Two hours in the tank

I'm bored, five…
BUT. WITH. Pushkin


I am the anti-fascist and antifaust.
Liebe their life and love chaos.
They want to bin, Genosse officer,
dem cajt cum Faust korotko Špacír.


But obeying the Polish propaganda,
he was sad about the Fatherland Krakow,
I dreamed of philosophical Diamante
and he doubted his own talent.
He raised handkerchiefs women with sex.
It is hot on sex.
Played faculty team polo.

He studied the catechism Card
and learned the sweetness of Cartesianism.
Then he climbed into the artesian well of
egocentrism. fighting trick,
which differed Clausewitz,
he was, should be, unfamiliar,
as Vater was cabinetmaker.

Tsumbayshpil, raged glaucoma,
plague, holera und tuberkulezen.
He defended Schwarze cigarettes.
It attracted the gypsies or Moors.
Then, he was anointed to bachelors.
Then earned a licentiate laurels
and singing students: “Cambrian… dinosaurs…”

German people. German intelligence.
Especially, kogito Ergo rubles.
Germany, of course, uber alles.
(The ears sounds familiar Viennese waltz.)
He took leave Krakow without strain
and I rode in a droshky hastily
the pulpit and honest beer.


It shines in the clouds whiz-month.
The huge folio. Above him — the man.
Blackens between bushy eyebrows wrinkle.
In eyes — Arab lace hell.
In his hand was trembling Cordovan black pencil,
in the corner — it considers profile
Arab representative MEF ibn Stofel.

burning candles. Mouse scratching under a cabinet.
“Gerra doctor, midnight”. “Yavol, shlafen, shlafen”.
Two black mouth uttered: “meow”.
Quietly from the kitchen includes Yiddish Frau.
In the hands of her sizzling omelet with bacon.
Herr Doktor draws the address on the envelope:
“Gott strafe England, London, Francis Bacon”.

Thoughts come and go, features.
Guests come and go, the years…
Then do not remember the dress, words, Weather.
So the years passed hush-hush.
He knew Arabic, but I did not know Sanskrit.
Belatedly, gay, was open
Their ayne klyayne froylyayn Margarita.

Then he wrote a telegram to Cairo,
in which he denied the devil soul.
Priexal Mef, and he changed.
He looked in the mirror and saw,
now reborn forever.
He took the bouquet and the boudoir girls
I went to. und vein, species, vici.


Their clarity Liebe. I. Their accuracy Liebe.
Ich bin ask to see here viciousness.
you namekayt, he loved florists.
their ponimayt, which will ist Ganz urgency.
But this deal macht der Grosse minus.
Di toychno shprahe, Macht der Grosse sine:
heart and soul of Nine gehapt takeaway.

from man, alles, waiting in vain:
“Stop, moment, you fine”.
Between us the devil roams hourly
and this phrase constantly waiting.
but, person, Main sweetheart Guerra,
so in strong feelings unsure,
that constantly lying, like a trooper,
but, like Goethe, maxu daet.

Und grosser dihter Goethe gave opisku,
than the whole plot and subjected Ganz risk.
And Thomas Mann ruined my subscription,
Cher and Gounod confused his actress.
Art is art is art…
But it is better to sing in paradise, than to lie in concert.
Die Kunst gehapt need for a sense of truth.

Finally, he might fear death.
He knew exactly, where did the devil.
He ate a dog in the village of Ibn Sina and Galen.
He could das Wasser drain the knee.
And age could he point to be lazy.
He knew, where stars go way.

But Dr. Faust nihts did not know about God.


there is a mystique. have faith. is the Lord.
There is a difference between them. And there is unity.
one hurts, other rescues flesh.
unbeliever — blindness, and often — svinstvo.

God looks down. And people are looking up.
but, interest in all different.
God organic. Yes. And the man?
And the man, should be, limited.

The man has a ceiling,
holding on all not too hard.
But at heart will find Smoothie Area,
and life is not already visible on line.

This was Doctor Faustus. These are
Marlowe and Goethe, Thomas Mann and weight
singers, intellectuals und, Alas,
readers in another class environment.

One stream sweeps away their footprints,
their flasks — donnervetter! — thoughts, bonds…
And let them have time to ask God: “where?!” —
and hear, that after they shout Muse.

A very honest German der Weg tsuryuk,
will not wait, when asked.
He pulls out a Walther warm trousers
and all goes to Walther-closet.


Froilyain, tell: You ist das “incubus”?
Inkubus das ist considerable Klein Globe.
Noh grosser dihter Goethe set himself rebus.
Und ivikovy evil cranes,
from Weimar vyporhnuv fog,
Key snatched right out of his pocket.
And we are not saved vigilance Eckermann.
And we are now, matrozen, to grind.

There truly spiritual task.
A mystic is a sign of failure
in an attempt to deal with them. Otherwise,
their bin, it is not necessary to interpret.
Tsumbayshpil, ceiling — roof anticipation.
poem More, human — Nietzsche.
I remember the Virgin in a niche,
abundant frishtik, served in bed.

again zeptember. boredom. Polnolunьe.
The legs purring gray witch.
A pillow placed under the ax I…
Who would schnapps… this… apgemaht.
Yavol. Zeptember. spoils character.
Stalled in the tarahtyaschy tractor.
Liebe their lives and “Felkysh Beobachter”.
Gut naxt, Main sweetheart Guerra. I. Gut naxt.

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Joseph Brodsky
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