Showing posts with label Yevgeny Yevtushenko. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yevgeny Yevtushenko. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

My Bourgeois Leanings - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

My Bourgeois Leanings

 

One day, at a meeting of the Komsomol…he was accused of bourgeois leanings just because he happened to wear a tie.

 

-Yevtushenko, A Precocious Autobiography, recounting an anecdote by his father

 

I am the only man who wears a tie

With proper coat and trousers (inspection pass)

Properly kitted like a proper guy

To weddings, funerals, dinners, and Sunday Mass

 

I am the only man who does not wear

Sneakers or baseball caps, gas-station shades

Knee pants, tee shirts, jeans with a built-in tear

Or plastic jackets shaped like hand grenades

 

If we are facing civilization’s end -

One’s trousers touch one’s oxfords with a quarter-inch bend

Sunday, March 6, 2022

Yevtushenko and Ukraine - weekly column, 6 March 2022

 

(I apologize - this one’s a mess. Vehemence is no excuse for poor craftsmanship.)

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Yevtushenko and Ukraine

 

Upon returning home from a boomer-privileged visit to Viet-Nam I bought at the San Francisco airport a copy of the Penguin edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems. That little paperback, which cost me 75 cents in 1970, is on the desk beside me as I type. 

 

A new copy of that book is now $16.00. In 1970 a cup of airport coffee was maybe 25 cents and now would be most of a tenner, so the book is about the same price in terms of purchasing power.

 

Upon recently hearing the name Yevtushenko in connection with Ukraine I looked on the InterGossip and learned that it is a common Ukrainian name although Yevgeny was from Siberia. His family was part of a forced resettlement generations ago and so Yevtushenko identified as a Russian. He annoyed his fellow Russians as a Russian, not as a Ukrainian, but, hey, good enough.

 

Yevgeny Yevtushenko was a poet, a biggie in his time, and had he been born ten years earlier Stalin would have had him shot for his criticism of Communist policies and of Russian anti-Semitism.

 

Yevtushenko’s best-known poem, “Babi Yar,” is the one that would have won him a literary prize made of lead in the basement shooting range of the Lubyanka.

 

Babi Yar is a huge ravine that in in 1941 was outside Kiev / Kyiv and is now inside the city limits. In two days, 29-30 September 1941, the Nazis murdered approximately 30,000 area Jews there, and over the next two years murdered more Jews as well as Poles, Gypsies / Roma, partisans, Red Army and Soviet Navy prisoners, writers, artists, musicians, psychiatric patients, nationalist Ukrainians, and others.

 

After the war there was no monument in honor of any of the victims. Given that the Jews were a substantial number, maybe half, of all the dead at that one site the USSR wanted no memory of Babi Yar at all. Yevtushenko’s poem, memorializing the massacres of Jews and other prisoners, somehow bypassed the censors (no one did cancel culture like the Soviets, although it’s becoming a fashion here), greatly annoying the regime but by then Yevtushenko was so famous that killing him was not an option.

 

The USSR finally put up a vaguely-worded monument to all the Russian dead but, given the anti-Semitism embedded in both Czarist and Soviet times, any mention of Jews was pointedly avoided. Upon independence Ukraine remedied this and there are numerous memorials to all the peoples massacred at Babi Yar.

 

Yevtushenko, whose ego was even greater than his skill, still managed to make much of the “Babi Yar” about himself, anticipating the me-me-me-ness of what now passes for poetry in our culture of artlessness, ideology and incessant self-pity, but it’s good anyway. And we should always remember that Yevtushenko while writing had to consider the possibility of a ten-year prison sentence or even of being “disappeared” for it.

 

Babi Yar is only one instance of the terror Ukraine suffered in the 20th century. That land, the size of Texas, was a giant battlefield among the armies of the Austrian Empire, the Russian Empire, local militias, and Bolsheviks. After the revolution the Bolsheviks inflicted genocide on Ukraine, transplanting some of the population to Siberia and starving millions more to death in the Holodomor of 1932-1933.

 

During the Second World War the Nazis occupied Ukraine and murdered more millions, and after the war the Communists returned to continue their accustomed mass murders despite the reality that Ukrainians had served in the Red Army in their thousands.

 

And then the Russians built poorly-designed nuclear power plants in Ukraine and staffed them with good comrades instead of real engineers, dumped wrecked nuclear submarines on the coast, and in general made a further mess of things.

