Where I was yesterday, I would not ever find, Iím recalling wall-papers and broth, Claudiaínd another girl appear in my mind. In the kitchen, I was kissing them both. In the morning, I woke up And got the reports: That the hostess I stroked And used obscene words, Porcelain cups I tossed, Roared songs like a fool, "And my father", I boasted, "Is a general full". Cried, "You all sold me out!" and teared my shirt, And was raving about on my own accord. And have danced fully naked, heated by alcohol, Howsoever could I make it, but Iíve finished it all. Yet, without it, things Only changed to the worse, Getting tired of drinks, I rushed like a mad horse. And I crashed porcelain, Turning on more and more, And flatware, the whole line, Simply threw on the floor. Meanwhile, nobody dared to object or retort, Since they all were so scared that could not say a word. To their senses, however, came, finally, and Pounced up all together and tied my hands. Then their revenge they had, And it took some long time, Since they got raving mad And did not care a dime. Just the widow, so kind, Begged to give me a chance, For it came to her mind That one lives only once. After all, I did say that I deeply repent Of all things I was doing before. "Just untie me", I said, "And the story will end!" So they did, after hiding the forks. What was happening then, One canít find proper words, All decided, began The last day of the world. As a wounded wild bore I was rushing about, Broke in thouter door And all windows knocked out. Where I was yesterday? And did I leave with grace? And if not, what shall I have to do? Whether I saved my honor, or only my face? Yet, the latter is quite black and blue. Should this story be true Even in a small part There is nothing to do But to lay and depart. Yet, the widow Ďs consoled, Mad at me no more, Took good care of my soul, So, Iím living with her.
© Vladimir Gurvich. Translation, 2013