Vladimir Mayakovsky
From Street to Street

A
street.
Mastiff
faces
sharp-
er
than years. O-
ver
iron horses
the first cubes leapt
from the windows of running houses.
Swans of bell necks
curve themselves in nooses of cables!
In the sky a cartoon giraffe is about
to show off motley rusty forelocks.
Dappled like a trout,
the son
of unploughed fields.
A magician,
hidden behind the clock tower faces,
is pulling rails
out of the streetcar’s mouth.
We’ve been conquered!
Bathtubs.
Showers.
An elevator.
The bodice of the soul is undone.
Hands burn your body.
Go ahead and scream:
“I didn’t want to!”
it’s sharp
torments
burn.
The thorny wind
tears
a clump of smoky wool
from a chimney.
A bald-headed street lamp
lasciviously pulls off
the street’s
black stocking.

Translated by Jenny Wade