It is not seemly to be famous:
Celebrity does not exalt;
There is no need to hoard your writings
And to preserve them in a vault.
To give your all-this is creation,
And not-to deafen and eclipse.
How shameful, when you have no meaning,
To be on everybody's lips!
Try not to live as a pretender,
But so to manage your affairs
That you are loved by wide expanses,
And hear the call of future years.
Leave blanks in life, not in your papers,
And do not ever hesitate
To pencil out whole chunks, whole chapters
Of your existence, of your fate.
Into obscurity retiring
Try your development to hide,
As autumn mist on early mornings
Conceals the dreaming countryside.
Another, step by step, will follow
The living imprint of your feet;
But you yourself must not distinguish
Your victory from your defeat.
And never for a single moment
Betray your credo or pretend,
But be alive-this only matters-
Alive and burning to the end.
Back to Boris Pasternak
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Comments1I really appreciated the humility and strength in the message of living true to oneself instead of striving for fame. This poem presents a powerful theme of authenticity over pretense. On the other hand, it also makes me wonder: does accepting this poem's perspective mean one can't seek validation from others? Would love to hear other's thoughts on this.