ECO-ART AND SOUND
BY ANNA LIETA MARCH
FROM FAIRYLAND I WAS BORN into stark
And shadowy place that reminds me of ark
Of dreams, inspirations but peeling the bark,
I noticed beneath what looked like a mark —
Discovering which I found my luck
Which landed on fortune that I interrupt
By giving in torture of finding corrupt
And hideous meaning in what I was up
To change, but my feeling
Has stumbled on ice
Of things I was willing
To clean and to dust,
My sloth and my lust
For what I was dreaming,
The cream and the crust
Of lost paradise.
©Anna Lieta March Keen
BELOW ARE MY CHILDHOOD PHOTOS - 1, 7, 15 YRS. OLD
MY MOTHER LUDWIGA MARCH
was Russian of an Austrian background. She grew up in Moscow on historic Pokrovsky Blvd. and played violin since 5 after her mother died during WW2. She continued her study at Riga Conservatory, then toured USSR with the Riga Violinist Ensemble - but ceased to perform because of her arm ailment and applied to paralegal department of Moscow University.
She was proposed by my father, a Moscow School of Mines graduate in uranium mining and an eager jazz piano performer at club events for dancing-era Muscovites. He was a son of Chief Geologist at USSR Ministry of Atomic Energy, living in a monumental Stalin Skyscraper on Moskva River Embankment.
You can see pictures of my grandparents and parents on MY PHOTO GALLERY OF FAMILY AND MYSELF
After their marriage, my father was assigned to a small uranium mining town hidden in Kazakhstan desert near Lake Balkhash. My mother followed him, abruptly quitting her job as a Moscow Tchaikovsky Conservatory librarian. Thus I was born and spent my earliest childhood nearby radioactive and toxic uranium mines that later affected my health. After my family returned to Moscow, I would miss a week out of each month at my kindergarten, then at my school from persistent colds, and I had to drop out of a figure skating class only a month after enrolling at age 7.
When at home, I was eager to study and read on my own volumes from my parents' and grandparents' large size bookcases and local libraries. I gulped Russian fantasy and educational science, and classical world adventure.
When I was 9, I met at a diet cafe I walked to daily on my own, an Olympic Champion in track-and-field athletics Zoya Evseyeva and she invited me to a nearby huge Central Sports Army Club stadium to train with her daughter. I was relaxed and fast sprinter only on short distances…
Just before that I pleaded my parents to arrange for me piano studies and they took me to preparatory classes for Alexander Dunayevsky Music School.
In one year I completed its first 3 years program and soon was transferred to that school. I did well in my regular school too, especially in French studies. Photo: I am 11, in my 5th Grade, in far back seat.
As young children
Bouncy we were and steaming,
Always wheeling and dealing,
Running up all season,
Giving up no reason
For why it was so easy
- despite I was always dizzy,
upset and barely breathing -
To wake my light and busy
I always was and easel
My was so measly grizzle
That I was always teasing
My Ginie Lalabrigini
In life force, kundalini
Held for me bigger meaning,
As it was always leaning
On my "Be happy!" feeling,
Running down my earring,
My nose and up the ceiling.
© Anna Lieta March Keen
THE SPRING NEVER SMELLS
Like when you were a child,
The tears dry their well
When you are not adult,
When your world appears
A sunlit living mystery.
How come you know
Today all boring answers,
Except of how to turn
Into a happy dancer
Who grows into a child
For no particular reason,
Unfreezing butterfly
Out of winter season?
Listen – hear melodies
Inside you, sing along!
Your secret key for music
Is turning your motor on...
And you may dance again,
Awakened into heart,
Your genie kundalini
Will spiral from down up,
Happy like all children
In any winter season!
© Anna Lieta March Keen
My video of Russian kids' playground in front of my windows
GROWING UP IN MOSCOW, SOVIET UNION AND THE SURROUNDING REGION
I have to tell, the time has come
When on the eve of dawn
The sheeny person I’ve become
On winding Rubicon
For all I hear in my morrows
That wakes my starving heart
To cure it from all the sorrows,
To learn that autumn’s dart
In spite of moody rainy season
To pour through thinning scarf,
It lightens me of pure reason
For being split in half.
© Anna Lieta March Keen
A SINGING TREE
that dances in the dark,
A poet’s dream
that coos like a lark,
A summer’s oar
that rows off the mark,
A kitty’s paw
that miaows at the bark
Of mighty oak steeped in iron ark,
Kissed by the dogs
that always duly bark,
Named after car
that’s never fully parked
In flame of sword
of blessed Joan D’Arc.
© Anna Lieta March Keen