Strange boy, I’ve gone mad at last,
Wednesday, around three!
On my ring finger, a wasp
Stung me angrily.
I accidentally squeezed my grip,
And it died, I think,
But sharper than a spindle’s tip
Was its poisoned sting.
Strange one, is it you I’ll mourn,
And will your smile linger?
Look! How beautifully adorned
Is this ring upon my finger!
Я сошла с ума, о мальчик странный,
В среду, в три часа!
Уколола палец безымянный
Мне звенящая оса.
Я её нечаянно прижала,
И, казалось, умерла она,
Но конец отравленного жала,
Был острей веретена.
О тебе ли я заплачу, странном,
Улыбнется ль мне твоё лицо?
Посмотри! На пальце безымянном
Так красиво гладкое кольцо.
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«As a kid, I was gifted with lots of love. / From childhood on, / folks / are overcome by chores. / I — / ran away once I had enough, / and procrastinated, / walking along the Rion shores. / My mom got angry: / “What a wicked child!” / My dad said his belt would teach me som...»
«In adolescence, major decisions are made. / Any fool is taught grammar and reason. / But I / was kicked out of my school in 5th grade / and thrown in and out of the Moscow prisons. / Your / apartment-sized world / is one of the littlest. / There, you breed many curly-haired lyricists...»
«You know French. / You divide / and multiply even better. / Derive easily. / Well, keep deriving, you hear me? / Tell me this — / can you sing with the buildings / together? / Do you know the language streetcars are speaking? / The human fledgling / from the egg first rises —...»