Why am I without joy, achieving everything, but grasping nothing at all? I dream of the wind that has overtaken me, the wind that has leaped over me. It shreds all the telephone lines that sag from unending chatter, and … Continue reading →
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged Actor, Essayist, Novelist, Poem, Russian Poet, Tomorrow's Wind, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| 2 Comments
I have been wounded so often and so painfully, dragging my way home at the merest crawl, impaled not only by malicious tongues- one can be wounded even by a petal. And I myself have wounded-quite unwittingly- with casual tenderness … Continue reading →
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged and later someone felt the pain, dragging my way home at the merest crawl, I, I have been wounded so often and so painfully, impaled not only by malicious tongues- one can be wounded even by a petal. And I myself have wounded-quite unwittingly- with casual tenderness while passing by, it was like walking barefoot over the ice. So why do I step upon the ruins of those most near and dear to me, Poem, who can be so simply and so sharply wounded and can wound others with such deadly ease?, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Leave a comment
I dreamed I already loved you. I dreamed I already killed you. But you rose again; another form, but you, a girl on the little ball of the earth, naive simplicity, curve-necked on that early canvas of Picasso, and prayed … Continue reading →
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged Actor, Essayist, I Dreamed I Already, Novelist, Poem, Russian Poet, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Leave a comment
No one sleeps more beautifully than you. But I am afraid that you will waken just now, and touch me with an indifferent glance, lightly passing, and commit the murder of beauty.
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged and touch me with an indifferent glance, Murder, No one sleeps more beautifully than you. But I am afraid that you will waken just now, Novelist, Poem, Russian Poet, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Leave a comment
Down in the pine needles in the snowstorm-stogged ravine an Evenki idol stands fixing his eyes on the taiga. Aggressively squinting, he watched until the time came when Evenki women started hauling presents to him. They brought him mukluks and … Continue reading →
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged And listening to the snowstorm blast down, far off yonder, he sets his eyes on fire, licks his lips. Lord, overgrown with moss, Poem, the phony little god, they brought him honey and fur, with his fierce, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Leave a comment
Poetry gives off smoke but it doesn’t die out. It acts kind of crazy, flutteringly, when it chooses us. This fellow’s no fool, sucking tranquillizers, toting in a little briefcase a boiled beet-root. Right now he’d like a mousse or … Continue reading →
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged ' but for ourselves, a crazy rag-picker, a kind of society clown. But something gives her the word and- like branches in winter, a line! And there an insane little bird falls off its feet, afterwards. It stamps 'Pure Souls' on us...but who’s the judge? Yes, and he’s mislaid the spoon- and he’s a giant! Socrates, and he’s the instant voice of the people, and her eyelids turn to marble. And here’s a bum a shaman, and then... a period! And like a slugger’s hook across the chops of the ages, bring him women, but the Muse- some kind of Muse! - grabs him by the scruff of the neck! Thoughts drill a hole in his forehead, damned near Savonarola! Poetry acts kind of strange, drunk, either, flutteringly, for the horse-blinkered multitudes we’re 'decadents, for the Lord’s sake... in an Oblomov dust-jacket. O.K.... he’s no Apollo- he’s puny and ugly, God rings from within, it flutters when it chooses us. And it has no mercy, not rum cakes! Suddenly an order from within will come through sternly, Poetry gives off smoke but it doesn’t die out. It acts kind of crazy, really- from among the lunatics! Pour him champagne, skinny: he’s like a golden mushroom, sucking tranquillizers, toting in a little briefcase a boiled beet-root. Right now he’d like a mousse or baba au rhum, unsteady... transparent. But suddenly some sort of whistling is in his ears, we ourselves are... are... well, when it chooses us. This fellow’s no fool, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Leave a comment
I learned not only from those who brightly beam out of golden frames, but from everyone whose ID photo didn’t come out quite right. More than from Tolstoy I learned from blind beggars who sang in train cars about Count … Continue reading →
Posted in Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Tagged Actor, Editor, Essayist, My Universities, Novelist, Poem, Russian Poet, Yevgeny Yevtushenko	| Leave a comment
Join Fr Will Straten, as he discusses ways we can grow in our faith that can make a lasting impact on us and those around us.
An in-depth bible study on the resurrection appearances of Jesus in the Gospel of John. We will focus on the way He was received by those He appeared to and the theme of Belief. Lead by Russ Hoyt.