Along with Bob Dylan and Nat Hentoff, the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko was part of the larger, more sophisticated world to which my sister introduced me in 1966 or so. I read his memoir. I remember only one thing: his description of the government’s decision to devalue the ruble, which sent people out to spend their entire supply of money before it was decimated. He described people sticking up on toilet seats.
Here is some lines from his magnum opus, Babi Yar:
There are no monuments over Babi Yar.
But the sheer cliff is like a rough tombstone.
It horrifies me.
Today, I am as old
As the Jewish people.
It seems to me now,
That I, too, am a Jew.
It seems to me,
I am a boy in Byelostok.
Blood is flowing,
Spreading across the floors.
The leaders of the tavern mob are raging
And they stink of vodka and onions.
Kicked aside by a boot, I lie helpless.
In vain I plead with the brutes
As voices roar:
“Kill the Jews! Save Russia!”