 

Let’s not do the gallant-little-Belgium thing here: Ukrainians are sometimes a mess themselves, and the nation has had lots of problems transforming itself from a Soviet penal colony to a free nation. Still, Ukraine is a sovereign nation recognized by the otherwise useless Merovingians in the United Nations and shouldn’t be subject to the sustained terror of a neo-Soviet invasion ordered by Dobby-the-House-Elf and his harem of silent, terrified fly-girls. Further, Ukraine is one of the few food-exporting nations, and the war has already affected supply and costs here and everywhere else. Ukraine also exports iron and oil and gas, and is an east-west pipeline corridor for the transfer of energy.

 

I am the only man in America without a plan for the Ukraine. I do not know what we should do or can do. This nation abandoned some of its own citizens in Afghanistan as well as tanks, artillery, airplane, radar systems, small arms, drones, bombs, fuel, transport vehicles and other weapons in great quantities that could have been more than enough to provide Ukraine the power to repel the Russian invasion.

 

And yet little help is being offered to Ukraine.

 

We’re paying for those bad choices with cash and Ukrainians are paying with their blood. Our well-fed and well-protected generals in their tailor-made pinks and greens are pleased to appear at government functions in D. C. while Ukrainian children are either terrified refugees or rotting fragments of flesh in bombed-out streets.

 

We need to do some serious thinking. Those in power in this nation need to get off the golf course and do even more thinking and then accomplish some of that metaphorical heavy lifting.

 

What will some future Yevtushenko write about how we responded when millions of suffering people - hungry, cold, bombed-out, blown-out, constantly under fire, standing to their posts in the snow against the cruel Russian army, air force, and navy - asked us for help?

 

-30-

 

Thursday, August 20, 2020

Yevgeny Yevtushenko Admires Himself - weekly column

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Yevgeny Yevtushenko Admires Himself

Only in Russia is poetry respected –
it gets people killed. Is there anywhere else
where poetry is so common a motive for murder?

-attributed to Osip Mandelstam

Recently I finished a book only half-remembered from my youth, Yevtushenko’s A Precocious Autobiography.

I had no idea that a poet I had long admired was such a, well, jerk. He claims to have been a championship table-tennis player, that he could have been a professional soccer player, that he mastered ju-jitsu and can beat anyone up and that he is afraid of nothing, that everyone failed to understand his brilliance as a poet while simultaneously admiring him for his brilliance, that the Soviets picked on him even while flying him all over the world to represent the Soviet Union and proudly assert his Communism, and that he who would later earn lots of money and own at least two homes airily disapproved of money like a good comrade.

A photograph in the book is labeled “Yevtushenko and Galya at the home of the former Luftwaffe General Huebner” but an admittedly quick search through the InterGossip does not indicate that there was any such person.

The famous first line of his autobiography is “A poet’s autobiography is his poetry.”

Yevtushenko accuses Arthur Rimbaud of having been a slave trader when in fact there is no evidence for it (Rimbaud was certainly bad enough in other ways, including being an arms dealer). Yevtushenko also claims to be a sophisticated art critic and patronizes other cultures and peoples in unfortunate and sometimes offensive language. He faults Western nations for their failings (and fair enough) but ignores the seventy years of horror and mass executions and mass incarcerations and the genocidal mania of the Communist Revolution. Oh, and Lenin was a good fellow; Communism would have worked had not Stalin betrayed the Revolution.

And so it goes, for 124 self-serving pages.

Perhaps Yevtushenko’s most famous poem is “Babiy Yar” (there are variant spellings in English even by Yevtushenko himself), admitting the Russian / Ukrainian silencing of the Nazi massacre of some 34,000 Jews in the Babi Yar ravine near Kiev in two days in 1941, with thousands of more Jews as well as Roma, prisoners of war, Russians accused of partisan activity, the mentally ill, and others. Possibly some 100,000 people were murdered there in the Nazi time, and there may have been Russian / Ukrainian compliance. After the war the Communists downplayed the Jewish focus. Yevtushenko is praised for his courage in bringing up the matter, but the reality is that he could not have published that poem without the permission of the Communist government, and perhaps on their orders.

In this short poem Yevtushenko refers to himself in first-person pronouns at least 27 times, making Babi Yar about himself.

Given all this, I recommend the book highly. Yes, it really is interesting, but as with the most gaseous old man in the corner down at the diner you can’t rely upon his veracity.

Beyond that, Yevtushenko’s poetry is fascinating. I have no Russian, and while the standard for Russian poetry is rhyming iambic tetrameter, I don’t know how he structured it, but the content is brilliant.

Also brilliant is his anthology, 20th Century Russian Poetry (he doesn’t neglect to give himself lots of space in it).

Yevtushenko admires himself, but, yes, there is much to admire.

Peace to you, Yevgeny, you old rascal; you’ll always be one of my favorites.

-30-

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Yevgeny Yevtushenko - A Memorial (repost)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The first book I bought upon returning home from Viet-Nam was the Penguin Modern European Poets paperback edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems. That 75-cent paperback from a bookstall in the airport in San Francisco is beside me on the desk as I write.

At this point the convention is to write that Yevtushenko changed my life forever, gave me an epiphany, and blah, blah, blah. He didn’t. But I really like him.

All Change at Zima Junction

For Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 1932-2017

Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction
Changes lives; nineteen becomes twenty-one
With hardly a pause for twenty and then
Everyone asks you questions you can’t answer

And then they say you’ve changed, and ignore you
The small-town brief-case politician still
Enthroned as if she were a committee
And asks you what you are doing back here

And then you go away, on a different train:
Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction

“I went, and I am still going.”1


1Yevtuskenko: Selected Poems. Penguin,1962

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

But Yevtushenko Might Corrupt Our Jailers - a tribute to Penguin paperbacks

Lawrence Hall
mhall46194@aol.com

But Yevtushenko Might Corrupt Our Jailers

A tribute to Penguin paperbacks

When they
Someday
Take us away
For reading
For thinking
For writing

Those Penguin paperbacks all tattered and taped
Discovered when they empty our pockets
          will
Be used against us in their courts of law

But Yevtushenko might corrupt our jailers




17 July is Yevtushenko's birthday (1932)

Monday, May 6, 2019

"I Went, And I Am Still Going" - a poem on the occasion of my retirement

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


“I Went, And I Am Still Going.”

This is a re-post of "All Change at Zima Junction." This morning I turned in my keys after some forty years of herding cattle (metaphorically), some seventeen of them with this institution. I am unemployed for the first time since I was five or so and was set to toddling out to the chicken yard every evening to gather the eggs in an old Easter basket. My mother said that the rooster often chased me and made me cry, but I don’t remember that.

And now - what adventure does Aslan have next for me?

The first book I bought upon returning home from Viet-Nam was the Penguin Modern European Poets paperback edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems. That 75-cent paperback from an airport bookstall in San Francisco is beside me on the desk as I write.

All Change at Zima Junction

For Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 1932-2017

Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction
Changes lives; nineteen becomes twenty-one
With hardly a pause for twenty and then
Everyone asks you questions you can’t answer

And then they say you’ve changed, and ignore you
The small-town brief-case politician still
Enthroned as if he were a committee -
He asks you what you are doing back here

And then you go away, on a different train:
Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction

“I went, and I am still going.”1


1 Yevtushenko: Selected Poems. Penguin,1962

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

"The F*g with the Bow Tie" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“The F*g with the Bow Tie” 1

“Only in Russia is poetry respected – it gets people killed.
Is there anywhere else where poetry is so common a motive for murder?”

-Osip Mandelstam 2

Spain. Poetry got people killed in Spain -
And still wherever tyrants of delicate nerves
And artistic sensitivities hear
Whispered rumors of whispered disapproval

And so an innocent, fearful and trembling
Must be motored away to a moonless death
Upon orders spoken, written, tweeted
Telephoned, telegraphed, or teletyped

One prays he has a moment to adjust his tie
Perfectly - as an honor to Poetry




1 The slur is attributed to Federico Garcia Lorca’s murderers:
https://lithub.com/dictators-kill-poets-on-federico-garcia-lorcas-last-days/

2 Quoted by Yevgeny Yevtushenko in 20th Century Russian Poetry

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

A Russian Series, 8: "Withdrawn from Salem Public Library" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“Withdrawn from Salem Public Library”
 
