In subtone

244.Choose a verse that you have long wanted to learn. Choose any scent you like. Well, spray the scent around the room, cut a lemon, light an aroma candle or aroma lamp. Read the verse aloud, and then read it word by word, adding a word each time. Well, for example:
Even for the brightest word
I don't try to make false presentation.
Read like this: even. Even for. Even for the.
After three days, spray this scent again and try to remember the poem. Tell me if it worked. And which poem did you choose?
#I_am_here_eternity
(Here is the full part of the poem, my translation
In an undertone, Vera Inber)

In an undertone, Vera Inber

Even for the brightest word
I don't try to make false presentation.
Our memory is hard
Incorruptible organization.
Keeps records without pen and ink
Everything that has happened.
It remembers what was, not what you would think.
Never these records were blackened

For example, I would like to remember
How I was, in October, a RevCom defender
With a revolver in a shot through leather jacket.
But I, leaning on my elbow on the sofa,
wrote poems in Ostozhenka, stacked.

I wrote lyrically with a gentle pen.
I calmly and evenly breathed,
When around, fighting off the junker men,
Khamovniki in battles proceeded .

I would like to remember the smoke
of gunpowder
on Mokhovaya, near university.
Feeling the mortal flight of plumbum stock,
Like a fighter and a fighter's wife,
Fighting for the Soviets' power,

Despite the flimsy growth, when it needs
Go to reconnaissance on the Crimean bridge.

But the memory keeps saying again and again:
"You don't remember that, my friend."

History across the country went straight,
Every moment was full of the meaning
This will not happen ever again.
But I learnt it from books
Or eyewitnesses' screening.

And I drowned in the October shine
In verbal cutting and sewing.
Well then! The mistake is not only mine,
But my social stratum viewing.

If it were possible, I would recut
Many days of my being,
Better planned.
Once and forever to break through these facts
Which reality layered,
I would wrote in the paper
If would allow the editor:

“I change a cozy, bright, warm,
Harmonious past with a bath -
To a cramped basement with scrofulous
glass,
To the neighborhood of a drunken jazz.

I'd change. I pay with my soul pain haunt.
But everyone, of course, would answer: “don’t want.”