Елюар

Years ago, a fellow writer, with whom we used to go to Paris to gather culture in our youth, spoke in the magazine "Izkustvo" about his meeting with the great French poet Paul Eluard during the troubled year of 1939. I remember even now that with his account of what happened, he not only revived in my mind some dormant memories of our stay in France, but also awakened in me a painful feeling of regret that often overwhelms me on such occasions - regret that due to clumsiness and bad luck I had missed something irreparable this time too. Fortunately, the future turned out to be more generous to me and wished to correct the mistake of the past: although very late, I had the opportunity not only to meet Eluard, but in connection with a common work and to get closer to him, to breathe for a short time his spiritual and creative atmosphere, and even to become an involuntary witness to his last hours. Because of all this, I have lived with his image and for years now I have felt an urgent need to share with you my impressions of the man and the poet, whom, not only because of the geographical distance between us, I once considered untouchable. Needless to say, long before I saw Éluard, I had already heard of him and was to some extent familiar with his poetry. But unfortunately, for reasons beyond my control, even this purely literary meeting also took place very late - at a time when the poet's name had gained wide fame not only in France but also far beyond its borders.