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العمق الرمادي: سيرة ذاتية مبكرة
Vintage paperback
143 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1963
11 people are currently reading
425 people want to read
About the author
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
151 books115 followers Евгений Евтушенко
Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko (Russian: Евгений Александрович Евтушенко; born 18 July 1933 in Zima Junction, Siberia) is a Soviet and Russian poet. He is also a novelist, essayist, dramatist, screenwriter, actor, editor, and a director of several films.
Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko (Russian: Евгений Александрович Евтушенко; born 18 July 1933 in Zima Junction, Siberia) is a Soviet and Russian poet. He is also a novelist, essayist, dramatist, screenwriter, actor, editor, and a director of several films.
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July 1, 2016
سيرة ذاتية للشاعر الروسي يفتوشينكو، يتحدث فيه عن طفولته، ومراهقته، وبدايته كشاعر، كتبت بأسلوب سردي سلس لا يخلو من سخرية، وكثير من خيبات الحياة، تميزت هذه السيرة بأمرين:
الأول: تلمس في هذه السطور تواضع الكبار وصدقه.
الثاني: الانحياز للحقيقة وإن كانت مرة.
استوقفني في الكتاب حديثه عن تصنيم الساسة، وأن البشر بقدر ما يقدسون شخصا
بقدر ما تكون صدمتهم فيما بعد.
المشاهد التي ذكرها في جنازة ستالين والتي كان له أثر في تراجعه وإعادة النظر في التعصب والتصنيم، والانحياز للبسطاء والشعور بهم كان ذلك مؤثرا جدا.
يقول:بعد موت ستالين بثلاثة أعوام " كشف الحزب الشيوعي النقاب عن جرائم ستالين"
الذي كانوا يعبدونه " كان عذاب الناس النفسي محسوساً"
في السيرة الكثير عن الشعر، والتجارب، وتواضع البدايات، وأثر الرقابة على الإبداع، وأشياء مؤلمة، وجمل عميقة تحمل فلسفة هذا الشاعر.
من الكتب القليلة الرائعة التي قرأتها هذا العام.
الأول: تلمس في هذه السطور تواضع الكبار وصدقه.
الثاني: الانحياز للحقيقة وإن كانت مرة.
استوقفني في الكتاب حديثه عن تصنيم الساسة، وأن البشر بقدر ما يقدسون شخصا
بقدر ما تكون صدمتهم فيما بعد.
المشاهد التي ذكرها في جنازة ستالين والتي كان له أثر في تراجعه وإعادة النظر في التعصب والتصنيم، والانحياز للبسطاء والشعور بهم كان ذلك مؤثرا جدا.
يقول:بعد موت ستالين بثلاثة أعوام " كشف الحزب الشيوعي النقاب عن جرائم ستالين"
الذي كانوا يعبدونه " كان عذاب الناس النفسي محسوساً"
في السيرة الكثير عن الشعر، والتجارب، وتواضع البدايات، وأثر الرقابة على الإبداع، وأشياء مؤلمة، وجمل عميقة تحمل فلسفة هذا الشاعر.
من الكتب القليلة الرائعة التي قرأتها هذا العام.
June 30, 2016
كنت أعتقد دومًا بأن الروس محصنين ضد الاعتراف، ولا يمكن اختراقهم بسهولة، وبالتالي عندما التقطت هذه السيرة للشاعر يفتوشينكو ظننت بأن المذكرات التي كنت بصدد قراءتها ستخلو من الصدق.
جزء من هذا الانطباع يعود للصورة النمطية التي ساهمت في تشكيلها الآلة الإعلامية الأميريكية، وهوليوود على وجه التحديد، وجزء آخر يعود بسبب التاريخ السوفييتي للدولة الذي ارتبط في أذهاننا بالرعب، والملاحقات، والاغتيالات .. إلخ
لذلك لم يكن سقف توقعاتي عاليًا جدًا!
ولكن، لحسن الحظ، خاب ظني سريعًا. وجدت هذا الكتاب، خلافًا لتوقعاتي، شفّاف وصادق جدًا. الجليد الذي كنت أظنه سيشكل عائقًا لي للنفاذ إلى داخل حياة الشاعر، ذاب مع سرد الشاعر الجميل لحكاياته، مغامراته، وحياته التي ارتبطت بالكثير من خيبات الأمل والقليل جدًا من اللحظات السعيدة. مما دفعني للبحث عن قصائده المتوفرة على الانترنت، ووجدتها لا تختلف في جمالها وروعتها عن سرده العفوي والرائع لمحطات حياته المبكرة.
