Vladimir Mayakovsky
A violin and a little nervous

The violin was panicking, imploring
and suddenly burst into tears,
so child-like and pesky
that the drum couldn't stand it:
«All right, all right, all right!»
It got weary, couldn't wait till the violin finished,
slipped out onto the gleaming Kuznetsky
and took flight.
The curious orchestra looked on as
the violin wept itself out,
without words
or cadence
and only the nearby seated,
foolish cymbals
kept banging:
«What is it?
Who did it?»
And when the helicon,
brass-faced
and covered with sweat,
shouted:
«Stupid,
crybaby,
get some sense!»
across the notes,
I staggered ahead
over the horror-struck music stands.
For some reason, I cried out:
«God!»
and reached for its wooden face:
«Violin, we are similar
don’t you see that?
I also
shout a lot
and like you, I can’t prove my case!»
The musicians laugh:
«He’s been caught
by a wooden girl, — what could be better?!
He’s mad!»
But I don’t care what they say
I’m a good guy…
Hey, violin, you know what?
Let’s live together
instead!

Translated by Andrey Kneller