Religion

Y EVGENY YEVTUSHENKO "Weddings"

YEVGENY YEVTUSHENKO

"Weddings"

Thi s poem by the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko also affords a gl impse into life on the precipice of war. Its perspective is different from that of Sullivan Ballou, however. There are no odes to ideals or discus- sion s of the reasons to fight, though we do learn from the reference to Hitler that this scene takes place during World War II. In addition , the one writing is not the one who will himself be going into battle, at least not any time soon . How do these differences and others you may notice affect the qu ite different tone of th is poem?

· The job of the one who is speaking provides him with a specific point of vis ion into the human finitude on display at each wedding. And this poem is, in fact , very much about his job; even , we might say, about his ca llin g or vocation, since we see h im being called or summoned to his work by drun ken wedd ing guests . Moreover, he seems to understand that he has a certain vocation in this situation. Do you agree with what he says about his job, his calling, in the last sentence?

Weddings in days of wa r, false cheating comfort, th ose hollow phrases: "He won't get killed . . . " On a snowbound winter road, slashed by a cruel wind, 1 speed to a has ty wedding 10 a neig hboring village. Gi ngerly I enter

Frorn E I p · B P b 1 . any oems by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, trans. George Reavey (London: Manon oyars u - ishers, 1997).

447

QUESTIONS • 6. Can I Control What I Shall Do and Become?

a buzzing cottage, I, a folk dancer of repute, with a forelock dangling from my forehead. All spruced up,

disturbed , among relatives

and friends the bridegroom sits, just mobilized, distraught. Sits

with Vera - his bride - but in a day or two he'll pull on a gray soldier's coat and, wearing it, leave fo r the front. Then with a rifle he will go, tramping over alien

soil; a German bullet, perhaps, will lay him low ... A glass of foaming home brew he's not able yet to drink. Their first night together will likely be their last. Chagrined, the bridegroom stares, and with all his soul in anguish cries to me across the table: "Well , go on, why don't you dance!" They all forget their drinking, all fix me with goggling eyes, and I slide and writhe, beating a rhythm with my hooves. Now I drum a tattoo,

now drag my toes across the floor. Whistling shrilly,

I clap my hands, leap up near the ceiling :logans on the wall fly ~ast, Haler will be kaput!"

448

THOMAS MERTON • Thoughts. in Solitude

601 the bride scalds

her face with tears.

rm already a wet rag, barely catch my breath ... •oance!" -

they shout in desperation , and I dance again . . . sack home, my ankles feel as stiff as wood; but from yet another wedding

drunken guests come knocking at the door once more. soon as mother lets me go, rm off to weddings once again, and round the tablecloth anew I stamp my feet and bend my knees. The bride sheds bitter tears, friends are tearful too. I'm afraid for everyone.

I've no desire to dance , but you can't

not dance.

THOMAS MERTON

Thoughts in Solitude

After an excellent and cosmopolitan education in Europe and the United states Thoma M h 1· · · ' s erton (1915-1968) converted to Roman Cat o ,cism in

From Thomas M d h 8) 83 erton , Thoughts in Solitude (New York: Farrar, Straus & Cu a Y• t9S ' P· ·

449