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

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