Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices

OSIP MANDELSHTAM


Translated by Maya Jouravel

Translation by Maya Jouravel, 1994-1999



The inexpressible chagrin...
...No grass ever grows...
Children's stories...



* * *


The inexpressible chagrin
Its two enormous eyes uncovered.
When spattering its crystal out
The flower vase awoke from dream.

Intoxicated, is the place,
With languor what a tasty potion!
Amazing: such a tiny kingdom
Has yet devoured so much peace

A sip of red wine in a glass,
A little sip of sun in May lit,
And cracking off a tiny biscuit,
The tiniest fingers snow-white glance.

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* * *

...No grass ever grows
On the flat moon surface;
Making baskets for us
Is their only purpose --
Making baskets from straws,
Weightless basket service.

On the moon -- twilight dooms
Houses are neater
On the moon -- no homes
Simply pigeon quarters
Bluish homes -- bluish homes --
Wondrous pigeon quarters...

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* * *

Childrens stories are all I shall read;
Childrens fancies are all I shall cherish;
Let all matters dispel, worries perish;
From deep sorrow, rise up, strong and freed.
I am tired of living to death.
No longer lifes beauties are welcomed.
But I love my misfortunate homeland
For I havent known anything else.

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