(Abridged)
By Konstantin Vaginov
(1921)
Konstantin Vaginov dedicates his journey
To the ever-praiseglorious Abbey of Court Weirdsters.
… … … …
Inhumanly, above a void, a human howled,
Then savaged into flocks of uncooked stones,
And souls were walking out to Plovers’ Slope,
Were slicing up, by ghostly flames, a chaos.
Above a dusky world an empty cradle
A yellow Joseph’s wife sedately rocks.
And vapors crawl, into pink fissures draining,
And from the wounds arise decaying fogs.
Through fissures flicks a glare of gilded statues,
Into pink fissures pouring, vapors dash.
Long-blind, the lighthouse over our apartment
Behind the lashes’ fringes: dead coal’s ash.
Move quickly, Arap, deal the cards! Don’t linger!
We’re each entitled to a nightly slice.
For long now sunrise coughs into the window,
And strips in public, sunlight’s nipples slides.
Come suck, and such, then fade away to statues,
You’ve loitered at the table far too long.
Now Mary’s lost in baby rattlers, at the restaurant,
And can’t stop thinking of her crazy Son.
Out of our eyes of green are blooming flowers
And petals are proclaiming every thought of ours;
A camomile in hand, a crazy Jesus
Keeps roaming, guided only by his eyes.
Oh, where to go to walk away from God,
Who lied that time and who forever lies,
Across a blueing road the crescent's braying,
From far along the Jordan river laughs.
Now Jesus dons a silly-looking cap,
At last, seem nearly dry those lakes, His eyes,
Then with some profile howling through acacias,
This face of His someone identifies.
The sun is biting at the barren hillside,
The sand is bloodied, bloodied is each leaf…
While sheep keep roaming in-between the statues,
With noses poking toes on hardened feet.
Tornado, beat on the Lyre,
And Lyre, howl as a wolf,
For Chaos is sprawling, wider…
Lord God! Bring your rest and soothe…