I read lots of Russian lit (in translation, of course) while in Viet-Nam:
Mack Hall
Russians in Moc Hoa
I understood poor, young Raskolnikov
And read all I found by Anton Chekhov
Remembered nothing about Bulgakhov
Heard naughty whispers about Nabokov
Thrilled to the Cossacks in old Sholokov
But then learned the sound of Kalashnikov –
This, I decided, is where I get off!
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