Shevchenko anniversaries: a recollection from the past (03/24/96)

Shevchenko anniversaries: a recollection from the past

by Roman Sawycky

The Shevchenko anniversaries observed in 1961 and 1964 brought wide acceptance of Ukraine's bard and genius. New English translations of his poetry were stirring North America at that time. And when the Shevchenko monument was approved for erection in Washington, this freedom fighter become a subject of official government publications.

Around this time the distinguished novelist Ernest Hemingway was widely quoted as saying that he considered "Taras Bulba" by Mykola Hohol to be one of the 10 greatest books of all ages. This rating was most welcome, especially since the spirits of Hohol and Shevchenko have been associated throughout past decades, and both embodied a kind of energy rarely found in literary circles.

Another famous American author, namely John Steinbeck, added his voice to the proceedings, a voice entirely sympathetic to Shevchenko's "oeuvre" and convictions.

The presidential inauguration of John F. Kennedy (January 1961) featured the contemporary national poet Robert Frost. I recollect that in the summer of that year, 1961, while pursuing my studies at Middlebury College in Vermont, one sultry afternoon I visited a local bookstore in town. This establishment was really "on the map," as it was frequented by Frost, desiring to know how his books were selling and wishing to chat with students from the college. (The poet's residence was not too far away from the town of Middlebury.)

That very afternoon the illustrious poet appeared at the bookstore. Having checked out the shelves with his collections of poetry, Frost spoke a few words with a student and then shuffled towards the exit.

I accosted him just a few yards from the door and politely introduced myself as a student of Ukrainian parentage. Keeping Steinbeck's sympathies in mind, I popped the question to his contemporary, Frost: "What do you think of Taras Shevchenko?" Almost immediately I noticed a certain reaction on the wrinkled face. The gray and bushy eyebrows tightened, but this suggested dissatisfaction rather than mental effort.

Turning away from me and heading straight for the door, Robert Frost muttered: "I don't give out opinions on modern poets." I stood alone now in the middle of the bookstore watching him depart. "I don't do that," he added emphatically, as the exit door thumped after him.

On recollecting this little adventure, I became convinced that the aging and hard-of-hearing Frost had confused the sound of the name "Shevchenko" with that of the modern Russian poet Yevgeniy Yevtushenko.

And we'll never know what Robert Frost's thoughts were on our bard and genius.

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