Nothing, Singer, your anniversary…

BUT. Kouchner

Nothing, Singer, your anniversary
we did not note, except flattery
rhymed, because together
long time no see two rubles.

The essence of life is still in things.
Without them - neither cold, not bright.
a guest, comes without a gift,
like a cigarette on an empty stomach.

Such a guest and shit thing
itself. Especially, in bulk.
But he - the hero, when in stock
Coy has a dictionary.

so, proceed. However, speech
such a thing, which, Sasha,
when it had not been for our poverty,
we would prefer to be ignored.

We would prefer to bring
pen Montaigne, scalpel Vovsy,
scalp Ascension, rather
do not go, Messrs free.

Generally, we do not overthrow the king
and hard if we had the money,
b we gave village
fourteenth day of September.

Imagine: the estate in the middle of nowhere,
fifty souls, everything is quiet, cute;
read poems il move in the snout
still nice for the soul.

And girls! girls as one.
Or one really.
Beautiful in field, in bed
and how to muse not Durna.

But this dream. Wake
you are the owner of the lack of
a noisome Avtovo, - Stone,
resembling the tops

rotten cabbage sky,
plants, factories, hospital
and scrofulous girls,
and in pools of iridescent grease.

Not so much as a cock.
stalls, jangle pohabeli.
Comes to mind about Koktebel –
but there is a disease in the letter “X”.

lousy world, everywhere you look.
where jump, winged horse?
Everywhere moron il spy
or talented trash.

And the best minds:
Joseph Brodsky, Yakov Gordin –
on any of them suitable?
thank, not borrow.

thank, present it stishok.
And that could just vodka
swallow and fight to no avail throat,
that are near, causing shock.

No, Europeans do not understand,
what it means to live in Peter's city,
write poetry pen in a notebook
foul smell and air.

pretty, however. enough to climb
us into your soul, dear Sasha.
Although it's almost like our.
But we promised to flattery,

but it turned out that. Us
some devil has beguiled, it is seen,
and for us, of course, Sasha, ashamed,
and you - do you think now!:

would pull them all down the stairs,
draw the curtains, take off his shirt,
get a pen and blotter,
stay without interference

and so start with no fuss,
without waiting for inspiration:
“I remember a wonderful moment,
in front of me was you”.

September 1970

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