I met with a well-known poet yesterday here in Moscow.
Sometimes you meet a person you like instinctively. It may not occur as often as we -- or certainly I -- wish -- and certainly less than those who imagine all their meetings are part of some cozy, convenient divine, providential plan unfolding just for them specially...
Interestingly in this case, in my lifetime I have developed a sincere disinterest in, even a very low tolerance for, poetry. (Though I can politely smile when need be.)
After four hours, mostly listening to good stories in his kitchen, as we were walking out to glance at the nearby birthplace of the philosopher Vladimir Soloviev, I inquired why two unexpected nets (actually adapted chain link fencing) were placed in the open stairwell areas on the 4th and 2nd floors of the old, ~6-story building famous for its pre-Bolshevik Silver Age and later poets and writers.
Helps prevent successful suicides.
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