I can swear that, taking away, of course, with my family and the hope not to be abandoned by the Muse of prose, from the "kafka made by the past" (as Vagrich Bakhchanyan said), to the stunning civilization of the New World, I did not dream of meeting the first of my three Muses ; Her arrival, always invisible, but beautiful, literally threw me in New England for the Apple display, and lines of imitation of the favorite poets of ancient China broke out from under the keys by themselves. Our province is a quiet breeder of laziness for the frog to bend down and old Yuz-Fu fly to us sometimes finding them in a dilapidated basket of willow rods. Not trying to reveal the mystery of the origin of whether in my soul , or in the head of poetic images , requiring immediate implementation in the words of one or more stanzas , No less powerful than , than non-infested chicks require nutritious worms and flies from parent birds, i, Changing Prose and Forgetting Time , I was happy to follow the dictates of the Muse and the Language ;. Baldel, as in his youth, from sounds, rhythms, from simple, previously amazing, but differently perceived wonders of nature and from the joys of existence. After a few years, one of the most enjoyable things in life ,. alas, Quickly passed - "Streams of goose feathers" were formed , found in a foreign country", And the Muse with the tailwinds flew somewhere again , As if he had not yet arrived.... As if it didn't make me Yuz-Fu , The Old Poet , The Wilderness , In love with a lady friend and … ...................................... The Muse disappeared from my life, but not from my heart, which will not forget how she even before she fell by the bog endowed me in the groves of the Red Pahra with muttering lines and stanzas, in my opinion, the only real poem in life - here are his first lines. Under the shadow of the trembling yellow wings of autumn, on the shore of divine separation...Yuz Aleshkovsky