God, where was I last night? On my life, I donít know, Just the wallpaper sticks in my memory; Iím sure Klavka was there with a girlfriend in tow - In the kitchen we kissed, both of them and me. In the morning they said When I stirred into life That I threatened the guests And abused the hostís wife; I stripped off, jumped and ran, Then I yelled when I sang, And I said: "My old man Is a general by rank." I ripped open my shirt and was thumping my chest Shouting: "All of you traitors have cheated me!" And they tell me I didnít let anyone rest As I played all the same chords repeatedly. I so needed to crash That I couldnít drink more, And I started to smash Their best glass on the floor; I poured wine on the walls, Then a tea set I spied Which I lobbed tray and all Through the window outside. No one dared say a word as they stared horrified, Then they managed to stage a recovery; They all piled upon me, grabbed my wrists which they tied And then had a great time making fun of me. My face covered in spit They poured booze down my throat And my belly was kicked By some great twinkle toes. A young widow who clung To her manís memory (Though we only live once) Showered pity on me. In the kitchen I paled, my face battered and sore, Then pretended that Iíd behave reasonably. "Just untie me!" I cried, "I wonít do any more!" They untied me but still hid the forks from me. Words canít start to describe How it all kicked off then - But from where did I find So much bodily strength? Like a beast whoíd been gored For my final farewell I smashed windows and doors And the balcony fell. God, where was I last night? I remain in the dark, Just the wallpaper sticks in my memory; And Iíve still got my mug with its bruises and marks - Where can I show my face with all them on me? If itís not all a lie And a third of itís true Then to lie down and die Is the best I can do; The young widow at least Could endure it somehow - She felt sorry for me And I live with her now.
© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2007