«As a shade with three dimensions, brother, / It isn’t easy to drag out one’s fate! / Moscow’s madhouse now is overcrowded, / And the cemetery also has no space / For your dust in roomy crypts or coffins, – / Now you’re buried in a metal saucepan. Seems the world’s no longer s...»
«You are young, long-limbed! With such / A marvelously molded, winged body! / How awkwardly and with such difficulty / You drag around your spirit, anguish-stunned! Oh, I know that spirit’s way of moving / Through whirlwinds of the night and ice-floe gaps, / And that voice which rises in...»
«My blood and my rhymes have a shortage. / We’re no longer whinnying or snorting, / We don’t frolic, or slant our eyes – / We’re reconciled to this life! With age we’ve become more docile, / We dream of the warmth of the stable, / We have forgotten wild oats, / Remembering our...»
«To Maria Petrovna Maksakova Does winter really have thunderstorms / And sky that’s bluer than a blueprint? / I like your having eyes that slant, / And also that your soul is slanted. I like the headlong briskness of your gait, / The chilly feeling of your shoulders, / Your frivolous an...»