An unyielding fever of 103, the Sochi Olympics, and a state of
inspirational semidelirium came together as Vladimir Azarov sat in
front of his television, images swirled in his mind like a waltzing
kaleidoscope. Memories from decades past were triggered as the
Pussy Riot girls were being whipped by Cossacks. Marilyn Monroe of
Some Like It Hot became his muse while he composed recollections:
his first trip to Sochi in 1962; sitting with Henry Moore at his
home in Much Haddam; discussing verisimilitudes with Pasolini, art
with Frank O'Hara, film and acting with Leni Riefenstahl; shock at
terrorists killing Israelis in Munich. As the 2014 Games ended, his
fever abated. This remarkable book of poems arose from those two
weeks.
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