Thursday, August 11, 2005

Mayakovsky

CONCERN FOR HORSES

Vladimir Mayakovsky

Hoofs sang,

Stamping the ground:

‘Grot,

Grand,

Groomed.’

Ice-Shod,

wind-hounded,

the street

skidded underfoot.

Suddenly,

a horse slumped on its croup

At once,

all those drifters flare-trousered

gathered in force.

Laughter

spilled and spouted:

‘A horse tumbled!

Look at the horse!’

The Kuznetsky rumbled

Only I

didn't join my voice in the sneering

I came nearer

and saw

the eye of the horse…

The street, tipped over,

continued on its course…

I came nearer

and saw

a large tear

roll down the muzzle

glisten

and disappear

And some sort of fellow animal pain

Splashed out of me

And flowed in whispering

“Horse, please…

Horse, listen,

why should you think you are any worse?

Darling,

we are all

essentially horses,

each and every one of us is something of a horse.’

Maybe

the old one

didn’t need my comfort,

maybe

my thought

was too effete,

only the horse tried hard,

neighed loud,

rose to its feet ,

and made a start.

Its tail playing

in glittering coat,

it trotted indomitably toward its stall.

It suddenly felt

it was still a coalt

and life was definitely worth living again.

1918

No comments: