'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from Unpublished Poems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,
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 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