جزء من هذا الانطباع يعود للصورة النمطية التي ساهمت في تشكيلها الآلة الإعلامية الأميريكية، وهوليوود على وجه التحديد، وجزء آخر يعود بسبب التاريخ السوفييتي للدولة الذي ارتبط في أذهاننا بالرعب، والملاحقات، والاغتيالات .. إلخ
لذلك لم يكن سقف توقعاتي عاليًا جدًا!
ولكن، لحسن الحظ، خاب ظني سريعًا. وجدت هذا الكتاب، خلافًا لتوقعاتي، شفّاف وصادق جدًا. الجليد الذي كنت أظنه سيشكل عائقًا لي للنفاذ إلى داخل حياة الشاعر، ذاب مع سرد الشاعر الجميل لحكاياته، مغامراته، وحياته التي ارتبطت بالكثير من خيبات الأمل والقليل جدًا من اللحظات السعيدة. مما دفعني للبحث عن قصائده المتوفرة على الانترنت، ووجدتها لا تختلف في جمالها وروعتها عن سرده العفوي والرائع لمحطات حياته المبكرة.
Want to read
April 4, 2017Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Russian poet who memorialised Babi Yar, dies aged 84
in:https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
and:
https://www.theguardian.com/world/199...
in:https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
and:
https://www.theguardian.com/world/199...
February 13, 2020
لال اعلم لماذا نجمتين ولكنني معجب يفتوشينكو شعره كلماته سرده حياته نضاله
اعجبتني اختطافه للعقول لحظه قراءه الفاظه
أهدى يفتوشينكو هذه القصيدة الى ذكرى البطل الوطني الكوبي خوسيه انطونيو أتشيفاليري ، وكان إسمه السري ” مانسانا” ويعني باللغة الإسبانية ” التفاح ”
كان شاب اسمه مانسانا
عيناه صافيتان كينبوع
وروحه صاخبة كسطح مأهول
يعج بالحمام والجيتارات واللوحات التي لم تتم
كان يحب كيزان الذرة
في عيد ميلاده الستين، اختتم يفغيني الحفلة بقراءة أبيات من إحدى قصائده المفضلة «جيل الستينيات» ويقول فيها: «كنا الموضة في زمنٍ ما، كنا محط السوء بالنسبة للبعض، لكننا منحناك شرف أن تكون حرًّا، يا حاسدي المهان، فلتهمسوا بما شئتم، قولوا: إننا لا نعرف الإبداع، قولوا: إننا مستهلكون في النفاق، لا يهمني أبدًا. سنظل الأساطير، نظل محط جدل، نظل نحن الخالدون».
قصيدتان
فاتحة
كثيرٌ جدًّا أنا.
مستنزفٌ، مُرهق،
مُعطَّلٌ أنا.
لي ألفُ حلمٍ أنا
تخذلني الجهات.
ولا أليقُ، لا أليق..
بأي شيءٍ هُنا.
أنا العصيُّ الغريب،
أنا الخجولُ الوقِح،
أنا البغيضُ الطيِّب.
أحبُّ كلَّ هذا،
أحبُّ كيف يكتمل الشيء بشيءٍ آخر،
أحبُّ كيف يندمجُ كلّ شيءٍ بداخلي:
من الشرقِ إلى الغرب،
من الحسدِ إلى الرضا.
لا بدَّ أنكم تتساءلون الآن:
ما الغايةُ المُجملة في كل هذا؟
ثمَّة جدوى باهرة في كل هذا الشيء!
لا منجى لكم مني!
أنا الركامُ العالي
ككومة قشّ على ظهرِ شاحنة.
في الأصواتِ أطير،
وفي غصونِ الشجر،
يُصادقني الضوء والتغريد،
وفراشاتٌ ترتعشُ في عيني.
ونبتة من شقوق الطريق.
ألقي السلامَ على كل الجهات،
على الشغف، على الشغف المبتهج بنصره.
