Not me, I left Russia,
My girls walk around sniffling.
Now I sow my seeds
On foreign Elysian fields.

Someone mumbled on the the streetcar in Presna:
"He’s no more, finally they shut him up.
Go let him write his weird songs over there
About the Court of Versailles!"

I hear from behind me an exchange of news:
"Yes, not that one, that one left, just ask!"
Ach, not that one, they say, and nudge with their elbows
And sit on their knees in the taxi.

But the one, with whom I sat in Magadan,
My little friend still from the civil war
He says, I should write, Vanya,
Its boring, Vanya, come to me brother!

And whyever would I ask to return,
I debased myself, bustled, and begged.
Nonsense, I won’t return, probably,
Because I never left.

Who would have believed that I’d get a present,
That there’d be a happy ending, like in the movies,
Take back your Arc d’Triumph,
Fly to the factories of Reno!

I laugh, I’m dying of laughter,
How can they believe these ravings?
Don’t worry, I didn’t leave,
And don’t hope - I won’t go!