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The Yevgeny Yevtushenko the scholars know: a Soviet-era dissident who nevertheless traveled abroad—and always returned; wellspring of such lyrical, emotionally walloping poems as “Babi Yar” despite the weight of the sludgy Soviet-realist aesthetic. Fair enough. But the Yevgeny I wanna see is the pinup boy for female journos. Here’s reporter Emily Gibson, speaking on Australia’s 2RES-FM after the big guy cut a swath through New South Wales in 1994: “[He’s] a really tall man….He looks very powerful….He’s quite lined now but he has amazingly beautiful blue eyes which pierce the audience….I was directly in the line of fire. And I—experienced the full—yeah—brunt of his—he called it flirtation afterwards.” Have mercy. Ginsberg was bad-boy-hot, Rushdie’s got those paisley-bedspread-ready eyes, but save me a seat in the line of fire when Yevtushenko lets loose his thunderbolts at 7 p.m. at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden’s Ring Auditorium, 7th and Independence Avenue SW. $16. (202) 357-3030. (Pamela Murray Winters)