حدودُ العالم كلها في طريقي.
يُربكني ألّا أجد عاصمة الأرجنتين في نيويورك.
أريدُ أن أتنزَّه عبر شوارع لندن،
وأن أتحدَّث إلى الجميع،
حتى لو كان ذلك بإنجليزية مكسورة.
أريد أن أتمشَّى في باريس أول الفجر،
وأتنقل من حافلة لحافلة كطفل.
أريد للفن أن يكون متنوعًا،
كما هي نفسي.
وماذا لو كان الفنُّ شقائي؟
ماذا لو كان الفنُّ مضطهدي من كل الجهات؟
bag-Yevgeny_2أنا محاصرٌ أصلًا.
رأيتُ نفسي في كل شيء.
أشعر بالانتماء ليسينين،
لويتمان،
أشعر بالانتماء لموسورسكي وهو يحتضن المسرح،
لغوغان ورسوماته البكر.
أريدُ أن أغرس زلاجاتي في الشتاء،
وخربشاتي على الورق،
وأن أقضي لياليَ طو الًا مع الأرق.
أريدُ أن أقول لعدوٍّ في وجهه: لا،
أن أمشي مع امرأة على ضفة نهر،
أن ألتهم الكتب،
أن أحمل خشب المدفأة،
أن أحمل الصنوبر،
أن أبحث عن شيءٍ لا أعرف.
وفي حرارة أغسطس أريد أن أتلذذ بشرائح
البطيخ القرمزية الباردة.
أريدُ أن أغني، أريد أن أثمل،
أن أرمي الموت ورائي.
بذراعين مفرودتين
أريد أن أتمدّد على العشب.
ولو حدث، في هذا العالم الوحشيّ، موتي
فسأموت من فرط الفرح الذي عشته.
لن أقبل بالنصف
لا، لن أقبل بالنصف، لن أقبل أنصاف الأشياء.
أعطني السماء كاملة، أعطني الأرض بما فيها.
البحار والأنهار والجبال والانهيارات الثلجية.
كلها ملكي، لن أقبل بأقل من ذلك.
لا يا حياة، لن تخيفيني بالنصف.
أعطيني الكلَّ أو لا شيء، كَتِفِي أهلٌ للحمل.
لن أقبل نصف سعادة،
لن أقبل نصف الأحزان.
وسادة واحدة يمكنني أن أشاركها،
وسادة يفترشها خدٌّ ناعم،
كنجمة بائسة، كنجمة هاوية،
كخاتمٍ يومض في إصبعٍ من يدك.
والبيسبول
والأطفال
والأشجار
والطيور
وعيني فتاته المعجزتين
حين تشرقان من تحت اهدابها
وتلتقيان عفوا بعينيه و…
وقد التهبت رقصة الباتشانجا
كان مانسانا أشبه بطفل
لكن نفوراً صارماً كان يومض في عينيه
عندما يرى النفاق والكذب
كان الكذب في كوبا يرتدي أفخر الثياب
ويذرع ردهات القصور
ويجلس في سيارة الرئيس
مضطجعا كأنه في منزله
وينشر الهراء في جميع الصحف
ويبدأ نهاره بالصياح
ومن وقت لآخر
بستبدل بالصياح الروك آند رول
وينفخ في الراديو الأبواق
وقرر الشاب الصغير مانسانا
أن يستولي هو وأصدقاؤه على محطة الإذاعة
لا من أجل المجد
وإنما من أجل الجميع
ولكي تعرف كوبا الحقيقة
وهكذا
هجم وفي يده المسدس
وانتزع الميكروفون من المغنية
واخذ يقول للشعب الحقيقة
كصوت كوبا ، والشجاعة ، والإيمان
لمدة ثلاث دقائق فقط !
