I've just finished reading Eugene Onegin, and it was every bit as wonderful as I had been led to expect. In the foreword, Hofstadter notes that he thinks Falen's translation is better than his own, so I'm looking forward to reading that also. There's a rare pleasure, eh? Enjoy a book so much that you regret it's ending, then be able to read it again written nearly completely differently? The only other book I've attempted that with (in small snippets) is Les Miserables, and I found I enjoyed the first translation much more than the second.
I find that I'm very influenced verbally by the things I read. I found myself thinking and writing extravagantly as I was reading Dickens, and now I find snatches of half-formed metrical rhyme running through my head after reading Onegin. I had the same experience with Golden Gate as well, and a couple of stanza's of passable Pushkin sonnet came out of it.