a considerable part. Rousseau’s novels fed the fires both of sentimentality and skepticism; and Voltaire led the religious cultural upheaval. Goethe proposed a view that