Yevgeny Yevtushenko Poems
|41.||Flowers For Grandmother||8/17/2007|
|42.||Glasha, Bride Of The Sea||8/17/2007|
|43.||Here Is What...||8/17/2007|
|44.||I'M An Angel||8/17/2007|
|47.||You Are Great In Love||8/18/2007|
|48.||I Would Like||8/17/2007|
|51.||The Heirs Of Stalin||8/17/2007|
|54.||Picture Of Childhood||8/18/2007|
|55.||A Meeting In Copenhagen||8/18/2007|
|56.||Ballad About False Beacons||8/17/2007|
|58.||The Torments Of Conscience||8/18/2007|
|69.||Conversation With An American Writer||8/17/2007|
|72.||Ballad About Drinking||8/17/2007|
Tsars, Kings, Emperors,
sovereigns of all the earth,
have commanded many a parade,
but they could not command humor.
When Aesop, the tramp, came visiting
the palaces of eminent personages
ensconced in sleek comfort all day,
they struck him as paupers.
In houses, where hypocrites have
left the smear of their puny feet,
there Hodja-Nasr-ed-Din, with his jests,
swept clean all meanness
like a board of chessmen!
They tried to commission humor-
but humor is not to be bought!
They tried to murder humor,
but humor thumbed his nose at them! ...
Something dangerous is beginning:
I am coming late to my own self.
I made an appointment with my thoughts-
the thoughts were snatched from me.
I made an appointment with Faulkner-
but they made me go to a banquet.
I made an appointment with history,
but a grass-widow dragged me into bed.
Worse than barbed wire