mayakovsky
L
A Cloud in Trousers
Part I
You think I’m delirious with malaria?
This happened.
In Odessa, this happened.
“I’ll come at four,†promised Maria.
Eight...
Nine...
Ten.
Soon, the evening,
Frowning
And Decemberish,
Left the windows
And vanished in dire darkness.
Behind me, I hear neighing and laughter
Of candelabras.
You wouldn’t recognize me if you knew me prior:
A bulk of sinews
Moaning,
Fidgeting.
What can such a clod desire?
But the clod desires many things.
Because for oneself it doesn’t matter
Whether you’re cast of copper
Or whether your heart is cold metal.
At night, you want to wrap your clamor
In something feminine,
Gentle.
And thus,
Enormous,
I hunch in the frame,
And with my forehead, I melt the window glass.
Will this love be
Tremendous or lame?
Will it sustain or pass?
A big one wouldn’t fit a body like this:
It must be a little love, --
a baby, sort of,
It shies away when the cars honk and hiss,
But adores the bells on the horse-tram.
I come face to face
With rippling rain,
Yet once more,
And wait
Splashed by city surf’s thundering roar.
Running amok with a knife outside,
Night caught up to him
And stabbed him,
Unseen.
The stroke of midnight
Fell like a head from a guillotine.
Silver raindrops on the windowpane
Were piling a grimace
And yelling.
It seemed like the gargoyles of Notre Dame
Started yelping.
Damn you!
Haven’t you had enough yet?
Cries will soon cut my throat all around.
I heard:
Softly,
Like a patient out of his bed,
A nerve leapt
Down.
At first,
He barely moved.
Then, apprehensive
And distinct,
He started prancing.
And now, he and another two,
Darted about, step-dancing.
On the ground floor, plaster was falling fast.
Nerves,
Big ones,
Little ones,--
Various!--
Galloped madly
Until, at last,
Their legs wouldn’t carry them.
Night oozed through the room and sank.
Stuck in slime, the eye couldn’t slither out of it.
Suddenly, doors started to bang
As if hotel’s teeth
Were chattering.
You entered,
Abrupt like “Take it!â€
Mauling the suede gloves you carried,
And said:
“You know,--
I’m soon getting married.â€
Get married then.
It’s all right,
I can handle it.
As you can see, I’m calm, of course!
Like the pulse
Of a corpse.
Remember?
You used to say:
“Jack London,
Money,
Love
And ardor,â€--
I saw one thing only:
You were La Gioconda,
Which had to be stolen!
And someone stole you.
Again in love, I shall start gambling,
With fires illuminating the arch of my eyebrows.
And why not?
Sometimes, homeless ramblers
Will seek to find shelter in a burnt down house!
You’re mocking me?
“You’ve fewer emeralds of madness
than a beggar kopecks, -- no disproving this!â€
But remember
Pompeii came to end thus
When somebody teased Vesuvius!
Hey!
Gentlemen!
You care for
Sacrilege,
Crime
And war.
But have you seen
The frightening terror
Of my face
When
It’s
Perfectly calm?
And I feel-
“Iâ€
Is too small to fit me.
Someone inside me is getting smothered.
Hello!
Who’s speaking?
Mother?
Mother!
Your son has a wonderful sickness!
Mother!
His heart has been set alight!
Tell Lydia and Olga, his sisters,
That there’s simply no where to hide.
Every word,
Whether funny or crude,
That he spews from his scorching mouth,
Jumps like a naked prostitute
From a burning brothel.
People sniff--
Something’s burned down.
Firemen,
In glittering helmets,
Carelessly start intruding.
Hey, tell the firemen:
No boots allowed!
With a sizzling heart one has to be prudent.
I’ll do it!
I’ll pump my watery eyes into containers.
Let me push off my ribs and I'll start.
I’ll leap out! I’ll leap out! You can’t restrain me!
Ribs collapse.
You can’t leap from the heart!
From the cracks on the lips,
A cindering kiss springs,
Running away from a smoldering face.
Mother!
I can’t sing.
In heart’s chapel, the choir was set ablaze!
Figurines of words and numbers
Out of a skull,
Like kids from a burning building, scurry.
Thus fear,
Reaching up to the sky, called
And raised
Lusitania’s fiery arms with worry.
A hundred-eyed blaze
Stared at the peace
Of apartments, where people perspired.
With a final outcry,
Will you moan at least,
To report to centuries that I’m on fire?