ثلاث دقائق لا أكثر
ثمّ … طلق ناري
وبعده لم يسمع شيء
أصبحت رصاصة باتستا نقطة
في خطبة مانسانا التي لم تكتمل
ومن جديد دوى الروك آند رول بانتظام
اما هو فلم يعد يمكن أن يقهر
بعد أن أعطى حياته مقابل ثلاث دقائق من الحقيقة
وأغفى بوجه سعيد شاب
فيا شباب العالم
حينما يحكم الزيف بلدا ما
وتأخذ الصحف في الكذب بلا سأم
تذكروا مانسانا
أيها الشباب
هكذا يجب أن تعيشوا
لا تشغلوا أنفسكم بالتفاهات
واجهوا الموت
ناسين الراحة
والهدوء
وقولوا الحقيقة
ولو لثلاث دقائق
ثلاث دقائق فقط
وبعد ذلك فليقتلوكم
October 24, 2021
"A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else can only be a footnote. A poet is only a poet when the reader can see him whole as if he held him in the hollow of his hand with all his feelings, thoughts and actions."
June 5, 2017
Notes from Yevtushenko, A Precocious Autobiography
p. 69 "A poet has only one indispensable quality: whether he is simple or complicated, people must need him. Poetry, if it’s genuine, is not a racing car rushing senselessly around and around a closed track; it is an ambulance rushing to save someone.” ~~ Kirsanov to Yevtushenko
p. 81 “Of course Stalin never himself preached anti-Semitism as a theory, but the theory was inherent in his practice. Neither did Stalin in theory preach careerism, servility, spying, cruelty, bigotry, or hypocrisy. But these too were implicit in Stalin’s practice. This is why some people, such as the poet K, began to think and act in an anti-communist way though they regarded themselves as the most orthodox of Communists.
“I came to realize that those who speak in the name of communism but in reality pervert its meaning are among its most dangerous enemies, perhaps even more dangerous than its enemies in the West.”
p. 89 “Russia’s poets were always fighters for the future of their country and for justice. Her poets helped Russia to think. Her poets helped Russia to struggle against her tyrants.”
“After Stalin’s death, when Russia was going through a very difficult moment of her inner life, I became convinced that I had no right to cultivate my private Japanese garden of poetry…. To write only of nature or women or Weltschmerz at a time of hardship for your countrymen is almost amoral.
“And it was a time of hardship for the Russians.”
p. 112 “Of course, I listened more than I spoke. Before you can have anything to say, you must learn to listen.”
p. 115 “If, before, I felt a responsibility for my own country, I now felt a responsibility for the whole world. And so in every country I visited, instead of going to see the beautiful sights and historical monuments, I looked for men who were prepared to fight heart and soul against lies, the abuse of power, and the exploitation of man by man wherever they exist. And everywhere I found such men.”
p. 116 “The struggle for the future.”
p. 123-124 “In a café in Paris a student who did less than credit to his revolutionary forbears said to me: ‘In general I’m for socialism. But I’d rather wait until you get stores like the Galeries Lafayette in Moscow. After that I might consider fighting for socialism….’
“I felt ashamed for this senile young man. “What he wants is to have his future served to him on a silver platter, nicely cooked, brown outside and pink inside with a sprig of parsley; then perhaps he’ll pick at it with his fork. We at least are making the future ourselves, doing without the barest necessities, suffering, making mistakes, but all the same doing it ourselves.
“It makes me proud not to be just an onlooker but to be taking part in my people’s heroic struggle for the future.”
p. 69 "A poet has only one indispensable quality: whether he is simple or complicated, people must need him. Poetry, if it’s genuine, is not a racing car rushing senselessly around and around a closed track; it is an ambulance rushing to save someone.” ~~ Kirsanov to Yevtushenko
p. 81 “Of course Stalin never himself preached anti-Semitism as a theory, but the theory was inherent in his practice. Neither did Stalin in theory preach careerism, servility, spying, cruelty, bigotry, or hypocrisy. But these too were implicit in Stalin’s practice. This is why some people, such as the poet K, began to think and act in an anti-communist way though they regarded themselves as the most orthodox of Communists.
“I came to realize that those who speak in the name of communism but in reality pervert its meaning are among its most dangerous enemies, perhaps even more dangerous than its enemies in the West.”
p. 89 “Russia’s poets were always fighters for the future of their country and for justice. Her poets helped Russia to think. Her poets helped Russia to struggle against her tyrants.”
“After Stalin’s death, when Russia was going through a very difficult moment of her inner life, I became convinced that I had no right to cultivate my private Japanese garden of poetry…. To write only of nature or women or Weltschmerz at a time of hardship for your countrymen is almost amoral.
“And it was a time of hardship for the Russians.”
p. 112 “Of course, I listened more than I spoke. Before you can have anything to say, you must learn to listen.”
p. 115 “If, before, I felt a responsibility for my own country, I now felt a responsibility for the whole world. And so in every country I visited, instead of going to see the beautiful sights and historical monuments, I looked for men who were prepared to fight heart and soul against lies, the abuse of power, and the exploitation of man by man wherever they exist. And everywhere I found such men.”
p. 116 “The struggle for the future.”
p. 123-124 “In a café in Paris a student who did less than credit to his revolutionary forbears said to me: ‘In general I’m for socialism. But I’d rather wait until you get stores like the Galeries Lafayette in Moscow. After that I might consider fighting for socialism….’
“I felt ashamed for this senile young man. “What he wants is to have his future served to him on a silver platter, nicely cooked, brown outside and pink inside with a sprig of parsley; then perhaps he’ll pick at it with his fork. We at least are making the future ourselves, doing without the barest necessities, suffering, making mistakes, but all the same doing it ourselves.
“It makes me proud not to be just an onlooker but to be taking part in my people’s heroic struggle for the future.”
June 19, 2018
سيرة تجربة الشاعر في سنواته الأولى، طريقه نحو النشر، واكتشافه لما يعنيه الشعر بالنسبة له وكيف يكون شعره ذا قيمة. وهي ايضا رحلته نحو تشكيل وعي مستقل لا يخضع للأفكار القسرية لنظام قمعي.
October 12, 2018
"When truth is replaced by silence,the silence is a lie."
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Yevgeny could not be silent in front of Josef Stalin's tyranny. And his his friends accused him as anti-communism and anti-revolution. But nothing stopped him from telling what he believed.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Yevgeny could not be silent in front of Josef Stalin's tyranny. And his his friends accused him as anti-communism and anti-revolution. But nothing stopped him from telling what he believed.
January 21, 2018
Yevgeny Yevtushenko's A Precocious Autobiography was published in 1963 at the height of the poet's popularity. He was at that time a kind of rock star. He gave poetry readings to audiences in the thousands. He was allowed to travel to foreign countries, where other poets were consigned to the Gulag.
I guess I think less of him because he was too careful to work within the system. After the fall of Communism, he was criticized for his adherence to the official line. Oh, he criticized it -- but within limits that toed the official line.
I guess I think less of him because he was too careful to work within the system. After the fall of Communism, he was criticized for his adherence to the official line. Oh, he criticized it -- but within limits that toed the official line.
November 29, 2009
I’ve never read Yevtushenko’s work, so I can’t comment on his poetry; however, his autobiography is very, very good. I admit to crying multiple times, particularly in his depiction of Stalin’s funeral, however, it collapses toward the end, wherein Yevtushenko spends twenty pages being very smug, very self-congratulatory, and very, very arrogant. When he writes about the Russian people, he is incredibly moving; when he writes about himself, he just comes off like a pompous ass.
September 2, 2020
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 tosser. 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 and contradictory 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.
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 tosser. 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 and contradictory 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.
Read
April 2, 2020Soviet Russian Poet, Writer, Journalist, Diplomat, Historian Yevgeny Yevtushenko's "A Precocious Autobiography" was published very early, in 1965. Yevtushenko's long work years with poetry, literature and philosophy brought a very rich life! In this early book, Yevtushenko writes his childhood and youth years when he lived in Soviet cities. Yevgeny Yevtushenko explains his poetry's sources in Soviet life in his "A Precocious Autobiography". Yevtushenko brought the very new thoughts, the very new poetical forms, the very new poetical philosophy to the Soviet Russian Poetry, in his book, Yevtushenko decribes his poetical work's development in the Soviet societies - the effects of the different Soviet nations' cultures, the Soviet education, the Soviet Communist Party, the Soviet international relations, the Soviet history.
October 14, 2023
تتشابه السير الذاتية الروسية في تشبثها بالأمل في غد أفضل ، رغم كل الديكتاتوريات الحكومية التي مرت عليهم و مازالت ، مازال الشعب يُحاول و يُعاني و يتخبط ليجد لنفسه مكانًا بين أواسط المثقفين و المبدعين .
