Thread: Russian Poetry
View Single Post
  #8  
Unread 07-07-2017, 11:22 AM
Aaron Poochigian Aaron Poochigian is offline
Member
 
Join Date: May 2007
Location: New York, NY
Posts: 4,634
Default

Here is another gem, this one by Sergey Yesenin, who died at age 30 under mysterious circumstances (that is, assassinated by the Soviets) and was "much loved by the Russian criminal underworld."

The Backstreets of Moscow

The farmhouse is lonely without me,
and my old dog is gone from the door;
God sent me to die in the backstreets
and I can't go home any more.

I'm in love with this overdone city,
through it's dirty and falling apart;
it reminds me of stories at bedtime,
and the street sounds hurt my heart.

I go out for a fix after midnight,
and the fix that I'm after is fame,
so I head for a bar in the backstreets
where everyone knows my name.

It's noisy and dirty and drunken
but nobody there drinks alone--
the bartenders buy me my vodka
and the hookers cry at my poems.

My heart beats faster and faster,
and I say to the drunk by the door--
"I'm like you, my life's a disaster,
and I can't go home any more."

Oh, the farmhouse is lonely without me,
and my old dog is gone from the door;
God sent me to die in the backstreets
and I can't go home any more.
__________________
Aaron Poochigian

Last edited by Aaron Poochigian; 07-07-2017 at 11:30 AM.
Reply With Quote