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Wild Berries
A team of Moscow scientists, headed by the brilliant Victor Kolomeitsev, explores the primitive Siberian "taiga," a land of pristine beauty, in search of a precious metal
296 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1981
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243 people want to read
About the author
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
152 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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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
January 8, 2022
Jevtušenkovljev roman je nalik na njegovu poeziju – poetski nadahnut, pristupačan i željan da se dopadne, ali je mladalačka poletnost ranih stihova ovde pretvorena u sredovečnu prozu koja se trudi da razume mladost i da bude dovoljno edži da se svidi i kilavijim oblicima mladosti i njihovim tatama i mamama. Roman je napisan sa ambicioznim namerama, sa idejom o postojanju istorijskog progresa čovečanstva, uprkos mnogobrojnim rupčagama dvadesetog veka. Uslovno, u centru je grupa geologa koja su na proleće obrela u sibirskoj tajgi kako bi pronašla redak mineral. Geološka potraga je samo uslovno u centru, jer narativ stalno lunja, skreće sa glavnih junaka, fokusira se na sporedne likove, odlazi u prošlost, budućnost i vansibirske predele - malo Lenjingrad, malo Moskva, malo Čile, malo Havaji - tako da je roman nastao vezivanjem manje-više samostalnih pripovedaka u jednu nadređenu celinu. Koliko je namera bila ambiciozna dovoljno pokazuje da se astronaut koji lebdi kosmosom iz prvog poglavlja mora povezati narativno sa događajima iz poslednjeg poglavlja, koji se odigravaju sto godina ranije i gde je glavni junak Ciolkovski, otac moderne kosmonautike. Jevtušenko uspeva dobro da vezuje pripovedne celine samo u prvoj polovini romana, posle postaje baš nategnuto i knjiga, kako stranice odmiču, ipak više izgleda kao zbirka pripovedaka koja folira da je roman.
Roman se najviše šepuri svojim stilom koji nalikuje na raznobojne muškatle u limenim obojenim kutijama od prevolucionarnih voćnih bombona. Zasićenost bojama i slatkim prilikom portretisanja i deskripcije stvar utisak da je reč o Wes Andersonu sa babuškama, maramama i slovenskim humorom koji uključuje šofere švalere i doktore alkoholičare. I to super funkcioniše prvu trećinu romana, to jest, u oblastima radnji koje se tiču lokalnog sibirskog stanovništva. Kako je narativ više skretao ka geolozima i gradskim sredinama, autor tera čitaoca da guta zašećerene humanaističke poruke niz grlo, uši i nos, da sve postane lepljivo na ljigav način – grbavac koji želi da postane pandur jer samo oni koji vole ljude treba da budu panduri ili razgovor o poeziji sa tvrdnjom da samo dobri ljudi mogu biti dobri pesnici, što je u meni zaista stvorilo ciničnu reakciju u vidu komentara: Jevtušenko dragi, onda mora da je Brodski bio u pravu kada je tvrdio da si ti bio loš pesnik jer si bio loš čovek. I eto ja, koji zaista volim Jevtušenkovljevu poeziju (posebno ranu), usled konglometra sentimentalnog cicifuja u drugoj polovini romana, postadoh neko ko prečesto prevrće oči.
Roman se najviše šepuri svojim stilom koji nalikuje na raznobojne muškatle u limenim obojenim kutijama od prevolucionarnih voćnih bombona. Zasićenost bojama i slatkim prilikom portretisanja i deskripcije stvar utisak da je reč o Wes Andersonu sa babuškama, maramama i slovenskim humorom koji uključuje šofere švalere i doktore alkoholičare. I to super funkcioniše prvu trećinu romana, to jest, u oblastima radnji koje se tiču lokalnog sibirskog stanovništva. Kako je narativ više skretao ka geolozima i gradskim sredinama, autor tera čitaoca da guta zašećerene humanaističke poruke niz grlo, uši i nos, da sve postane lepljivo na ljigav način – grbavac koji želi da postane pandur jer samo oni koji vole ljude treba da budu panduri ili razgovor o poeziji sa tvrdnjom da samo dobri ljudi mogu biti dobri pesnici, što je u meni zaista stvorilo ciničnu reakciju u vidu komentara: Jevtušenko dragi, onda mora da je Brodski bio u pravu kada je tvrdio da si ti bio loš pesnik jer si bio loš čovek. I eto ja, koji zaista volim Jevtušenkovljevu poeziju (posebno ranu), usled konglometra sentimentalnog cicifuja u drugoj polovini romana, postadoh neko ko prečesto prevrće oči.
