Sergey Esenin
The Dark Man

Darling, darling,
I'm sick and entrenched in sickness,
Cannot tell you if this pain has come from within.
Maybe an empty wind
Is whistling over the bleak land,
Or my brain's falling off,
Like a stray leaf, from alcohol's stream.

My head is just flapping its ears,
Like birds would flap wings, and
On the neck of my leg
It cannot steadily keep.
A slyly dark man,
Dark like darkness,
A slyly dark man
Takes his seat on my bed, and lingers,
A slyly dark man does not allow me to sleep.

A slyly dark man
Brings a loathsome manuscript, bellows
With a horrid nasal twang,
Like a monk speaks over the dead.
He's reading the life
Of some profligate crooked fellow,
And my soul sees anguish and fear ahead.
A slyly dark man,
Dark man, dark man!

"Listen, listen! —
He mutters to me. —
This book has many most wonderful
Thoughts and ideas.
This fellow lived
In the land, replete
With scoundrels and mountebanks,
That much's clear.

The snow is damn white
In this land, pure-clad,
And snowstorms merrily
Spin in December.
This fellow was an adventurer, but
He was of the best brand
I can remember.

He was refined, and
He used to brag
That he was a poet,
Got Gift from above, and
He called some overweight
Forty plus hag
His naughty, bad girl
And his own beloved.

He said that happiness lies
In deftness of wits and hands,
Only the awkward souls
Are known as unhappy, brother.
Doesn't matter
How many pangs
Are brought with lying, unbalanced
Gestures upon another.

In the cold, in the storm,
In the thunder of skies,
When facing a loss,
When your grief is mounting,
To appear a smiling and simple guy —
Is the highest art that this world's encountered."

"The slyly dark man!
Don't dare to soil me!
You haven't been hired
To ring this diving-bell.
What do I care
For scandalous poets?
Please, go to another
To read your fairytales."

The slyly dark man
Looks me straight in the eye,
And the eyes are filming
With sky-blue vomit.
As if trying to tell me
That I live a lie,
That I've shamelessly swindled
Someone so lonely.

....................................................

Darling, darling,
I'm sick and entrenched in sickness,
Cannot tell you if this pain has come from within.
Maybe an empty wind
Is whistling over the bleak land,
Or my brain's falling off,
Like a fall leaf, from alcohol's stream.

The crossroad's calm.
The night is silent and frosty.
I stand by the window
And don't expect any guests.
The plains are covered
With a slaked lime that falls softly,
All the trees have gathered like horsemen
In silent unrest.

An ominous bird
Is wailing somewhere near,
The wooden horsemen
Are hoofing late in the night.
Once again the slyly dark man
Brings his manuscript here,
Doffs his top hat to me,
And onto my chair slides.

"Listen, listen, —
He's croaking straight to my face,
Leaning closer,
Even closer to me. —
I haven't met any other
Rascal disgraced
That would so needlessly suffer
From stupid insomnia.

Ah, perhaps, I'm mistaken,
The moon is like gold.
What else is needed
In this world, hazy and slobbering?
Perhaps "She" will secretly come,
Fat-butted and old,
And you will recite
Your puny languorous poetry?

Oh, I am fond of poets!
This crowd is unique.
I's the same old story
That's trying my heart so sorely —
How a long-haired freak
Would speak to a pimply chick
Of lofty galaxies,
Drenched in his slimy horniness.

I don't remember, I can't recall,
Far away or around the block,
Somewhere near Volga
Or Moscow-river,
There lived a boy,
He came from a peasant stock,
He was blond, and his eyes
Were sky-blue, pure, and clear.

And then he became an adult,
Started to brag
That he is a poet,
Got his Gift from above, and
He called some overweight
Forty plus hag
His naughty, bad girl
And his only beloved."

"The slyly old man!
You are pervert and sick!
Your visit's unwelcome,
I don't give a toss!"
I am foaming with madness,
And my walking-stick
Flies straight to his face,
To the bridge of his nose.

.............................................

The moon's departed,
I' m facing the dawn.
What a night!
What did happen at midnight?
I wear my top hat,
And stand on my own...
All alone...
With a broken old mirror.

Translated by Christina Devulite