The Dream of a Ridiculous Man — I wonder how many years have passed since I read this story aloud to my wife in the kitchen of the house we were renting at the time. Twenty? Twenty-five? The reading ended in tears — mine. And even then, it was not the first time I had read the story. Had Dostoevsky written nothing else, his mission on earth would have been gloriously fulfilled. It contains his entire philosophy, and is a resounding message of universal brotherhood and love. Reading it again today within the context of its original appearance in his Writer’s Diary (the translator, Boris Brasol, renders the title as The Dream of a Strange Man), I was every bit as moved. Perhaps a better short story has been written. I don’t know. That’s for each reader to say. But for me, having read a great many, there is none more inspiring; none I am more grateful for; none that has stayed with me to such a vivid degree; none I feel more pertinent and necessary.
September 17, 2020
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Here Lies
That little sense of power. That little sense of grace.
That little sense that sense cannot erase.
That little sense — until — oh! — you find me in this place.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Aging, Boris Brasol, Cemeteries, Consciousness, Death, Dostoevsky, Epitaphs, Grace, Humility, Love, Memory, Nineteenth Century Writing, Poems, Poetry, Reading, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man
William Michaelian 