Fraud

the prayerful
swindler prays
that i should
not call her a
swindler again.

by RIC BASTASA

Comments (4)

terrible translation.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko uses every aspect of poetry that he can lay a pen on- the voice of the speaker, imagery by the truck load, and some awesome metaphors. With these, we see the sad human being at the center of this piece vividly.
Horrible translation. I love this poem; it annihilates me. This translation does nothing. The one below submitted by Evan Crosby is the one I first heard.
I have a different translation of the poem: When your face appeared over my crumbled life, At first I understood only the poverty of what I had. Then it's particular light on woods, on rivers, on the sea, Became my beginning in the colored world in which I had not yet had my beginning. I am so frightened, so frightened of the revelations, tears, and excitment finishing. I don't fight it. This fear is my love. I nourish it who can nourish nothing - Love's slipshod watchman. Fear hems me in. I am conscious that these minutes are short and that the colors in my eyes will vanish when your face sets.