And before the monument. WITH. Pushkin in Odessa

Jacob Gordin

Not wandering trading cases,
throwing in strange corners
your pathetic trash,
once in the morning
with a heavy taste in the mouth
I went ashore in a foreign port.

It was winter.
Grainy snow s cheek, but the land
It was black for white grain.
Hoarse howler at all bad to be able to.
Even in the state stolbenela night.
I moved away.

ABOUT, city ​​land in the hour of dawn!
Hotels are dead. Nedvijnost child,
nezryachest eye
blind goddess.
Pass through you wonder naked,
until it struck the state anthem.

heavy fog
flipping through neighborhoods, as a thick novel.
Heavy ice topped Lyman,
as the mainland smolknuvshy language,
grizzled, and, exactly ceiling spot,
were clouds.

And the rebels in their dreadful growth
of the stairs, as one man,
as one mailcoach,
upstairs, scratching
nail railing, cheekbones silvering
tear, like a fish, I dragged myself.

One as a finger,
in a mortar pestle space winter,
it froze the relocation of the apostle
back to the homeland and to the person,
in whose never happened fringe
to step it.

of cast iron
it was sculpted, just Pahat
movements voice said,: “Khan
migration!” - and at the wrong end
land assented jingle bells
with a piece of lead.

Supple appearance distance,
it creates a horizontal pre,
dark blue in the mist, exposing the steel.
And I felt, like a boot - gruss,
like marching one two,
relationship angst.

Go, and he
He is substituted a cheek under Aquilon,
wondering, How to Clean out,
in the same - who knows - an early hour,
and also I felt, that business stuff,
everywhere you look.

And he, see,
here I am waiting for the, What one can not wait
from life: will. this grace,
waves available, God russkih them
I hid from us, all others having signed,
Zane - jealous.

Greek felucca went on to Piraeus
empty. And a flock of vampires
falling out of the pudendal doors,
as a black pair,
Boulevard memorized.
And I was there, and I was there in the snow vomit.

Our gentle south,
where the heart is flung off before pack,
there are power tools, the main sound
someone in the universe - not forty times forty,
designed for a series of centuries,
but the clang of fetters.

And the cast was
them from the waste, who have not sailed,
the, whose, choking, said
"Goodbye, free element "mouth,
to dissolve all latitudes in prison,
where no gate.

In our sad string language
Desperate and more contrary to
currently written, and then by hand
a hundred years to be copied. So runs onto
beach in Langeron wave after wave,
land o'the Leal.

1969(?), 70(?)

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