I’ll calmly ask
he’ll say: my name was Ivan
I died under a divan
IVAN IVANOVICH
say say what an unfortunate
what a monotonous demise
how I moan for you O man
you’re just like bad weather juice
I hear your voice it is so vocal
I a reflective cherub weep
A MOTHER, running in:
a god is what you are, Ivan Ivanovich
smash the cymbal blow the horn
in the glass scared and dense
you have no substance
you lack depth
like children like people like celestial hierarchies
PROKOFIEV, MUSICIAN
despite this nearing the window
I see the night the surly road
I see upon these narrow
roads sundry Russian birds
the raven the finch
the philomel torn off a birch
and here astounding like an owl
Tomilin sits on a branch
he thinks he is a little owl
he puts together words
IVAN IVANOVICH
yes that I can do
although I may fall mute
unable to express my happiness
with the People’s Commissariat of Commerce
look everyone
flowers stand at a distance
the dew-moist trees
bend figurative like maidens named Tanya
hear everyone
notes arise from underground
the beavers run the raccoons hurry
they start discourses in a minor key
and sitting on the sand blaspheme
in their animal lexeme
you God are ill
you sphere are thin
fat fleas cause
itch of the skin
O lord of lords we are offended
resentment hath our necks distended
A GRANDMOTHER, entering:
this convention of atheists
reminds me of seas
of curses by subtle satanists
their thoughts like anchors
get stuck in closed canals
in human bacchanals
let us imagine absence of the earth
let us imagine absence of objects
inanimate zeros invade
this human apartment
mineral, the planet
will pale like a cheek
the fount roll up
and wail and thunder
the sandpiper speak
with a voice
it won’t crumble, it’s not
sand, world horseman or piece
IVAN IVANOVICH
you got it real weird here
a traditional beverage is in flames
we’ll overthrow all doubts
volume rules the world
the law with no flaw
rose above you like a balcony
the philosopher Kant said:
although I’m not a musician
still I understand
the moving play of sound
often I extract my thoughts
take a walk around the feast
I eat soup with pepper
I eat ham and fish
thoughts thoughts I don’t prevent
you from grazing meanwhile
meanwhile thoughts are grazing
one on one with mathematics
we have soured under physics
a great volume crushes us
while thoughts wordless grow
around above below
PROKOFIEV, MUSICIAN
are they really that omnipotent?
IVAN IVANOVICH
my opinion is they are
let us say this very morning
I come out of the dyer’s
where I’d taken my tuxedo
so that it would look like night
my feet barely touch the ground
I’m way ahead of myself
and they start with their high jinks
thoughts, I said, you’re a lynx!
thoughts you’re as swift as light
but I heard their reply:
we have a headache
God says, sit still you maniacs
the world has grown sparser
five steps away there’s the border
PROKOFIEV, MUSICIAN
so how do we think?
how do we live?
what do we eat?
what do we drink?
IVAN IVANOVICH
eat polkas
drink flowers
think only
as much as you
November 1929
[E.O.]
The Joyful Man Franz
the joyful man Franz
maintained protuberance
from start to finish
he never came down the porch
measured stars named flowers
believed I am you
affixing number to time
humming in rhyme
he died and was deceased
like the shotgun and the cyst
he felt fear on seeing a skirt
as he fantasized asleep
and would sail at the helm
to a melancholy elm
where squads of beetles
performed about-faces
showed their whiskers to gods
pronounced themselves to be clocks
gods howled out of tune
and tumbled down from the moon
there in luxurious grass
an ant was being stamped
and the glowworm, unkind king
lit up a large lamp
silently the lightnings flashed
languid animals snorted
unhurriedly growled
the waves that lay on the sand
where? where did all this happen
where did this location roam
I forgot, the sun will say
sinking into the unknown
all we see is the exit
from the schoolbag of Franz
of the contemporary of man
the psychologist of the divine
this wizard announces
the party begins
idle stars crowd in
boring people smoke
lonely thoughts run around
everything is sad and pointless
God what kind of party is this
it’s the christmas of death or something
hens step around gulfs
the hall hops with cupids
and the iron steam engine
contemplates cow patties
Franz awoke from his nightmare
why are all these things here?
the valet stood here like a palm
before the meadows of eternity
short as a reed
the collar sleeps upon a chair
a branch of kerosene
lights up the twilight
answer me wizard
is this a dream? I’m a fool
but where is that wizard
where is the psychologist of the divine
he counts songs in his sleep
growing bald as a tree
he can’t come here
where the real world stands
he calmly multiplies the shades
does not glisten in the sky
Turks give me my carriage
the joyful Franz called
give me the rocket of Oberth
give me horsepower
I will ride around the universe
in this fascinating cab
a war prisoner of the earth
I will race against a star
from the ceiling see my bed
I’m a bluebird I’m...
meanwhile out of the acute night
out of the abyss of the bad dream
appears a crown
and the ramified scythe
you’re an irate serpent
my childless death
hello Franz will sadly say
each hair of yours holds
more thoughts than a pot
more sleep than a powder
take out your saber
and slice open my shirt
then slice open my skin
affix me to the bed
all the same shall science triumph
I’ll announce as I gurgle
and create a grandson
my substitute in the form of a lamp
stand and glow my boy
write essays for school
death said you’re a flower
and fled to the east
Franz remained alone
to contemplate protuberance
measure stars name flowers
put together I and you
lying in absolute silence
in the empty heights
1929–1930
[E.O.]
