Osip Mandelshtam
Leningrad

I am back in my city, dear to me like my tears
Like small veins, swollen glands of my infancy years.

You have come here, now go ahead in one gulp
Down the fish-oil of Leningrad’s river lights lamps

Can you make out this day of December that’s marred
By the egg-yolk stirred into the menacing tar.

Petersburg! I don't want to die yet!
You’ve still got my phone numbers I’m here to get..

Petersburg! There’re the addresses that I have had
Where I still can find voices of those who are dead.

I dwell on the backstairs, and my temple is hit
By the doorbell ripped out by the flesh of its meat.

All night long I am waiting for my dear guests,
As I stir the door chain shackles, having no rest.

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A note: No matter how I tried, it is almost impossible to understand this poem without knowing the context of its time and its author.
I wish to thank Dina Beliava for inspiring me to get off my ass and instead of criticizing others do something on my own. Thank you Dina.

Translated by Dmitry Berger