Poetry Archives Bio
December 21, 2006
8:01 PM
at the next table

This is my translation of «за соседним столиком».

passing lanes on the highway faster and faster
a man paints a line illuminated with colour
with a giant arm he warns the masses
they must not understand his words' dolor

and this man runs fast turning leaves like pages
knowing nothing of speed or gravity's vice
and in a clear voice to last ages
he declares i came not to give you advice

i will not bring to your brain a war of classes
i won't freely give out beauty's elation
but i will tell you all how all is within me
and will grant you the right to empathicipation

i will be water in electric wires
and cheap red wine on red tongues elastic
i will be steely and leathery-wooden
but above all things the I I I will be plastic

a million women will buy me and sell me
and like hundreds of flies on a jam jar
will at length watch my words' play
for them i will open my heart ajar

i will cut off a hair and it would grow and flourish
becoming a flower's thirsty root pathway
under the foot of the man of the hour
passing long lanes on his run on the highway

i will tell you as well how your end you will meet
how you will be reborn in an autumnal spasm
and how you will all have great songs at your feet
when you will be i in the ecstasy of an orgasm

i will outlive hunger thirst and misfortune
and in azure summer skies will drown calm and stoic
and now allow me to introduce myself
tonight i will be your poet