Com um punhado de versos de Pushkin

Sabem aquela linha ténue, quase proibida, de que vos falei?

Atravessei-a com coragem e sem medo. Sem medo e sem culpa, com um punhado de versos de Pushkin.

Querendo descobrir o que se esconde por detrás das palavras que escreve, de onde vêm elas, como as escreve, roubei o direito proibido de extrapolar os versos do poeta para o seu dia-a-dia de escrita.

Se nestes versos Pushkin não escreve sobre o seu processo de escrita, quero fingir que sim:

And I forget the world, in blissful peace

I am sweetly lulled by my imagination,

and poetry awakens in me then;

my soul, hard pressed by lyric agitation,

trembles, resounds and seeks as if in sleep

to surface finally in free expression - 

and I receive a host of guests unseen,

old-time acquaintances, fruits of my dreams,

and in my head thoughts spring into existence,

and rhymes dance out to meet them, and the hand

stretches towards the pen, the pen to paper,

and unimpeded verse comes pouring out.

So a ship, motionless in motionless water,

lies dreaming, then suddenly the sailors, the vessel

moves slowly out, bow cutting through billows,

and sails away. Where shall we sail to...?