The twentieth century has often fooled us. <br />We've been squeezed in by falsehood as by taxes. <br />The breath of life has denuded our ideas <br />as quickly as it strips a dandelion. <br /> <br />As boys fall back on biting sarcasm, <br />so we rely for safe defense <br />on an irony not too suppressed, <br />not too naked either. <br /> <br />It has served as a wall or dam <br />to shield us against a flood of lies, <br />and hands have laughed as they applauded, <br />and feet sniggered as they marched. <br /> <br />They could write about us, and we've allowed <br />them to make movies of this scribbled trash, <br />but we have reserved the right <br />to treat all this with quiet irony. <br /> <br />In our contempt we felt superior. <br />All this is so, but probing deeper, <br />irony, instead of acting as our savior, <br />you have become our murderer. <br /> <br />We're cautious, hypocritical in love. <br />Our friendships are lukewarm, not brave, <br />and our present seems no different from <br />our past, so cunningly disguised. <br /> <br />Through life we scurry. In history, <br />like any Faust, we've been prejudged. <br />With Mephistophelian smile, irony, <br />like a shadow, dogs our every step. <br /> <br />In vain we try to dodge the shadow. <br />The paths in front, behind, are blocked. <br />Irony, to you we've sold our soul, <br />receiving no Margaret in return. <br /> <br />You have buried us alive. <br />Bitter knowledge has made us powerless, <br />and our weary irony ironically <br />has turned against ourselves. <br /> <br /> <br />1961 <br />Translated by George Reavey (revised)<br /><br />Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/irony-8/
