Poetry Archives Bio
September 17, 2014
2:50 AM
an evening in fukuoka

This is my translation of «вечер в фукуоке».

three white guys wait in line patiently
I am taken aside
put at a table

what have you brought  point and choose
in broken english ask me the screws
and I in broken japanese reply

clothing shampoo appareil photo
suddenly the mongrel muzzle official
my books in the backpack comes by


blankly stares the sentinel at cummings's verses
and espying a stroke of a woman's breast
tells me whoa boy ain't this what I think
what kind of filth have you stuffed with the rest

my packed away world is turned upside downwards
(empty pill bottles give them the vapours
I—an a priori recidivist
(why a russian with canadian papers

but no marijuana or cocaine
can be found no criminal evidence
putting away my earthly possessions
to the bitches in blue I insist—innocent


boku wa ii hito desu I say
kao wa warui desu ka I ask
and he to me with surprise jobbu desu
as if the shine of his boots to mask

if for you cocksucker it's just a job
you wouldn't only the gaijins shake down
now I've got no time for your slimy small talk
of the pisswater beer in your one-horse town

dura lex what to say but all proof at a loss
I went out (in my thoughts giving the fascists sieg heil
and out on the street a line of cabs
and the city and a long dark mile