February 4, 2019
If you are interested in what life was like ‘back in the USSR’, but have never lived there or were born too late to remember anything meaningful, this book is for you. It paints a broad picture, with a multitude of characters, some of which are fascinating in their authenticity, while others are incredibly boring and two-dimensional. The middle part of the book where the settings change to the then Leningrad is by far the weakest. The dialogue feels far-fetched and the sentiment of the old generation values clashing with those of the young people of the early 1980s feels pretty dated.
The best parts of the book are those set in the Siberian taiga where a group of locals and a team of geologists get to interact in their united efforts to find tinstone. In its vastness, the USSR was different depending on where you were geographically speaking, and the life of educated major city dwellers could not be more different from those Soviet people who lived in rural Siberia. Their worlds meet and they find that they have much in common, despite their different lifestyles. They find that they can learn from each other, understand each other’s sense of humor and become friends.
The book attempts to look at one nation - Soviet people - in the context of shared humanity and our existence in space.
The best parts of the book are those set in the Siberian taiga where a group of locals and a team of geologists get to interact in their united efforts to find tinstone. In its vastness, the USSR was different depending on where you were geographically speaking, and the life of educated major city dwellers could not be more different from those Soviet people who lived in rural Siberia. Their worlds meet and they find that they have much in common, despite their different lifestyles. They find that they can learn from each other, understand each other’s sense of humor and become friends.
The book attempts to look at one nation - Soviet people - in the context of shared humanity and our existence in space.
September 19, 2014
An absolute gem! -- it's a perfect blend of humor and heady stuff. Standalone quotes speak for themselves better than any summary could:
"Sorrow should make you think, not drink. You think I'm not one of you because I don't lie around in a ditch. I'd be better off if you had stolen my watch, now you're stealing my time."
"I'm not afraid to die. But I'm afraid you'll die an idiot."
"People should live forever, that way people who start out stupid might get wiser. For so many people there is nothing but a lousy, good-for-nothing life, a dirty grave pit, and the end. And what's the result? Mutual misunderstanding, wars, impotence in the struggle with nature, hard labor, disease, a short martyred life, and eternal fear of eternal disappearance ..."
"Dasha smelled of flour, dough, meatt, onion, love."
"She's not bad looking, especially when she blushes. She reeks slightly of onion, but with those natural pink cheeks of hers she probably makes a tasty borshch."
I feel like every line is quotable. The text is all over the place -- literally, and in the best possible way. It starts off in Siberia, goes to Moscow, ambles around Leningrad, vacations in Fiji, and finally goes to the moon. There's even a bit with aliens in the end.
"Sorrow should make you think, not drink. You think I'm not one of you because I don't lie around in a ditch. I'd be better off if you had stolen my watch, now you're stealing my time."
"I'm not afraid to die. But I'm afraid you'll die an idiot."
"People should live forever, that way people who start out stupid might get wiser. For so many people there is nothing but a lousy, good-for-nothing life, a dirty grave pit, and the end. And what's the result? Mutual misunderstanding, wars, impotence in the struggle with nature, hard labor, disease, a short martyred life, and eternal fear of eternal disappearance ..."
"Dasha smelled of flour, dough, meatt, onion, love."
"She's not bad looking, especially when she blushes. She reeks slightly of onion, but with those natural pink cheeks of hers she probably makes a tasty borshch."
I feel like every line is quotable. The text is all over the place -- literally, and in the best possible way. It starts off in Siberia, goes to Moscow, ambles around Leningrad, vacations in Fiji, and finally goes to the moon. There's even a bit with aliens in the end.
June 18, 2011
Page 200 of Yevtushenko's Wild Berries was reached last night before the soft tumble into dreamseas. The novel has been quite vivid both to location and to character. as to the latter, it reminds me of Turgenev's Sketches, tiny knots of human sensibility brushing one another in fornt of the hearth. The scenery of the tiaga must be amazing, breeding a not-necessarly nietzchean sense of the eternal return. It becmae quite clear that my travels northwward in upper Michigan and southern Sweden were not of this stripe.
The book reminded me initially of Bitov, especially given his tendency to lyricize the habit of fauna in place of recognizing the human government around him. This changes around p. 70 with a series of characters reminiscing on the Civil War and the famines which stripped the Ukraine in the 30s. Stalin himself is not named, at least so far in the novel but the entire spectrum of human endeavor is displayed, most notably amongst the geologists sent to the tiagra to locate a strata of mineral (a subtle contrast, perhaps, between urban/intellectual and rural).
The book reminded me initially of Bitov, especially given his tendency to lyricize the habit of fauna in place of recognizing the human government around him. This changes around p. 70 with a series of characters reminiscing on the Civil War and the famines which stripped the Ukraine in the 30s. Stalin himself is not named, at least so far in the novel but the entire spectrum of human endeavor is displayed, most notably amongst the geologists sent to the tiagra to locate a strata of mineral (a subtle contrast, perhaps, between urban/intellectual and rural).
January 18, 2024
Authors who are poets before storytellers are like songwriters who are storytellers before musicians. Yevtushenko threads through mundanities in the lives of each character so gracefully that it becomes special to read. Poetry makes you feel as though each line is impactful to the soul even when it doesn't really mean anything. I'm sure the book would mean something completely different to the reader entering with the background of Russian history, but without that, I took it simply as a collection of lives. Worth not understanding even a single reference of post-USSR culture; the story is more than that.
July 24, 2012
I loved the rich sensual descriptions in this book. It's so nice to read a novel written by a poet. And the story was compelling, too. A great book for relaxing and getting away from it all. Now that I think about it, I'm putting it on the list to read again.
October 23, 2017
A very uneven book, with interest and brilliance here and there, followed by tedious encounters of men speaking to each other about war, poetry etc. There was little to hang the story together. It seemed to be a Siberian travelogue. Some stories and descriptions of the simple life on the land were interesting. Other parts where the men discussed mining and drinking, not so much.
I read this because the author is a well known Russian poet and I was interested in learning more about Siberia. Amusing that criminals were exiled to Siberia, so if you already lived there, you were uprooted and sent off to some other part of Siberia. Overall, very uneven read but I did learn a bit about Siberia and its people.
I read this because the author is a well known Russian poet and I was interested in learning more about Siberia. Amusing that criminals were exiled to Siberia, so if you already lived there, you were uprooted and sent off to some other part of Siberia. Overall, very uneven read but I did learn a bit about Siberia and its people.
February 25, 2017
More of a series of interlinked stories rather than a true novel. While the translation was literate and I assume this was also true of the original Russian, the narrative jumps around in time and occasionally includes a chapter that seems to have little or no link to anything else. This detracted from what is a fascinating geographical region and produced a story that felt as though it should have been better done. On the plus side, the description of the taiga is very good and there is some lovely irony aimed at Soviet absurdities.
November 2, 2011
Yevtushenko was a celebrated Ukranian poet. His prose reads like poetry. The book is a series of vignettes with no overarching plot. At first I was enchanted with the writing. But as I progressed I found it more and more difficult to keep the various characters and their relationships sorted out.
October 18, 2020
Though I've read several Russian novels in translations, I feel incapable of understanding their connection to their own milieu, any more than a Russian can have a clear sense of how Robert Frost touches the soul of a New Englander. So, that being said, my judgment here is not about the quality of Wild Berries so much as a statement on how it affected me. This collection of short stories purporting to be a novel about working folk in Siberia, some of whom are native to the Taiga, the very northern boreal forests [same latitude and similar to the forests in very northern Canada] during the first cultural defrost in modern Russian History. [Though one chapter plays out in Chile, with neither the forest for any the same characters.] Its characters are earthy, their regional references and preferences pronounced, the overall sense, however, has to do with the universality of the human experience.
.
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November 12, 2021
Starts with a Russian cosmonaut and his ponderings in space. This transitions to life situations on earth related to various wild berries of early 20th century Siberia and its culture.
Primarily retrospective vignettes. Jumps around; no linear plot. Many references and discussions of assorted Russian literary and cultural figures. Poetry is also a major theme. Often this just seemed to be a long critique of this and that.
Primarily retrospective vignettes. Jumps around; no linear plot. Many references and discussions of assorted Russian literary and cultural figures. Poetry is also a major theme. Often this just seemed to be a long critique of this and that.
