Sergey Esenin
The son of my bitch

Once again the years fly out from shadow,
And like meadows of daisies they bend.
Today I can clearly remember
The dog that was my childhood friend.

Like the maple that rots neath my window,
My youth rustled away. (How it ran!)
But I still see a girl in a white dress
For whom that dog was mailman.

Not everyone has such dear people,
But she was a song in my throat,
Because she never took from his collar
Any of the letters I wrote.

No, she never ever would read them.
She did not know my script. She was fond
Of dreaming for long times of something
By the snowball bush back of the pond.

I suffered. I wanted an answer...
It did not come. I left. And then
After years brought me fame as a poet,
I’m now back at my home gates again.

That dog has been dead for a long time,
But today I was met by her son —
With the wildest possible barking,
And her color — the same bluish one.

Holy Mary! They look like each other!
And the soul’s pain flies out - as before.
And with this pain I seem to feel younger
And like writing letters once more.

I’m glad to hear the past singing.
But don’t bark, you! Don’t bark! Don’t start!
Dog, do you want me to kiss you
For the May you awoke in my heart?

I will kiss you, I’ll press you close to me,
And take you home like a good friend would do...
Yes, I did like the girl dressed in white clothes,
But now I love one in blue.

Translated by Merrill Sparks and Vladimir Markov