Jevgenij Alexandrovič Jevtušenko citáty

Jevgenij Alexandrovič Jevtušenko foto

2   2

Jevgenij Alexandrovič Jevtušenko

Datum narození: 18. červenec 1932
Datum úmrtí: 1. duben 2017

Jevgenij Alexandrovič Jevtušenko, rusky: Евгений Александрович Евтушенко, ukrajinsky: Євген Олександрович Євтушенко, je ruský básník, scenárista a režisér ukrajinského původu.


„Čím rafinovaněji se žena obléká, tím rafinovaněji se i svléká.“

„Proč třeba Vasilij Aksjonov napsal román Tajemná vášeň, kde líčí, kolik toho bylo v létě roku 1968 vypito a jak jsme se všichni milovali? Proč to napsal? Vždyť pomluvil i sám sebe! Nejvíc mě na tom zlobí fakt, že jestli náš život byl opravdu takový, jestli jsme tak nezřízeně pili, jak je možné, že naše generace po sobě zanechala tolik dobré literatury?“


„When truth is replaced by silence, the silence is a lie.“

„A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote.“

„Be equal to your talent, not your age. At times let the gap between them be embarrassing.“

„In any man who dies there dies with him, his first snow and kiss and fight. Not people die but worlds die in them.“

„How can the confessor teach/ those who are lost and sick at heart,/ when he himself, among the sinners,/ is worst, and most forsaken?/ It is only a game we play/ with other people's sins./ Besides, everyone knows/ that everyone lies confessing.“ Stolen Apples

„no one sleeps more beautifully than you. But i am afraid that you will waken just now, and touch me with an indifferent glance, lightly passing, and commit the murder of beauty.“


„My love will come
will fling open her arms and fold me in them,
will understand my fears, observe my changes.
In from the pouring dark, from the pitch night
without stopping to bang the taxi door
she’ll run upstairs through the decaying porch
burning with love and love’s happiness,
she’ll run dripping upstairs, she won’t knock,
will take my head in her hands,
and when she drops her overcoat on a chair,
it will slide to the floor in a blue heap.“

„He who is conceived in a cage yearns for the cage.“

„No people are uninteresting.
Their fate is like the chronicle of planets.

Nothing in them in not particular,
and planet is dissimilar from planet.

And if a man lived in obscurity
making his friends in that obscurity
obscurity is not uninteresting.

To each his world is private
and in that world one excellent minute.

And in that world one tragic minute
These are private.

In any man who dies there dies with him
his first snow and kiss and fight
it goes with him.

There are left books and bridges
and painted canvas and machinery
Whose fate is to survive.

But what has gone is also not nothing:
by the rule of the game something has gone.
Not people die but worlds die in them.

Whom we knew as faulty, the earth's creatures
Of whom, essentially, what did we know?

Brother of a brother? Friend of friends?
Lover of lover?

We who knew our fathers
in everything, in nothing.

They perish. They cannot be brought back.
The secret worlds are not regenerated.

And every time again and again
I make my lament against destruction.“

„And how I flattered myself
From time to time with proving to myself
Nothing in you could be unknown to me.
You don't belong to the mind's calculations,
And you disproved each of my demonstrations,
Since to be unexpected is your truth.“


„All values in this world are more or less questionable, but the most important thing in life is human kindness.“ Yevtushenko - Selected poems

„But history is that rare woman who doesn't like to look at herself in the mirror. History, when she finds herself in front of one, wipes and wipes its surface at though in this way she might change her face to something better“ The Russian Century: A History of the Last Hundred Years

„Who never knew the price of happiness will not be happy.“

„Something dangerous is beginning:
I am coming late to my own self.
I made an appointment with my thoughts-
the thoughts were snatched from me.
I made an appointment with Faulkner-
but they made me go to a banquet.
I made an appointment with history,
but a grass-widow dragged me into bed.
Worse than barbed wire
are birthday parties, mine and others',
and roasted suckling pigs hold me
like a sprig of parsley between their teeth!
Led away for good
to a life absolutely not my own,
everything that I eat, eats me,
everything that I drink, drinks me.
I made an appointment with myself,
but they invite me to feast on my own spareribs.
I am garlanded from all sides
not by strings of bagels, but by the holes of bagels,
and I look like an anthology of zeros.
Life gets broken into hundreds of lifelets,
that exhaust and execute me.
In order to get through to myself
I had to smash my body against others',
and my fragments, my smithereens,
are trampled by the roaring crowd.
I am trying to glue myself together,
but my arms are still severed.
I'd write with my left leg,
but both the left and the right
have run off, in different directions.
I don't know- where is my body?
And soul? Did it really fly off,
without a murmured 'good-bye! '?
How do I break through to a faraway namesake,
waiting for me in the cold somewhere?
I've forgotten under which clock
I am waiting for myself.
For those who don't know who they are,
time does not exist.
No one is under the clock.
On the clock there is nothing.
I am late for my appointment
with me. There is no one.
Nothing but cigarette butts.
Only one flicker-
A lonely, dying, spark...“

Podobní autoři

Citát se vám libí,
sdílejte ho s přáteli na .