Wounds by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Hello, Sunday. It is lunch time. I am reading another bruising love letter after digging for old poems in this place. No, the letter is not old, but the hurting is. Wounds Yevgeny Yevtushenko Translated by Arthur Boyars and Simon Franklin To D.G. I
Breaking Up by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Here: Yevtushenko. Always, on a rainy afternoon. Always, when I needed a good slap on the face. He has done this to me before: laid out my life in front of me, pointed out all the lies, all the little
“We can’t stand…” by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Ha!, I say. Ha! The world needs more Yevtushenkos. "We can't stand
People by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
This was copied by a stranger on the back of a paper wrapper, passed on to me by a friend during class. That was in 2004. The note said, "Of course I find you pretty," but I don't think it
Waiting by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Desire, desire, desire. Thinking of you and listening to Suzanne Vega's Caramel. Reading this poem: Waiting Yevgeny Yevtushenko My love will come will fling open her arms and fold me in them, will understand my fears, observe my changes. In from the pouring dark, from the
No, I’ll not take the half… by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
A helpless star, yes I think that's what I am. No, I'll not take the half
Memento by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
The other day I was in the library sitting on the floor surrounded by books I can't borrow (my load is full). I was copying this poem in a hurry, scribbling furiously. I didn't know if I had all afternoon