Russian Twentieth-Century Poetry
London Review Bookshop Podcast
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Love Me Simply, Day Loves Night and You Pure Light
The poem is about the crusho thor and the apparent liberalization in the mid fifties. In reckless fury, blinding spite the wind blew only from the north, no hint of spring. Gripped by inertia, the heart slips all too close to places of no return. Who can retrace the way to h and home, now that all trace of home is gone, wiped from the earth?
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