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Yevgeny Yevtushenko, a poet beyond ordinary poets, has died. I have a book of his poems. It is my second copy. The first got so dog-eared that it had to be replaced. Even those who do not care for poetry loved Yevtushenko's poetry.

He is reserved, my friend, he is reserved.
He is driven inward on himself.
The lid has shut down on him,
on the dark depths of his sadness,'
like a swell.
(Yevgeny Yevtushenko: "A Sigh")

R.I.P.