Snow Lies
snow lies
earth flies
lights flip
to pigments night has come
on a rug of stars it lies
is it night or a demon?
like an inane lever
sleeps the insane river
it is not aware
of the moon everywhere
animals gnash their canines
in black gold cages
animals bang their heads
animals are the ospreys of saints
the world flies around the universe
nearby the hot white stars
flits imperishable bird
seeks a home a nest
there’s no nest a hole
the universe is alone
maybe rarely will pass
time as poor as a night
or a daughter in a bed
will grow sleepy and then dead
then a crowd of relations
enter in and cry alas
in steel houses
howl loudly
she’s gone and buried
hopped to paradise big-bellied
God God have pity
good God on the precipice
but God said Go play
and she entered paradise
there spun any which way
numbers houses and seas
in the inessential they
what exists in vain perceived
there God languished behind bars
with no eyes no legs no arms
so that maiden in tears
sees all this in the heavens
sees sundry eagles
appear out of night
and fly sullen
and flash silent
this is so depressing
the dead maiden will say
serenely amazed
God will inquire
what’s depressing? what’s
depressing, God, life
what are you talking about
what O noon do you know
you press pleasure and Paris
to your impetuous breast
you dress like music
you undress like a statue
the forest then roared
in lonely despair
it saw through earth’s tares
a meandering ribbon
a strip curvilinear
curvy Lena you are
Mercury was in the air
spinning like a top
and the bear in the bush
sunned his coat
people also walked around
bearing fish on a platter
bearing on their hands
ten fingers on a ladder
while all this went on
that maiden rested
rose from the dead and forgot
yawned and said
you guys, I had a dream
what can it mean
dreams are worse than macaroni
they make crows double over
I was not at all dying
I was gaping and lying
undulating and crying
I was so terrifying
a fit of lethargy
was had by me among the effigies
let’s enjoy ourselves really
let’s gallop to the cinema
she sped off like a she-ass
to satisfy her innermost
lights glint in the heaven
is it night or a demon
January 1930
[E.O.]
The Meaning of the Sea
to make everything clear
live backwards
take walks in the woods
tearing off hair
when you recognize fire
in a lamp a stove
say wherefore you yearn
fire ruler of the candle
what do you mean or not
where’s the cabinet the pot
demons spiral like flies
over a piece of cake
these spirits displayed
legs arms and horns
juicy beasts war
lamps contort in sleep
babes in silence blow the trumpet
women cry on a pine tree
the universal God stands
in the cemetery of the skies
the ideal horse walks
finally the forest comes
we look on in fear
we think it’s fog
the forest growls and waves its arms
it feels discomfort boredom
it weakly whispers I’m a phantom
maybe later I’ll be
fields stand near a hillock
holding fear on a platter
people montenegrins beasts
joyfully feast
impetuous the music plays
finns have fun
shepherds shepherdesses bark
skiffs spin atop tables
here and there in the skiffs
see the minutes’ haloes
we are in the presence of fun
I said this right away
either the birth of a canyon
or the nuptials of cliffs
we will witness this feast
from this bench this trumpet
as the tambourines roll
like the earth, making clatter
skies will come and a battle
or we will come to be ourselves
goblets moved along mustaches
on clock faces flowers rose
and our thoughts were soaring
among curled plants
our thoughts our boats
our gods our aunts
our souls our mass
our goblets in them death
but we said, and yet
this rain is meaningless
we ask, pass the sign
the sign plays on water
the wise hills throw
into the stream all those who feasted
glasses flourish in the water
water homeland of the night
after thinking we like corpses
showed to heaven our cruppers
sea time sleep are one
we will mutter sinking down
we packed our instruments
souls powders feet
stationed our monuments
lighted our pots
on the floor of the deep
we the host of drowned men
in debate with the number fifteen
will shadowbox and burn up
and yet years passed
fog passed and nonsense
some of us sank to the floor
like the board of a ship
another languishes
gnashes his wisdom teeth
another on dull seaweed
hung the laundry of his muscle
and blinks like the moon
when the wave sways
ano
ther said my foot
is the same as the floor
in sum all are discontented
left the water in a huff
the waves hummed in back
starting to work
ships hopped around
horses galloped in the fields
shots were evident and tears
sleep and death in the clouds
all the drowned men came out
scratched themselves before the sunset
and rode off on a carriage beam
some were rich some not
I said I see right away
the end will come anyway
a big vase is brought this way
with a flower and a cymbal
here’s a vase that’s clever
here’s a candle snow
salt and mousetrap
for fun and pleasure
hello universal God
here I stand a bit sullied
glory to heaven washed away
my oar memory and will
1930
[E.O.]
The Demise of the Sea
SEA DEMON
and the sea too means nothing
and the sea too is a round O
and in vain does man hop
into the deep from guns and blades
and in the sea as well the fishies go
dogs run around violins play
and seaweed sleeps like middle-aged women
and boats skip up and down like fleas
and in the sea there is as little sense
it obeys the same numbers
it is deserted and dark
maybe O sea you are a window?
maybe O sea you are a widow?
HUNTER
I too stood waist-deep in the woods
I was a student of game wisdom
sometimes bathing in strong vodka
I experienced death and boredom
beasts spun before me
various raw
but I shut the doors of the wood
to find other worlds
here I stand upon these cliffs
and hear the growling of dead waves
and the words of farewell are displayed
on my exhausted hands and arms
farewell mountains and woods
farewell badger farewell fox
ME
a dignitary saunters in
wild rose squeals in his hand
he looks at everything in high-society manner
he hiccups rarely in german
majestic and disdainful
he halts his walking on the strand
the pine tree rustles the plum tree babbles
the insane wave glistens
the boat dreams and the deep
suddenly says to him: O man
and you with state affairs laden
knowing the forked paths of public service
knowing the flummery of epaulets
could you have grown disgusted with ballet
could life be that ensanguined idol
is that you here suicidal
DIGNITARY
here I am before you
my dear deep
I see that people still desire
to purchase real estate on your bottom
Alexander Vvedensky Page 3