Category Archives: Poetry

America

America you don’t really want to go to war.
America its them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader’s Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
— Allen Ginsberg, “America”

Yevgeny Yevtushenko (1932-2017)

The nihilist

He wore his pants

tapered,

hip. He dug Hemingway

too. But his father

said glumly

“Son, your taste

is un-Russian…”

Thus he saddened

his family

hard-working

boosters of output—

all the time

arguing with them

about weird

predilections.