May 22, 2025
3.5/5; sovyet insanının kimlik dinamiklerini anlamak adına oldukça iyi bir mikro tarih anlatısı bence, ama başarılı bir roman olduğunu söylemek zor. bazı karakterler gerçekten çok detaylı ve güzel yazılmış, bazılarıysa o kadar tekdüze ki sanki sadece bir alegoride bir kültürel unsuru temsil etme işlevi görüyorlar. harika, düşündürücü diyalogların yanında kör göze parmak, didaktik pek çok diyalog ve monolog da var. bütüncül değerlendirirsem, pişman olmadım okuduğuma.
June 22, 2025
i was excited for this book but it just didn’t work for me!
Soviet and Russian literature always seems to gravitate towards characters telling stories to one another but i don’t feel like that was well achieved here.
There are interesting bits but they are few compared with the length of the book.
The book was so uninteresting to me that it took me close to one month to finish it, and i had to put 1/2 books in the middle just so I wouldn’t give up
Soviet and Russian literature always seems to gravitate towards characters telling stories to one another but i don’t feel like that was well achieved here.
There are interesting bits but they are few compared with the length of the book.
The book was so uninteresting to me that it took me close to one month to finish it, and i had to put 1/2 books in the middle just so I wouldn’t give up
December 10, 2023
All over the place, some parts significantly more interesting then others but uhh I liked this!
September 10, 2024
I'm sure this is a good book but I simply did not understand most of it! enjoyed some of the characters background stories but lost track of who's who
January 16, 2025
This year I have already read and wept and read and wept. A life full of loss needs a book of love to keep willing.
April 14, 2021
„Pe cer, în miez de noapte, un înger zbura…”
Cosmonautul îşi aminti acest vers, zâmbi cu tristeţe şi îşi zise: „Ei na, ce fel de înger oi mai fi şi eu!” Chipul lui, întors spre hublou, arăta ostenit, nu mai era al unui om tânăr, dar se citea pe el o curiozitate vie, copilărească. Până acum, nu-i mai fusese dat să treacă graniţele ţării. Şi iată că, deodată, graniţele dispăruseră. Toţi stâlpii aceia dungaţi, fâşiile arate de pământ, sârma ghimpată, grănicerii, câinii de pază, vămile – nu mai erau. Din Cosmos existenţa lor păru chiar nefirească, absurdă. Multe noţiuni deveniseră şi ele ridicole, aproape de necrezut, ca, de pildă, cuvântul „viză”.
Jos, aidoma unui pumn de boabe aurii, zvârlite peste o catifea neagră, scânteiară luminile Parisului. Cosmonautul îşi mută ochii puţin mai spre stânga şi se pomeni la Londra, izbutind să cuprindă cu privirea şi o felie luminată din Copenhaga. Râse uşor şi se scărpină la ceafă, unde părul i se cam rărise: straşnică treabă! Gagarin, spre exemplu, nu s-ar fi putut scărpina astfel, căci pe atunci cosmonautul mai purta scafandru. Astăzi, zborul în Cosmos e un lucru mai puţin complicat. Şi-apoi, Gagarin o mai fi încercat şi niţică teamă. Teama te mai încearcă şi azi, dar nu ca atunci, la început. Şi totuşi Gagarin a fost acela care a spus atât de simplu, într-un spirit atât de rusesc: „Poehali!”, imprimând astfel pe dată Cosmosului un aer familiar, domestic. Dintre nenumăratele instrucţiuni pe care le primise nu făcea parte şi aceea de a rosti acest cuvânt; el îi scăpase de la sine… Dar ce chip avea Gagarin!… Ales, desigur, şi el pe sprânceană, şi cu toate astea, unui asemenea chip nu i-ai fi putut afla conturul nici în cele mai secrete schiţe de desen. Părea că l-a creat însuşi Pământul, că l-a alcătuit din toate surâsurile de pe scoarţa sa, surâsuri care s-au mai păstrat, ca prin minune printre atâtea zâmbete ironice ori batjocoritoare. Chipul lui Gagarin reprezintă însuşi zâmbetul Pământului trimis în Cosmos. Orice om ar fi devenit, cu siguranţă, buimac dacă ar fi fost, aidoma lui, purtat din ţară în ţară, îngropat cu frenezie în mormane de flori şi i s-ar fi agăţat pe piept ghirlande întregi de decoraţii. Numai că, alături de zâmbetul lui Gagarin, zâmbetele primilor-miniştri, ale preşedinţilor de state, ale regilor şi reginelor arătau lipsite de strălucire, palide.