Yevtushenko in a Used-Book Sale

“Salem Public Library, East Main Street,
Salem, VA 24153”
A happy book, thought-stained, and often-read:
An anthology of Russian poetry

Salem, Virginia must be a marvelous town
A library stocked with poetry, and stocked
With poetry readers who have turned again
And again to favorite pages here and there

Long-ago poets murdered by the Soviets
But finding love at last in Salem, Virginia












Re:

20th Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Gold
Selected and with an introduction by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Albert C. Todd and Max Hayward, editors
New York: Doubleday. 1993

Thursday, May 11, 2017

"Withdrawn from Salem Public Library" - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

“Withdrawn from Salem Public Library”

“Salem Public Library, East Main Street,
Salem, VA 24153”
A happy book, thought-stained, and often-read
An anthology of Russian poetry

Salem, Virginia must be a marvelous town
A library stocked with poetry, and stocked
With poetry readers who have turned again
And again to favorite pages here and there

Long-ago poets murdered by the Soviets
But finding love at last in Salem, Virginia

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

All Change at Zima Junction - poem



Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

All Change at Zima Junction

For Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 1932-2017

Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction
Changes lives; nineteen becomes twenty-one
With hardly a pause for twenty and then
Everyone asks you questions you can’t answer

And then they say you’ve changed, and ignore you
The small-town brief-case politician still
Enthroned as if she were a committee
And asks you what are you doing back here

And then you go away, on a different train:
Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction

“I went, and I am still going.”1


1Yevtuskenko: Selected Poems. Penguin,1962

Sunday, April 2, 2017

April is Poetry Month - and aTribute to Yevgeny Yevtushenko - column, 2 April 2017

Mack Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

April is Poetry Month – Let Slip the Dogs of Iambic Pentameter

Yevgeny Yevtushenko, one of the bold young poets of the 1960s, died this week at the age of 84.
When I returned from Viet-Nam I bought for 75 cents a new copy of the Penguin Modern European Poets edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems at the airport in San Francisco. I had read many short stories by Anton Chekhov and Solzhenitsyn’s “The Incident at the Krechetovka Station” (an English translation of The Gulag Archipelago was several years away), and was working through Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. I had begun to understand that Tolstoy was a hairy-airy old proto-hippie, but I hadn’t enough history to understand Yevtushenko at the time. I had no idea what Babi Yar was, and of course poetry just can’t be translated.

Russian words can be rendered only approximately into English words – and the other way ‘round – by someone equally at home in both languages, but, still, the emphases, the rhythms, the subtleties of language will be lost. Imagine, for instance, trying to translate “Well, I’ve got friends in low places” into another language. What, exactly, does “well” mean? What kind of friends? Those few close ones among whom there are almost no secrets? Co-workers? The Saturday-morning coffee-shop pals? Are the friends mention in the poem / song airline pilots and navigators? Unemployed steelworkers? Two welders, a dentist, and a CPA who play country music on the weekends? What are “low places?” Is “low” rendered as altitude or attitude?

So I didn’t understand much of Yevtushenko. After a few years’ study, including my own indiscriminate reading, I did. Without some basic knowledge of Russian history one cannot understand what a bee-slap in the collective (so to speak) faces of Stalin and his successors some of Yevtushenko’s poems were.

Just why Yevtushenko wasn’t “disappeared” is a matter of speculation. Some of his peers accused him of being a government stooge, but his poetry was not obedient to the censors. The line “Don’t tells lies to the young” is a typical Yevtushenko rebuke to the Soviet government. Had Stalin lived beyond 1953, Yevtushenko would not have; he would be a footnote lost in an unmarked mass grave, like Osip Mandelstam, Lydia Chukovskaya, Nikolay Punin, and thousands of others.

That edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems is still available; Amazon.com.pretty.much.owns.the.planet.com lists it from several sources from $3 to $50.

The ragged copy I bought in the long-ago – ragged because I finally read it, and have re-read it many times - is beside me on my desk as I type this. The filler on the back cover reads “Yevgeny Yevtushenko is the fearless spokesman of his generation in Russia. In verse that is young, fresh, and outspoken he frets at restraint and injustice…”

Except for that forbidden “he” – one person is now “they” on the orders of our own soviet censors – that fifty-year-old blurb could be pretty much the advertising copy for any new book of scribbles.

But Yevtushenko was real. “Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord…”

-30-