I'm going to read another poem from the book.
And if you trust me, it's not making fun of it.
It's called Older Women.
If I can find it quickly.
Maybe not.
Oh, how lovely.
Once when Pasternak was finally left out
allowed to go back out into public in Russia,
they had a great poetry gathering for him.
Thousands of people in a giant hall.
And he was reading, but he was really
damaged by everything that had been done by the government
to him.
And at one moment, he accidentally
bumped in against this little wire podium ahead.
And his manuscript fell on the floor.
And he clumsily got down.
And it was such a pity.
But the minute the paper fell, he stopped immediately.
The entire audience recited his poem until he got his papers
and put them in position again.
54.
No, that's 53.
I'm a shake that man there.
That man's got soul.
It is just seven lines.
Takes place in the Greek islands.
Older Women.
Each farmer on the island conceals his hive.
Each farmer on the island conceals his hive
far up on the mountain knowing it will otherwise be plundered.
When they die or can no longer make the hard climb,
the lost combs year after year grow heavier with honey.
And the sweetness has more and more acutely
the taste of that wilderness.