Cosmonautul avusese însă prilejul să-l vadă pe Gagarin şi mai puţin vesel.
— Am obosit… zicea el la un moment dat. Dar de zburat, am chef să zbor…
Cosmonautul îşi aminti acest vers, zâmbi cu tristeţe şi îşi zise: „Ei na, ce fel de înger oi mai fi şi eu!” Chipul lui, întors spre hublou, arăta ostenit, nu mai era al unui om tânăr, dar se citea pe el o curiozitate vie, copilărească. Până acum, nu-i mai fusese dat să treacă graniţele ţării. Şi iată că, deodată, graniţele dispăruseră. Toţi stâlpii aceia dungaţi, fâşiile arate de pământ, sârma ghimpată, grănicerii, câinii de pază, vămile – nu mai erau. Din Cosmos existenţa lor păru chiar nefirească, absurdă. Multe noţiuni deveniseră şi ele ridicole, aproape de necrezut, ca, de pildă, cuvântul „viză”.
Jos, aidoma unui pumn de boabe aurii, zvârlite peste o catifea neagră, scânteiară luminile Parisului. Cosmonautul îşi mută ochii puţin mai spre stânga şi se pomeni la Londra, izbutind să cuprindă cu privirea şi o felie luminată din Copenhaga. Râse uşor şi se scărpină la ceafă, unde părul i se cam rărise: straşnică treabă! Gagarin, spre exemplu, nu s-ar fi putut scărpina astfel, căci pe atunci cosmonautul mai purta scafandru. Astăzi, zborul în Cosmos e un lucru mai puţin complicat. Şi-apoi, Gagarin o mai fi încercat şi niţică teamă. Teama te mai încearcă şi azi, dar nu ca atunci, la început. Şi totuşi Gagarin a fost acela care a spus atât de simplu, într-un spirit atât de rusesc: „Poehali!”, imprimând astfel pe dată Cosmosului un aer familiar, domestic. Dintre nenumăratele instrucţiuni pe care le primise nu făcea parte şi aceea de a rosti acest cuvânt; el îi scăpase de la sine… Dar ce chip avea Gagarin!… Ales, desigur, şi el pe sprânceană, şi cu toate astea, unui asemenea chip nu i-ai fi putut afla conturul nici în cele mai secrete schiţe de desen. Părea că l-a creat însuşi Pământul, că l-a alcătuit din toate surâsurile de pe scoarţa sa, surâsuri care s-au mai păstrat, ca prin minune printre atâtea zâmbete ironice ori batjocoritoare. Chipul lui Gagarin reprezintă însuşi zâmbetul Pământului trimis în Cosmos. Orice om ar fi devenit, cu siguranţă, buimac dacă ar fi fost, aidoma lui, purtat din ţară în ţară, îngropat cu frenezie în mormane de flori şi i s-ar fi agăţat pe piept ghirlande întregi de decoraţii. Numai că, alături de zâmbetul lui Gagarin, zâmbetele primilor-miniştri, ale preşedinţilor de state, ale regilor şi reginelor arătau lipsite de strălucire, palide.
Cosmonautul avusese însă prilejul să-l vadă pe Gagarin şi mai puţin vesel.
— Am obosit… zicea el la un moment dat. Dar de zburat, am chef să zbor…
July 20, 2013
Readers must be willing to go on a wild journey with the writer who moves from a cosmonaut's reflections to the central story of a Berry Commissioner and various characters in Siberia including an innocent farm girl and a group of surveyors and back to cosmic thought. The author cared very much about freedom and this was published before the end of the USSR. You must be able to place the writing in the political context in which it was written.
October 23, 2008
The kulaks (rich peasants) are being persecuted in the Soviet Union. I carried this book with me to the USSR. It's a cynical look at the 'worker's paradise' in which your fate can depend on denouncement by a casual enemy.
November 5, 2010
Basically a series of vignettes written, well, by a poet. Nice, but they tired me out. It also felt dated.
June 22, 2013
Powerful book, beautiful prose, a little bit disjointed. Probably needs another read through.
