Konstantin Sluchevsky
I told her: the sidewalks are muddy...

I told her: the sidewalks are muddy,
The sky is gloomy, everyone is depressed...
I said that days are all the same
And make me sick at heart,
That balls, the theater — get on my nerves...
        “Really?”

I told her there’s cholera in the city,
So-and-so have passed away, so-and-so are dying...
That for us poetry is a bag of tricks,
That talent is perishing in drunkenness,
That in Russia life has no goal...
        “Really?”

I told her: your brother is going to be shot,
He is disgraced, he has given himself to vice...
I said, asking her not to be frightened:
Your father died! At night the doctor
Didn’t manage to arrive in time.
        “Really?”

Translated by Albert C. Todd