أعشق المذكرات و السير الذاتية فهي تشرح لنا جوانب مختلفة من حياة أصحابها ، لم نكن لنعرف عنها لولا جرأتهم بالحديث و الإفصاح عن العقبات التي أدت لخروجهم من كبد المعاناة.
في الكتاب نتعرف على نشأة يفغيني يفتوشينكو (18 يوليو 1932م - 1 أبريل 2017م)، روائي و شاعر و كاتب سيناريو روسي من أصل أوكراني. بدأ نشاطه بكتابة الشعر في عام 1949م ، ثم في عام 1952م أصدر أول كتاب له بعنوان "كشافة المستقبل"، أصبح أصغر عضو في اتحاد الكتاب في الاتحاد السوفييتي. انتقل سنة 1991م للعيش في الولايات المتحدة و توفي هُناك .
سيرته هُنا ليست لكل حياته لكن ولادته و نشأته و بداياته إلى ما بعد حكم ستالين بفترة قصيرة ، تعرفه على زوجته الأولى بيلا أخمادولينا.
⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2 لــ الرابع وَ الستين من كُتُبْ 2023
أعشق المذكرات و السير الذاتية فهي تشرح لنا جوانب مختلفة من حياة أصحابها ، لم نكن لنعرف عنها لولا جرأتهم بالحديث و الإفصاح عن العقبات التي أدت لخروجهم من كبد المعاناة.
في الكتاب نتعرف على نشأة يفغيني يفتوشينكو (18 يوليو 1932م - 1 أبريل 2017م)، روائي و شاعر و كاتب سيناريو روسي من أصل أوكراني. بدأ نشاطه بكتابة الشعر في عام 1949م ، ثم في عام 1952م أصدر أول كتاب له بعنوان "كشافة المستقبل"، أصبح أصغر عضو في اتحاد الكتاب في الاتحاد السوفييتي. انتقل سنة 1991م للعيش في الولايات المتحدة و توفي هُناك .
سيرته هُنا ليست لكل حياته لكن ولادته و نشأته و بداياته إلى ما بعد حكم ستالين بفترة قصيرة ، تعرفه على زوجته الأولى بيلا أخمادولينا.
⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2 لــ الرابع وَ الستين من كُتُبْ 2023
August 8, 2025
You know Salvador Dali's autobiography, DIARY OF A GENIUS? That same title could serve here. PRECOCIOUS AUTOBIOGRAPHY is a study in narcissism and monomania. Yevtushenko knows no world outside of his own ego. Give him credit for penning "Babi-Yar", a hymn to the Jews who died at the hands of the Nazis in Ukraine and received no official recognition from the Soviet government. However, since Yevgeny went from Stalinist to Khrushevite to Brezhnev hack to celebrator of Gorbachev to post-Soviet Cold Warrior I can restrain my applause.
January 13, 2024
An interesting first-person narrative, obviously idealized. Surprisingly touching. In retrospect, totally tragic: he expressed an ardent belief in a just world for all that I imagine could not have survived into his old age. (I think Evtushenko died in the 2010's.)
May 19, 2017
Trite and self-congratulatory.
May 28, 2019
لذلك أحب السير الذاتية، لأنها تضيف لي الكثير
على الرغم أن هذه السيرة غير مكتملة ولشاعر إلا أنها نقلت لنا بشكل عام تحديات وواقع يلامس أي شخص
على الرغم أن هذه السيرة غير مكتملة ولشاعر إلا أنها نقلت لنا بشكل عام تحديات وواقع يلامس أي شخص
August 31, 2019
Interesting tale from the Soviet.
August 13, 2020
Be a revolutionary.
April 10, 2021
A beautifully written memoir about the power of poetry to change individuals and impact on a nation grappling with the legacy of Stalin. Fascinating.
April 14, 2023
Interesante y muy brutal por momentos.
November 15, 2024
Que registo genial!! ♥️
November 4, 2025
Stalinism was not just the cult of Stalin, it was the rule of a privileged bureaucracy (see The Revolution Betrayed: What Is the Soviet Union and Where Is It Going?). After the death of Stalin, the bureaucracy felt compelled to easy the massive repression, and allow a limited degree of freedom in the arts. During this democratic opening, Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, relating what life was like in Stalin’s forced labor camps, and poems by Yevtushenko, such as his famous “Babi Yar,” attacking Soviet anti-Semitism, were published (see below).
I’m glad to see that there are a whole number of books of Yevtushenko’s poetry in print. This short but brilliant book, which caused the author problems back home gives you only a glimpse of the period of “deStalinization” and of the author. Hopefully someone is writing a full-length biography now, and hopefully it will be by someone wo has some understanding of the difference between communism and Stalinism.
Yevtushenko not only gave new life to poetry in the Soviet Union, with mass readings at universities and factories, telling youth what they had wanted to hear, but he played an important role as a spokesperson both for socialist democracy and for an internationalist outlook against the Russian chauvinism and “socialism in one country” mentality.
Yevtushenko hated the bureaucratic privilege, and in a speech to a writers' congress held in Moscow in 1985 said, “Any form of closed distribution of foods is morally impermissible, including the special coupons for souvenir kiosks that lie in the pocket of every delegate to this congress, myself ncluded.” He spoke out against the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, and he was also a firm supporter of the Cuban Revolution.
BABI YAR
By Yevgeni Yevtushenko
Translated by Benjamin Okopnik, 10/96
No monument stands over Babi Yar.
A steep cliff only, like the rudest headstone.
I am afraid.
Today, I am as old
As the entire Jewish race itself.
I see myself an ancient Israelite.
I wander o’er the roads of ancient Egypt
And here, upon the cross, I perish, tortured
And even now, I bear the marks of nails.
It seems to me that Dreyfus is myself.
The Philistines betrayed me – and now judge.
I’m in a cage. Surrounded and trapped,
I’m persecuted, spat on, slandered, and
The dainty dollies in their Brussels frills
Squeal, as they stab umbrellas at my face.
I see myself a boy in Belostok
Blood spills, and runs upon the floors,
The chiefs of bar and pub rage unimpeded
And reek of vodka and of onion, half and half.
I’m thrown back by a boot, I have no strength left,
In vain I beg the rabble of pogrom,
To jeers of “Kill the Jews, and save our Russia!”
My mother’s being beaten by a clerk.
O, Russia of my heart, I know that you
Are international, by inner nature.
But often those whose hands are steeped in filth
Abused your purest name, in name of hatred.
I know the kindness of my native land.
How vile, that without the slightest quiver
The antisemites have proclaimed themselves
The “Union of the Russian People!”
It seems to me that I am Anna Frank,
Transparent, as the thinnest branch in April,
And I’m in love, and have no need of phrases,
But only that we gaze into each other’s eyes.
How little one can see, or even sense!
Leaves are forbidden, so is sky,
But much is still allowed – very gently
In darkened rooms each other to embrace.
-“They come!”
-“No, fear not – those are sounds
Of spring itself. She’s coming soon.
Quickly, your lips!”
-“They break the door!”
-“No, river ice is breaking…”
Wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar,
The trees look sternly, as if passing judgement.
Here, silently, all screams, and, hat in hand,
I feel my hair changing shade to gray.
And I myself, like one long soundless scream
Above the thousands of thousands interred,
I’m every old man executed here,
As I am every child murdered here.
No fiber of my body will forget this.
May “Internationale” thunder and ring
When, for all time, is buried and forgotten
The last of antisemites on this earth.
There is no Jewish blood that’s blood of mine,
But, hated with a passion that’s corrosive
Am I by antisemites like a Jew.
And that is why I call myself a Russian!
I’m glad to see that there are a whole number of books of Yevtushenko’s poetry in print. This short but brilliant book, which caused the author problems back home gives you only a glimpse of the period of “deStalinization” and of the author. Hopefully someone is writing a full-length biography now, and hopefully it will be by someone wo has some understanding of the difference between communism and Stalinism.
Yevtushenko not only gave new life to poetry in the Soviet Union, with mass readings at universities and factories, telling youth what they had wanted to hear, but he played an important role as a spokesperson both for socialist democracy and for an internationalist outlook against the Russian chauvinism and “socialism in one country” mentality.
Yevtushenko hated the bureaucratic privilege, and in a speech to a writers' congress held in Moscow in 1985 said, “Any form of closed distribution of foods is morally impermissible, including the special coupons for souvenir kiosks that lie in the pocket of every delegate to this congress, myself ncluded.” He spoke out against the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, and he was also a firm supporter of the Cuban Revolution.
