Vladimir Mayakovsky
The Violin — A Little Bit Nervous

The violin got all worked up, imploring
then suddenly burst into sobs,
so child-like
that the drum couldn’t stand it:
«All right, all right, all right!»
But then he got tired,
couldn’t wait till the violin ended,
slipped out on the burning Kuznetsky
and took flight.
The orchestra looked on, chilly,
while the violin wept itself out
without reason
or rhyme,
and only somewhere,
a cymbal, silly,
kept clashing:
«What is it,
what’s all the racket about?»
And when the helicon,
brass-faced,
sweaty,
hollared:
«Crazy!
Crybaby!
Be still!»
I staggered,
on to my feet getting,
and lumbered over the horror-stuck music stands,
yelling,
«Good God»
why, I myself couldn’t tell;
then dashed, my arms round the wooden neck to fling:
«You know what, violin,
we’re awfully alike;
I too
always yell,
but can’t prove a thing!»
The musicains commented,
contemptuously smiling:
«Look at him —
come to his wooden-bride-
tee-hee!»
But I don’t care —
I’m a good guy —
«You know, what, violin,
let’s live together,
eh?».

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg