Wednesday, 5 January 2011

To Sergei Esenin by Mayakovsky (an excerpt for Michael)


You have gone

(as they say)

to a Better World.

Bullshit.

Built yourself

a stairway to the stars, didn't you?

No more publishers

advances, no more bars.

Sobered up at last.

No, Esenin, this isn't a joke.

There's a lump of grief in my throat.

I can see you with your slit wrists

slinging up your bundle of bones.

STOP IT!

Come off it!

Are you crazy or what?

Smearing your cheeks with dead-white chalk?
You, who could do things with words

no one in the world

could do!

WHY? WHAT FOR?

None of us understands.

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