Alexander Vvedensky: An Invitation for Me to Think

The Joyful Man Franz the joyful man Franz                                       maintained protuberancefrom start to finishhe never came down the porch                        measured stars named flowers                         believed I am you        affixing number to timehumming in rhymehe died and was deceasedlike the shotgun and the cystfrightened, he would see a skirt                                               as he fantasized asleepand would sail at the helmto a melancholy elm                                        where squads of beetles           performed about-facesshowed their mustaches to godspronounced themselves to be clocks               gods howled out of tuneand tumbled down from the moonthere in luxurious grassan ant was being stampedand the glowworm, unkind kinglit up a large lamp        silently the lightnings flashedlanguid animals snorted                                   unhurriedly growled     the waves that lay on the sand            where? where did all this happenwhere did this location roamI forgot, the sun will saysinking into the unknownall we see is the exit     from the schoolbag of Franzof the contemporary of manthe psychologist of the divinethis wizard announcesthe party beginsidle stars crowd inboring people smoke   lonely thoughts run aroundeverything is sad and pointlessGod what kind of party is thisit’s the christmas of death or somethinghens step around gulfsthe hall hops with cupidsand the iron steam-enginemeditates upon cow-pattiesFranz awoke from his nightmarewhy are all these things here?the valet stood here like a palmbefore the meadows of eternityshort as a reedthe collar sleeps upon a chaira branch of keroseneoverlooks the twilightanswer me wizardis this a dream? I’m a foolbut where is that wizardwhere is the psychologist of the divinehe counts songs in his sleepgrowing bald as a treehe can’t come herewhere the real world standshe calmly multiplies the shadeshe does not shimmer in the skyTurks give me my carriagethe joyful Franz calledgive me the rocket of Oberthgive me horsepowerI will ride around the worldin this fascinating cabI will orchestrate a raceof the star with the prisoner earthtouch the ceiling with my headI’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 scytheyou’re an irate serpent my childless deathhello Franz will sadly say                                             each of your hairs holdsmore thoughts than a potmore sleep than a powdertake out your saberand slice open my shirtthen slice open my skin           glue me to the bed                                           all the same shall learning triumph                  I’ll announce as I gurgleand create a grandsonmy substitute in the form of a lamphe will stand and glowwrite essays for schooldeath said you are a flowerand fled to the eastFranz remained aloneto contemplate protuberancemeasure stars name flowerscompose I and youlying in absolute silencein the empty heights                 1929-1930[Trans. Ostashevsky]  Snow Lies snow liesearth flieslights flip in pigments night has comeon a rug of stars it liesis it night or a demon?like an inane leversleeps the insane riverit is not awareof the moon everywhereanimals gnash their caninesin black gold cagesanimals bang their headsanimals are the ospreys of saintsthe world flies around the universein the vicinity of starsdashes deathless like a swallowseeks a home a nestthere’s no nest a holethe universe is alonemaybe rarely in flighttime will pass as poor as nightor a daughter in a bedwill grow sleepy and then deadthen a crowd of relationswill rush in and cry alasin steel houseswill howl loudlyshe’s gone and buriedhopped to paradise big-belliedGod God have pitygood God on the precipicebut God said Go playand she entered paradisethere spun any which way numbers houses and seasthe inessential existsin vain, they perceivedthere God languished behind barswith no eyes no legs no armsso that maiden in tearssees all this in the heavenssees various eaglesappear out of nightand fly inaneand flash insanethis is so depressingthe dead maiden will sayserenely surprisedGod will saywhat’s depressing what’sdepressing, God, lifewhat are you talking aboutwhat O noon do you knowyou press pleasure and Paristo your breast like two pearsyou swell like musicyou’re swell like a statuethen the wood howledin final despairit spies through the taresa meandering ribbonlittle ribbon a cratecurvy Lena of fateMercury was in the airspinning like a topand the bearsunned his coatpeople also walked aroundbearing fish on a platterbearing on their handsten fingers on a ladderwhile all this went onthat maiden restedrose from the dead and forgotyawned and saidyou guys, I had a dreamwhat can it meandreams are worse than macaronithey make crows double overI was not at all dying I was gaping and lying undulating and cryingI was so terrifyinga fit of lethargywas had by me among the effigieslet’s enjoy ourselves reallylet’s gallop to the cinemaand she sped off like an assto satisfy her innermostlights glint in the heavenis it night or a demon                        January 1930[Trans. Ostashevsky]