Pause by R.S. Thomas

 'Rest a while,'
 says the muse,
 but I press on
 losing myself between
 the dictionary and the blank
 page. Wisdom advises,
 'Call ber bluff and
 she'll come cringing.'
 But I am all nerves,
 running vocabulary
 through my fingers, faster
 and faster. And somewhere
 before me is
 the great poem, wrapped
 in its stillness, that
 I fool myself into
 thinking I will overtake soon
 by putting on speed.
 
 
 by R. S. Thomas
 from Unpublished Poems 

Poor Poet, Was That Really You’ by Sergey Yesenin

Poor poet, was that really you,

addressing the moon in rhyme?

My eyes were dulled so long ago

by love, by cards and wine.

 

The moon climbs through the window frame.

White light, so white it blinds you…

I bet on the Queen of Spades,

but I played the Ace of Diamonds.

 

by Сергей Александрович Есенин (Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin)

a.k.a. Sergey Yesenin / Esenin

(1925)

translated by Boris Dralyuk

The Backstreets of Moscow by Sergey Yesenin

The farmhouse is lonely without me,

and my old dog is gone from the door;

God sent me to die in the backstreets

and I can’t go home any more.

 

I’m in love with this overdone city,

though it’s dirty and falling apart;

it reminds me of stories at bedtime,

and the street sounds hurt my heart.

 

I go out for a fix after midnight,

and the fix that I’m after is fame,

so I head for a bar in the backstreets

where everyone knows my name.

 

It’s noisy and dirty and drunken

but nobody there drinks alone –

the bartenders buy me my vodka

and the hookers cry at my poems.

 

My heart beats faster and faster,

and I say to the drunk by the door –

‘I’m like you, my life’s a disaster,

and I can’t go home any more.’

 

Oh, the farmhouse is lonely without me,

and my old dog is gone from the door;

God sent me to die in the backstreets

and I can’t go home any more.

 

by Сергей Александрович Есенин (Sergei Alexandrovich Yesenin)

a.k.a. Sergey Yesenin / Esenin

(1922)

translated by Paul Schmidt