Yaroslav Smelyakov
The Pocket

There’s a brave little soul in this town
Whose trousers have one single pocket,
And I’ll try to retell to you now
With what he's accustomed to stock it.

it serves him in summer and spring
As knapsack and satchel combined,
Packed, at first glance, with any old thing
That a curious youngster can find.

Through the neighbourhood daily he roams,
To the onlooker always at leisure,
But in fact it is really for treasure
That the alleys and by-ways he combs.

He doesn’t believe in toys;
No artifices for him.
But a crumpled old cartridge enjoys
His favour for no mere whim.

Alongside with nuts and washers
And objects of equal worth
He keeps in that pocket-locker
A sample of simple earth.

With his own hands the red-cheeked youngster
Blueprints his future lot:
Earth and work are the things that matter.
Baubles and toys do not.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg