verses, composed on a night of insomnia

We're reciting poems for class tonight, and here's what I'm committing to memory, written by Pushkin in 1830:

Стихи, сочиненные ночью
во время бессонницы...

Мне не спится, нет огня;
Всюду мрак и сон докучный.
Ход часов лишь однозвучный
Раздается близ меня,
Парки бабье лепетанье,
Спящей ночи трепетанье,
Жизни мышья беготня...
Что тревожишь ты меня?
Что ты значишь, скучный шепот?
Укоризна, или ропот
Мной утраченного дня?
От меня чего ты хочешь?
Ты зовешь или пророчишь?
Я понять тебя хочу,
Смысла я в тебе ищу...
---

Verses, composed during a night of insomnia...

I can't sleep, the light is out;
Chasing senseless dreams in gloom.
Clocks at once, inside my room,
Somewhere next to me, resound.
Parcae's soft and mild chatter,
Sleeping twilight's noisy flutter,
Life's commotion -- so insane..
Why am I to feel this pain?
What's your meaning, boring mumble?
Disapproving, do you grumble
Of the day I spent in vain?
What has made you so compelling?
Are you calling or foretelling?
I just want to understand,
Thus I'm seeking your intent...
---

Last week, bubbly Kazakh woman told me during break that Russian is really an extremely easy language and that Kazakh is the difficult one to learn. Very inspirational pep talk.

There's a great article in the most recent issue of Newsweek about Anna Netrebko, a delightful opera singer with whom I am only familiar because of the 'tube. I liked this:

As I order a drink, she grabs my hand and whispers: "Be careful what you order. Last night I come to have some drinks, relax. I order schnapps. They bring this tiny thing. Tiny! I tell them, 'That's not a drink! Bring me a double!' They bring me a double. Tiny! I say, 'Bring me a triple.' Finally: a normal drink. Then they bring me the bill: 150 euro! For a schnapps! It's just vodka!"

Netrebko's speech pushes against the limits of punctuation, cadences of "!!!," "?!," "???!!!!," the full range of Facebook emotions. An elegant little Austrian girl comes to ask for an autograph. Netrebko is delighted: "Fuck me," she says giggling, "I'm famous!"
pomerantsev 54

Anna's O Mio Babbino Caro - 

- the sublimity of which is the reason why I am appalled when my mother makes me listen to this and the rest of the Jackie Evancho/Dream With Me cd in the car -