Perhaps you have seen his paintings. It might be his poetry that you recall having read or having had read to you, as is his wont. And then again, it might be that you have sat in on one of his lectures, half asleep from the maze of electronic symbols on the blackboard but at the same time awake to the rhythm of his accented voice, rich with its Russian overtones. No matter what the contact might have been, however, one thing is certain. If you have once met Pietr Matvayevich Bulieba you will not easily forget him.

Artist, poet, and teacher, he is today, as Peter Boolba, American citizen and ardent champion of democracy, a long way from the land of his origin and the city of his birth, Kiev. Born not so long ago, and yet long enough to have him prefer to withhold the date, Peter Boolba's scientific inclinations have enabled him to pursue the varied and kaleidoscopic career to which he lays claim. From the time he left the Alexander I Technical College in Russia, through his years with Bell Laboratories in New York and up to the time of his present position as instructor at the Harvard Research Laboratory of Physics, his life has been a tug-of-war between Boolba the scientist and Boolba the artist. For reasons of a dietary nature (one must eat), the former eclipsed the latter--but only superficially. The "fire" still burns within, and with a little pursuasive fanning, one can readily be treated to a wisp of artistic smoke in the form of an original poem, pencil sketch, oil painting, and on occasion, a stage set or two!

One thing Mr. Boolba made clear to his interviewer from the start. Art was his concern, his hobby, his passion, and at this particular sitting, the substance of his interview. According to him, the purpose of Art is to interpret things as they are in nature. In order to be true Art, Art must be functional. It must not only reflect the people and their way of life, but its messages and meanings must be available and understandable to these very people. Of Salvador Dali, Mr. Boolba has this to say in his usual forthright manner: "His works are of a mind distorted. In other words, he stinks!"

Five years ago, Peter Boolba wrote his first poem, entitled "To Her." "Her" was his elocution teacher and upon being asked as to the eventual fate of the lady in question, he wryly replied: "She got married."

Whether or not this situation was the cause, or whether it was some undisclosed tragedy, we will never know, but "To Her" has been succeeded by a torrent of verse on every conceivable subject and a few inconceivable ones. To illustrate, the following is an excerpt from a "Bolba Special" intitled REPOSE:

"Shall I dream of you as of a star and its glitter?

Must I accept with it and drink a cup that is bitter?

(and further on)

"Or shall I dream of you and worship you as a Saint?

Charming monster with insipid eyes that you are ...ain't"

"I think of your greasy eyelids covering your dreamy eyes

That are no good for anything but rendezvous for stys!"

The aforementioned quotes were Boolba the cynic. His true love for humanity is evidenced by the fact that up until six months ago he was an ardent vegetarian because he couldn't bear to think of eating an animal that had been killed so that he could have his fill. Something must have happened six months ago, for today he say: "Now I feel that I could eat a human being... that is, if he were well prepared!"