To I. I. Puschin
Best of all friends, dear friend my own! And I my sober fortune hailed When yard of mine, so poor and lone, Covered with snow, thick and solemn, Filled sound of your little bell. I pray the sacred destination: Let my voice, deafened in these realms, Too give your soul consolation, And let it lighten isolation With our Alma Mater’s beams! Translated by Yevgeny Bonver
To I. I. Puschin - fact Summary
Addressed to a Close Friend
Pushkin addresses a close friend, Ivan I. Pushchin, in a brief, affectionate poem. The speaker recalls a modest, snowbound yard enlivened by the friend’s bell and frames their bond as a source of comfort. He offers a prayer that his own voice, though diminished in exile or distance, might still console and relieve loneliness, invoking shared ties to their alma mater as a healing light.
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