Git poem

On the birthday of the “sun of Russian poetry”, let’s imagine what his current life would look like: a verse version control system, Benkendorf censor as a project manager and last-minute deadlines.



Pushkin sits, writes poetry. Benkendorf comes running.
- Listen, Pushkin, we have all the terms burning! Must be released. Investors ask: where is the content?
- No, well, I can not do that! Benkendorf, I told you how many times that I can not.
- Alexander! They demand from me, I can't do anything. Let's get released. What you have there?
- Here ...

Pushkin shows two stanzas and the beginning of the third.

I remember a wonderful vision:
Before me was you
Like a fleeting moment
Like a genius of white beauty.

In languid sad hopelessness
In the worries of noisy bustle,
I heard a long voice snow
And dreamed cute features.

Ta-ta-ta. Storm call homedog
Scattered former dreams,
Tra-ta-ta-ta tender
Purum-pum-pum features.

- Wonderful! Put the first two stanzas in the grooves.
“But ...”
- Then all the "but." We need to show content!
Runs away.
Pushkin sighs, cuts out an unfinished stanza, makes git init, git add poem.txt, git commit and git push to the server. He returns the last stanza and looks thoughtfully into the distance, twirling a quill pen in his hands ... After 10 minutes, the thought comes to him, he puts down the pen and starts tapping the keys.


***

After half an hour there is progress on the third stanza.

Tara-ta. Storm call homedog
Scattered former dreams,
Tra-ta-ta-ta-tender
And dreamed of good features.

Pushkin gets up and goes to pour himself some coffee. In the corridor, he stumbles upon a hurrying Benkendorf.
- Pushkin, what are you doing! There are production bugs!
- Come on! Bugs? I have? Can not be.
- Look yourself.
Benkendorf opens the laptop, shows Pushkin something. Pushkin runs his hand into the head of hair and thoughtfully scratches it.
- Yes, tochnyak, look you ... But I have not done everything in the code ... I just started thinking about the fourth stanza ... there are a couple of thoughts, but not the fact that it is quickly being implemented ...
- It is urgently fixed!
Benkendorf runs away. Pushkin, forgetting about coffee, goes to the workplace. It does git stash, rules "snow" on "gentle", git commit, git push, git stash pop. Pensively looking at an empty mug. Then to the ceiling. In his eyes - an attempt to concentrate. Five minutes later he succeeds, and he begins to knock on the keys.


***

Half an hour later, Benkendorf comes running. He has a laptop and big Mac in his hands, he is chewing on the go.
On unfinished work on Pushkin’s screen:

Years went by. Storm call homedog
Scattered former dreams,
And I forgot your voice is gentle,
And dreamed of good features.

In the wilderness, in the darkness of tram-ta-ta-tam
My days were quiet
Without tram-ta-tam, without pam-pa-ra-ram,
Without tears, without life, without ta-there.

- Listen, Pushkin! Here, investors looked at the content, everything is fine, but we need copyrights and a title.
Pushkin aside:
- Mlja ...
Benkendorf, chewing bigmak, goggles.
- Well, Pushkin, well, last time! To die for me!
Pushkin sighs, does git stash again, adds a line of copyright. A little thought, calls the poem "K ***".
“Then I'll think of it! ..” he whispers to himself.
Git commit, git push. Benkendorf all this time is standing behind and chewing Bigmak intently.
Pushkin:
- Made, see! So satisfied? No more edits? Let it work calmly!
- It will not be that I fall through on this place! - assures Benkendorf. - Thank you, I owe you! - and runs away, dropping crumbs.
Pushkin looks at the monitor.
- To you it was empty, effective manager!
He makes git branch develop, git stash pop, git commit. Looking at an empty mug, he puts on his headphones and sits for 10 minutes, shaking his head in time with the music. Then he starts to knock fiercely on the keyboard.


***

Half an hour later, Benkendorf comes running. In his hands some kind of printout. On the screen of Pushkin's laptop, the flour of creativity:

In the wilderness, in the darkness of tram-ta-ta-tam
My days were quiet
Without tram-ta-there, without regret,
Without tears, without life, without love.

Benkendorf lifts the headphones from the head of Pushkin.
- Pushkin, listen! Everything is good, everyone likes everything, but investors, you know ... In short, the first stanza does not roll.
- What?! - Pushkin rips off the headset and turns around to Benkendorf.
- Well, not very ... They say it is inconvenient to read, “a fleeting moment” somehow cuts the eye ... Can you redo it? With me bubble!
- Well, how can I redo it? How? I have all the code disassembled, the tests do not pass at all!
- Well, my dear, well, think of something-thread!
Pushkin makes a git commit, git checkout master, thoughtfully picks a feather in his ear, then swaps “vision” and “instant”.
- It's all right?
- In! What you need, nishtyak, release! - Benkendorf runs away.
Pushkin sees him off with a bad look, makes git commit, git push, git checkout develop. He leads the pen over the unfinished changes, taps on the empty coffee mug thoughtfully. After about ten minutes it dawns on him, he takes up the keyboard.


***

Half an hour later, Benkendorf comes running. He silently approaches Pushkin and stops.
- What's again? - Pushkin lays his pen and nervously knocks his fingers on the table.
- Oh, nothing, just come to see: is the new version ready?
Pushkin rolls his eyes and draws a long breath. The screen is full of work:

In the wilderness, in the darkness of confinement
My days were quiet
Without deity, without inspiration,
Without tears, without malice, without love.

Pum-purum-puma has come to the soul:
And here you are again,
As pum-puram-pam vision,
Like tram-taram-there-there param.

- Well, how to say ... - Pushkin pulls the pen. - There are a couple of lines, like nothing ... Well, the fifth stanza seems to be spewing ... you need to think up a bunch with other components, because ...
- Well! - interrupts him Benkendorf - Can you roll out the product? Investors liked it, they want to give us another tranche, but they ask us to show progress, understand?
- Not.
- Listen, man, they pay us money, you know. We are not just sitting here, not for our own pleasure. There will be no money - they will drive everyone to hell. You can’t please write your posting then. Roll out, it is necessary to shine the progress. And yes, there is a bug again - here the comma is not enough.
- How are you all me! - Pushkin puts on headphones and defiantly silently looks at Monique. Benkendorf pats him on the shoulder and leaves.
Pushkin cuts out an unfinished stanza, makes git commit, returns a stanza, makes git stash, git checkout master, rules comma, git commit, makes git merge develop, git push, git checkout develop, git stash pop. Sighs, takes a mug and goes for coffee.


***

Half an hour later - Pushkin is in headphones at the computer - Benkendorf comes running. Pushkin pretends not to notice him.

The soul is awakening:
And here you are again,
Like fleeting vision,
Like a genius of pure beauty.

And the heart beats tum-turum-tum,
And for him there pam-param
And there-taram, and pu-purum-puma,
And life, and tears, and love.

Benkendorf insolently approaches Pushkin and puts a printout on the table.
- Here. Received feedback from the customer. Looking for changes.
Pushkin sadly looks at the sheet, on which a lot of letters and emoticons at the end. Removes headphones.
- This is what I do not understand. Why do they need other epithets? What they did not like? I am in shock, there are in the world ...
- Listen, do not be clever. Everyone has already thought of you. You change epithets, and everyone is happy. So it is necessary, understand? I can't tell you the whole kitchen, but the general took it under control.
- Here are infections, do not give work. - Pushkin finishes the remains of coffee. - Well, you will edit. But without tests! I will not even test such crap.
- That is chudnno, agreed! - Benkendorf runs away.
Pushkin makes a git commit, git checkout master, pushes a sheet of edits, corrects the code, sometimes raising his eyes to the ceiling and whispering something under his breath, then git commit, git push, git checkout develop. Clenching his teeth, the text nervously rules, commits, constantly muttering something under his breath.


***

Three hours later, Pushkin leans back in his chair. His eyes are red, his hair disheveled. On the screen ready poem. Pushkin affectionately examines him, adds a couple of spaces in one place and removes them in another. Git commit. Looks around: it is already night outside. Takes the phone, dials the number.
- Benkendorf! Yes, it's me, hello. Done ... What do you mean sleeping? Wake up come on! .. Tell me, can I release? .. Well, I don’t know, investors and customers are playing poker on our website, marketers have launched ads, and a lot of users are eager to give us their money ... No? Fine! Then I spread it on the product ... Yes, I answer ... Yes, nothing will happen! .. Yes, under my responsibility ... Yes, we agreed ... Adya!
Pushkin makes git checkout master, git merge develop, git push. Leans back in his chair. Outside the window the night city roars. Pushkin stretches with a crunch and stands up. He puts a pen and headphones in his backpack, puts on a headscarf hat on his naughty hair, leaves the room. In the office, the lights go out, everything sinks into partial shade, and only the screen glows. It shows a commit tree and a beautiful poem.

TO***

I remember a wonderful moment:
Before me was you
Like fleeting vision,
Like a genius of pure beauty.

In the sad sad hopelessness
In troubles of noisy bustle
I heard a long gentle voice
And dreamed cute features.

Years went by. Storm storm rebellious
Scattered former dreams,
And I forgot your voice is gentle,
Your heavenly features.

In the wilderness, in the darkness of confinement
My days were quiet
Without deity, without inspiration,
Without tears, without life, without love.

The soul is awakening:
And here you are again,
Like fleeting vision,
Like a genius of pure beauty.

And the heart beats in ecstasy,
And for him resurrected again
And deity, and inspiration,
And life, and tears, and love.

1825

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