‘I am deprived of everything’ by Fyodor Tyutchev

I am deprived of everything,

of health, of will, of air, of sleep.

A vengeful God has let me keep

just you – to keep me praying to Him.


by Фёдор Иванович Тютчев (Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev)

(February, 1873)

translated by Donald Rayfield

Eye… Eye… Eye by David R. Morgan

Today, I had a very very big surprise;

Uncle Eric left me eight eyes!

I’ve just collected them, from his strangely painted house,

Stored between a fake salami sandwich and an exploding mouse!


Uncle Eric always was the life and soul

Of every family party; he would roll

A glass eye along the floor and shout:

‘Hey Fiona, yours has fallen out!’


Uncle’s eyes are a funny hue;

Mottled greens and brilliant blues.

The one he slipped in people’s drinks,

Is flecked with veins of pale pink.


His Will said that I must keep

All eight. Do you want a peep?

Yes? All right! But do not feel

Them very hard, for one is real!


by David R. Morgan