Choke all week in the fumes and air stinking
of fear, for the bare means of life;
spend the Saturday dozing and drinking,
with your arm round an unlovely wife.
Then on Sunday by train for an outing,
with a rug to spread out on the grass,
just to doze off again, never doubting,
that for pleasure this stands unsurpassed.
And then wake up and put on your jacket,
drag the rug and wife back to the flat,
and not once curse the rug and attack it
with your fists. The world, too. Look, like that!
With the same kind of modest expression
do the bubbles in soda ascend,
in a meek and well-ordered procession,
up and up, one by one, to their end.
by Владислав Фелицианович Ходасевич (Vladislav Felitsianovich Khodasevich)
translated by Michael Frayn