Vladislav Khodasevich
- Not by my mother, but by the Tula peasant woman..., by Myrna Gwin (Miriam)
- Not My Mother..., by Peter Daniels
«Time I got the message. / In my deaf stupor — time / For those laws of the sublime / Life does telegraph. Uncertainly — on my shoulders, / My head crowned and pushed on. / Uncertainly — as a solitary ray, / Unnoticed in daylight. As if from a slack string — / Dust — shaken ...»
«Through all the tedious tasks of the day, / During all your arduous convulsions upon her, / You must let fall a few amiable trochees / Of mine, of me, your manly mistress. Of my sternness’ bitter edge, / Of my slight shyness’ latent heat, / And of my telegraphic stroke, / Whose name...»
«Drained — taken — overcome — / — Flat on my back! — I will die. / Like Polyxena, who beheld Achilles / There, on the wall — In red — a bloody tower on the horizon / Of bodies he had laid low. / Like Polyxena praying: "Who is this?" / (And knew — the pyre!) The unite...»
«O you — of all below-line notes / The lowest! — Let's put an end to our quarrel! / Like that consumptive woman, who moaned / All night: ravish me again! Who wrung her hands, as fights / And close blows and ropes of oaths intruded. / (Her sailor — no longer handsome — slept / As...»