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Babi Yar by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

 

 

Babi Yar is a deep ravine close to Kiev where the Germans killed tens of thousands of Jews, in September 1941, in retaliation for a series of bombs that the Russian resistance planted

 

No monument stands over Babi Yar.
A drop sheer as a crude gravestone.
I am afraid.
Today I am as old in years
as all the Jewish people.
Now I seem to be
a Jew.
Here I plod through ancient Egypt.
Here I perish crucified, on the cross,
and to this day I bear the scars of nails.
I seem to be
Dreyfus.

The Philistine
is both informer and judge.
I am behind bars.
Beset on every side.
Hounded,
spat on,
slandered.
Squealing, dainty ladies in flounced Brussels lace
stick their parasols into my face.
I seem to be then
a young boy in Byelostok.
Blood runs, spilling over the floors.
The barroom rabble-rousers
give off a stench of vodka and onion.
A boot kicks me aside, helpless.
In vain I plead with these pogrom bullies.
While they jeer and shout,
"Beat the Yids. Save Russia!"
some grain-marketeer beats up my mother.
0 my Russian people!
I know
you
are international to the core.
But those with unclean hands
have often made a jingle of your purest name.
I know the goodness of my land.
How vile these anti-Semites-
without a qualm
they pompously called themselves
the Union of the Russian People!
I seem to be
Anne Frank
transparent
as a branch in April.
And I love.
And have no need of phrases.
My need
is that we gaze into each other.
How little we can see
or smell!
We are denied the leaves,
we are denied the sky.
Yet we can do so much --
tenderly
embrace each other in a darkened room.
They're coming here?
Be not afraid. Those are the booming
sounds of spring:
spring is coming here.
Come then to me.
Quick, give me your lips.
Are they smashing down the door?
No, it's the ice breaking ...
The wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar.
The trees look ominous,
like judges.
Here all things scream silently,
and, baring my head,
slowly I feel myself
turning gray.
And I myself
am one massive, soundless scream
above the thousand thousand buried here.
I am
each old man
here shot dead.
I am
every child
here shot dead.
Nothing in me
shall ever forget!
The "Internationale," let it
thunder
when the last anti-Semite on earth
is buried forever.
In my blood there is no Jewish blood.
In their callous rage, all anti-Semites
must hate me now as a Jew.
For that reason
I am a true Russian!

 

Read more: Front Page 1

 WAXING

 

 I lovingly washed and waxed my car then stood back to look at it sparkling in the early morning sun. Sunday is my day for doing this and it is a form of Holy Communion for me.

 

It was 6.30am on a potentially gloriously sunny day and I was ready for the hearty full English breakfast that I always eat before my Sunday drive. By 7.30 I had done the washing up and my lovely wife and I climbed into my spotless auto and we move off as elegantly as a super model gliding up the catwalk.

We motored north up the M6 heading for the lakes and after taking the Kendal exit we meandered round the back roads admiring the magnificent views as we passed them by. After a while we came to a particularly splendid spot where a lay-by had been thoughtfully placed and there I parked. We sat in the car for an hour reading the Sunday papers, swapping sections of them between us from time to time. At 12.00 my wife produced the packed lunch, which was up to her usual high standards, and which we ate in silence, admiring the view all the while.

 

Once we had put way the picnic things, it was time to go home.

 

It was then that it happened, the ruddy car wouldn't start! "Perhaps its the big end dear" said my wife unhelpfully. Big end? She might as well as said it was the synchronised mesh or the bally fuel injected whatnot for all that would have meant to me. As you may know I'm not much of an inside car man myself, I'm more of the vacuum and polish type of bloke, leave all that mechanical stuff to the wrench-monkeys at the garage. All that I ask is that they do their job and leave me to drive unimpaired down the highways and byways and now they'd let me down so very badly!

 

I uttered a cry of despair! This was greeted with a very stern look of disapproval from my better half. What else could I do? I felt so helpless faced with this lifeless machine. I had absolutely no idea where we where, and even if I did I had no means of contacting anyone in this beautiful but isolated place. I snapped, I’d had enough! I rummaged in the boot and found a large spanner; I went to the passenger door, opened it and smote my lovely wife a tremendous blow upon her delightfully coiffured pate. In a moment I am going to do the same to myself and then I'm going to ride God's highway forever, when I'm not cleaning and polishing the car that is.

Read more: Front Page 3


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