Vladimir Mayakovsky
I call

I raised it like a strong man,
carried it like an acrobat.
As electors are called to a meeting,
as the tocsin
summons village folk
to a fire —
so I called out:
“Here it is!
Here!
Take it!”
Whenever
this clumsy bulk groaned —
without looking,
through dust,
through dirt,
through snowdrift,
the ladies
shied away from me
like a rocket:
“We’d prefer something smaller;
we’d rather have a tango...”
I cannot dear the burden —
but I bear it.
I should like to throw it down —
but I know
I shall not throw it down!
My ribs’ staves will not stand the thrust.
The cage of the chest cracks under the strain.

Translated by Max Hayward and George Reavey