Osip Mandelshtam
Violinist

They swoon for long-clawed Paganini,
Like gypsy mobs they swarm and prance,
A Czech is sneezing sneezes, and a Pole is balling squeezes,
And a Magyar’s in a rowdy sort of whackadoodle dance.

Hey, girl, yeah you, proud parvenu,
Whose sound is broad like Yenisei,
Consume me with your fiddle play.
You sport that Polack curled hairdo,
Like Rina Mnishek, locks astray,
Your bow’s a high-strung roundelay.

Console me with Chopin the roan-hued,
Play solemn Brahms — no, hold on, lass,
Do Paris, when she sweats and goes lewd,
Carnivalistic, showing her ass,
Splash out Vienna beer, home-brewed.

Your notes should fidget, frock-coats’ tails,
Danube fireworks sparking on the rails,
Bow me a waltz, say, waltz from grave to cradle,
Pour revelry in spangled gleams from bacchanalian ladle.

Play your aorta-bursting orison,
With cat’s head in your mouth, off-tune.
Three fiends there were, and you’re the fourth one,
The last berserker-fiend in bloom!

Translated by U. R. Bowie