Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices

VLADIMIR MAYAKOVSKY

VIOLIN AND SOMEHOW NERVOUS

Translated by Maya Jouravel

Translation © 1994 by Maya Jouravel


Violin was torn to pieces while begging,
And then broke in tears
So childishly,
That the Drum couldn't handle it longer,
«It's all right, it's all right, it's all right!»
He got tired,
Not hearing out to Violin's speech — and
Sneaked out to the street of Kuznetsky —
And made off.
The orchestra looked strangely, as
Violin cried herself out —
Wordless —
Without tempo —
And only somewhere —
Just the foolish Cymbals
Were clubbing out:
«What is it?»
«How is it?»
Then when Helicon —
Copper-faced —
Sweating —
Shouted:
«Stupid!
Softy!
Wipe off!»
I got up,
Shaking crawled over notes,
Bending low under the horror of the pupitre,
For some reason cried out,
«Oh, God!»,
Threw myself over the wooden neck of hers,
«Violin, you know?
We are awfully close:
I do also
Shout —
But still can not prove anything either!»
The musicians are laughing:
«Gotcha!
He's dating a wooden girlfriend!
Smart one, ha!
I — don't give a damn!
I — am worthy!
«You know what — Violin?
Why don't we —
Move in together!
Ha?»
Ñêðèïêà èçäåðãàëàñü, óïðàøèâàÿ,
è âäðóã ðàçðåâåëàñü
òàê ïî-äåòñêè,
÷òî áàðàáàí íå âûäåðæàë:
«Õîðîøî, õîðîøî, õîðîøî!»
À ñàì óñòàë,
íå äîñëóøàë ñêðèïêèíîé ðå÷è,
øìûãíóë íà ãîðÿùèé Êóçíåöêèé
è óøåë.
Îðêåñòð ÷óæî ñìîòðåë, êàê
âûïëàêèâàëàñü ñêðèïêà
áåç ñëîâ,
áåç òàêòà,
è òîëüêî ãäå-òî
ãëóïàÿ òàðåëêà
âûëÿçãèâàëà:
«×òî ýòî?»
«Êàê ýòî?»
À êîãäà ãåëèêîí —
ìåäíîðîæèé,
ïîòíûé,
êðèêíóë:
«Äóðà,
ïëàêñà,
âûòðè!» —
ÿ âñòàë,
øàòàÿñü ïîëåç ÷åðåç íîòû,
ñãèáàþùèåñÿ ïîä óæàñîì ïþïèòðû,
çà÷åì-òî êðèêíóë:
«Áîæå!»,
áðîñèëñÿ íà äåðåâÿííóþ øåþ:
«Çíàåòå ÷òî, ñêðèïêà? Ìû óæàñíî ïîõîæè:
ÿ âîò òîæå
îðó—
à äîêàçàòü íè÷åãî íå óìåþ!»
Ìóçûêàíòû ñìåþòñÿ:
«Âëèï êàê!
Ïðèøåë ê äåðåâÿííîé íåâåñòå!
Ãîëîâà!»
À ìíå — íàïëåâàòü!
ß — õîðîøèé.
«Çíàåòå ÷òî, ñêðèïêà?
Äàâàéòå —
áóäåì æèòü âìåñòå!
À?»