BABI YAR
By Yevgeni Yevtushenko
Translated by Benjamin Okopnik, 10/96
No monument stands over Babi Yar.
A steep cliff only, like the rudest headstone.
I am afraid.
Today, I am as old
As the entire Jewish race itself.
I see myself an ancient Israelite.
I wander o’er the roads of ancient Egypt
And here, upon the cross, I perish, tortured
And even now, I bear the marks of nails.
It seems to me that Dreyfus is myself.
The Philistines betrayed me – and now judge.
I’m in a cage. Surrounded and trapped,
I’m persecuted, spat on, slandered, and
The dainty dollies in their Brussels frills
Squeal, as they stab umbrellas at my face.
I see myself a boy in Belostok
Blood spills, and runs upon the floors,
The chiefs of bar and pub rage unimpeded
And reek of vodka and of onion, half and half.
I’m thrown back by a boot, I have no strength left,
In vain I beg the rabble of pogrom,
To jeers of “Kill the Jews, and save our Russia!”
My mother’s being beaten by a clerk.
O, Russia of my heart, I know that you
Are international, by inner nature.
But often those whose hands are steeped in filth
Abused your purest name, in name of hatred.
I know the kindness of my native land.
How vile, that without the slightest quiver
The antisemites have proclaimed themselves
The “Union of the Russian People!”
It seems to me that I am Anna Frank,
Transparent, as the thinnest branch in April,
And I’m in love, and have no need of phrases,
But only that we gaze into each other’s eyes.
How little one can see, or even sense!
Leaves are forbidden, so is sky,
But much is still allowed – very gently
In darkened rooms each other to embrace.
-“They come!”
-“No, fear not – those are sounds
Of spring itself. She’s coming soon.
Quickly, your lips!”
-“They break the door!”
-“No, river ice is breaking…”
Wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar,
The trees look sternly, as if passing judgement.
Here, silently, all screams, and, hat in hand,
I feel my hair changing shade to gray.
And I myself, like one long soundless scream
Above the thousands of thousands interred,
I’m every old man executed here,
As I am every child murdered here.
No fiber of my body will forget this.
May “Internationale” thunder and ring
When, for all time, is buried and forgotten
The last of antisemites on this earth.
There is no Jewish blood that’s blood of mine,
But, hated with a passion that’s corrosive
Am I by antisemites like a Jew.
And that is why I call myself a Russian!
April 30, 2024
أمتعني تماماً.
December 27, 2017
Full of strident wisdom, which, whilst excellent at face value, is also interesting in the light of Yevtushenko’s reputation as a politics/poetry tightrope walker.
September 7, 2016
A friend of mine introduced me to Yevteshenko in 1976. I love his poetry, so I thought it would be interesting to read about his early life. For such a short read, the full flavor of the Soviet people washed over me in his prose. I learned that Russian poets are more than poets, they are the political barometers of a civilization. Russian poets write for the people. They mirror pain and suffering and joy and revolution. They give people hope for a better world. I forgot how much I enjoyed his poetry in a time when I needed support. I need to read about his current life to see how Yevteshenko's perspective has changed, if at all.
September 6, 2015
اكتب الحقيقة و الحقيقة فقط
October 30, 2015
Uno de los mejores libros que he leído. Definitivamente un libro majestuoso que vale la pena incluirlo en tu vida.
Currently reading
January 14, 2016awfawf
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 28, 2018
سيرة مثيرة للاهتمام لشاعر روسي مشهور ولد في بداية الثلاثينيات من القرن العشرين و عاصر فترة ستالين و ما بعدها حين كشف الحزب الشيوعي النقاب عن الجرائم التي حصلت خلال فترة حكمه. كتب يفتوشينكو عن الفترتين و شرح لنا معاناته من قبول فكرة أن ستالين الذي يؤلهه الشعب ظالم. يؤكد لنا يفتوشينكو إيمانه بالثورة و المبادئ السامية التي قامت من أجلها خلال مراحل حياته المختلفه. كذلك نتعرف على أهمية الشعر للانسان الروسي و مسؤولية الشاعر في قول الحقيقة و المصاعب التي تكبدها الشعراء الذين حملوا تلك المسؤولية.
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