Ripped from the moorings of his privileged life by the whirlwind of revolution and civil war, this fictional doctor, poet, father and husband flees the carnage and upheaval that surrounds him and becomes a hungry freezing fugitive.  Despite the social dislocation, the wholesale murder and atrocity. the degradation of the value of human life…..despite all of the horror and deprivation swirling about him, this gentle soul writes poetry extolling the glory of love and the beauty of this planet.   Throughout the harshness of the Russian winter he dreams of the promise of spring.

     If you were thrust into a vortex of cultural confusion would you still know your center, your spiritual core?  Or, like so many, would you be disoriented without the defining nature of your occupation, social position and possessions.  That is the challenge Zhivago overcomes and though confronted by the depths of horror he still strives to nurture that which is beautiful and life affirming in the human soul.  As a physician and a poet he has been given a very special vantage point to observe, to understand the human condition and to intervene when possible to alleviate the pain and suffering that will always surround humanity.  He is a role model as real to me as Albert Schweitzer or Mahatma Ghandi; a fictional character that I long to meet in the impossible ether of the heart and mind.



I called to you

Across the white expansive wilderness of time

Wandering intellect, passionate soul

I was wishing that we both might be

At once together

Seeing the Earth 

Both breathing


In the warm spring light

At our ease

We might speak of the nature of man

Looking far past the epidermis

To marvel at  the depths of marrow


And then 

Reemerging into brilliant day

The world in its magnificence

Splashed across our senses

Our beings borne down a flowered road


Hand upon shoulder

We might pass in phantom glory