August 20, 2015
in love with this magnificent book i can't
April 2, 2017
I loved this book from the beginning to the end, though I don't understand the beginning and the end, i.e. the epilogue and the prologue... (and I'm not mistaking the order) but, that didn't matter one second, because in between there were so many wonderful, colourful, tragic or comic characters. Those people comment on the very, very Russian (Siberian) society they live in. And because this is also the world of the writer, poetry has a central role in the book. Lots of poets, who even have opinions on Yevtushenko self: "He's also passé." Very post modern. Indeed, very passé.
I loved the writer's meticulous way of describing scenes which he gave special details:
"He laid her down in the damp sand of the children's playground and took her imperiously and crudely before she had time to think. Most of all, it hurt her back because in the sand there was a metal toy, left behind by the children."
The 'he' appears to be the love of the life of the 'she', who years and pages later still feels the pain of the toy in her back. Not because of the roughness of the 'event', but because of the lost love. I love details like that in stories.
For me Yevtushenko is a mere storyteller (yes, yes, I know he's a poet). He invents, brings to life the most wonderfun (nice typo, I keep it that way!) people, who suffer (of course, they are Russian) and who live their lives. In my eyes he rejects a lot of Russian politics in metaphors and other profundities. Read this:
"Philosophers have racked their brains trying to save humanity. But new problems just replace the old ones. Or perhaps the old ones just seem new. And now you think you can change the whole world? You think it'll give in so easily? It'll change you first. To get revenge. You want to turn chaos into harmony. Impossible. Harmony is created on top of chaos, but not out of it."
If you want to meet more wisecrackers and really wise people...read the book!
Yevtushenko explores some roles and functions of poets, poetry and politics. Not in a Russian setting, but in a South-American setting through Allende, thinking about Neruda.
"Poets may not be a nation's brain, but they are its heart, its intuition."
My quotations do not give a good idea of the book. The story is mainly about an expedition of geologists. Or is it the story of Ksiuta, her father and her baby? Is it a story? Yevtushenko describes moments in the lives of people and the story moves with those people who have their own view on the world. And I moved with them...smiling and agreeing.
"The police are robbery; the army is robbery; the bureaucracy is robbery... I know that very well since I'm a robber myself. But who made up this system of government? The people themselves, afraid of their own unmanageability..."
Go, read this book!
(I read this book a long time ago, it is one of those books you don't want to give away. Because of the dead of the poet on march 31st 2017 I decided to copy this review to Goodreads).
I loved the writer's meticulous way of describing scenes which he gave special details:
"He laid her down in the damp sand of the children's playground and took her imperiously and crudely before she had time to think. Most of all, it hurt her back because in the sand there was a metal toy, left behind by the children."
The 'he' appears to be the love of the life of the 'she', who years and pages later still feels the pain of the toy in her back. Not because of the roughness of the 'event', but because of the lost love. I love details like that in stories.
For me Yevtushenko is a mere storyteller (yes, yes, I know he's a poet). He invents, brings to life the most wonderfun (nice typo, I keep it that way!) people, who suffer (of course, they are Russian) and who live their lives. In my eyes he rejects a lot of Russian politics in metaphors and other profundities. Read this:
"Philosophers have racked their brains trying to save humanity. But new problems just replace the old ones. Or perhaps the old ones just seem new. And now you think you can change the whole world? You think it'll give in so easily? It'll change you first. To get revenge. You want to turn chaos into harmony. Impossible. Harmony is created on top of chaos, but not out of it."
If you want to meet more wisecrackers and really wise people...read the book!
Yevtushenko explores some roles and functions of poets, poetry and politics. Not in a Russian setting, but in a South-American setting through Allende, thinking about Neruda.
"Poets may not be a nation's brain, but they are its heart, its intuition."
My quotations do not give a good idea of the book. The story is mainly about an expedition of geologists. Or is it the story of Ksiuta, her father and her baby? Is it a story? Yevtushenko describes moments in the lives of people and the story moves with those people who have their own view on the world. And I moved with them...smiling and agreeing.
"The police are robbery; the army is robbery; the bureaucracy is robbery... I know that very well since I'm a robber myself. But who made up this system of government? The people themselves, afraid of their own unmanageability..."
Go, read this book!
(I read this book a long time ago, it is one of those books you don't want to give away. Because of the dead of the poet on march 31st 2017 I decided to copy this review to Goodreads).
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