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Yevtushenko sees a beatnik in New York
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That young girl there is from New York, yet no part of it she is, That young girl there, past the neon, from herself she flees. That young girl there she hates the world - that booed-off moralist. For her no truth remains in it. What truth she finds is in the "twist". And with her long and unbrushed hair, her dirty sweater and her glasses, toppling on stiletto heels, on the skinny nothing dances. The world is full of lies for her, all, the press, the Bible yet. Capulets, Montagues there are. No Romeo, no Juliet. |
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