Boys carrying knives and girls with false teeth...
Two women conductors like drowsy sphinxes...
In sleeping car the workers
Are in the grip of sleep,
And in crowded entry
The drunk guitar strings weep...
I'm in this crowded entry,
Heat giving me the hump, .
Guitars and thieves are buzzing
Like in a gipsy camp.
Well, somehow it so happened
That I began to read
My rhymes amid big shadows,
Butts, husk and rests of feed.
They have their own crafts , and
I read my rhymes for them
About a girl got frozen
To icy windows then.
They sued time out of number
And spit on firing squad
They would avoid all troubles,
Escape, no matter what...
Like hell they need the girlie
And rhymes of my array!
The girl with bang of hair
And powdered face? No way.
The features of a drunkard,
Her blouse- what a choice!
The whole of dactylography
Of Malakhovka boys...
Well, why you're shedding tears
In such a lighted, mode?
And tell me, why you whisper
Obscenely cleanest word?..
You suddenly get out,
Driving all insane
you're purer than Beatrice
As you get off the train.
Мальчики с финками, девочки с «фиксами»...
Две проводницы дремотными сфинксами...
В вагоне спят рабочие,
Вагон во власти сна,
А в тамбуре бормочет
Нетрезвая струна...
Я еду в этом тамбуре,
Спасаясь от жары.
Кругом гудят, как в таборе,
Гитары и воры.
И как-то получилось,
Что я читал стихи
Между теней плечистых
Окурков, шелухи.
У них свои ремесла.
А я читаю им,
Как девочка примерзла
К окошкам ледяным.
Они сто раз судились,
Плевали на расстрел.
Сухими выходили
Из самых мокрых дел.
На черта им девчонка?
И рифм ассортимент
Таким как эта — с чолкой
И пудрой в сантиметр?!
Стоишь — черты спитые.
На блузке видит взгляд
Всю дактилоскопию
Малаховских ребят...
Чего ж ты плачешь бурно?
И, вся от слез светла,
Мне шепчешь нецензурно —
Чистейшие слова?..
И вдруг из электрички,
Ошеломив вагон,
Ты
чище
Беатриче
Сбегаешь на перрон.
«Russia gave freedom to many thousands. / A pretty affair! It will be remembered for long. / And I just took off my shirt / And mirror sky-scrapers of every hair, / Every chink / Of body-city / Hung out carpets and red bunting cloths. / All citizens, male and female, / Of Me, Me — a...»
«The sea-coast. / Sky. Stars. I’m quiet. I’m lying down. / My pillow’s neither a stone, nor feathers: / A sailor’s worn-throught boot. / Samorodov wore it in those red days / When he led the revolt / And moved ship of the white to Krasnovodsk, / To the red waters. / Getting da...»
«Wind is singing — / Who, of what? / Sword of eager / To be just swat. / Tenderly, like a favored flower / People cherish their deathday. / On the strings of grandeur, believe me, / The East has started to play. / Maybe the magician from the shining mountains / Will give us new pr...»
«I don’t need so much! / A cup of milk, / And a slice of bread, / And that sky above, / And clouds overhead.»