I hate you, rubber souls, you seem
to stretch to fit any regime.
They’ll give a yawning smile, stretched wide,
and, like an octopus, they’ll draw you tight.
A rubber man is an elusive rogue:
a fist gets sucked into the bog.
The rubber editor is scared of script,
the author is bogged down in it.
A rubber office I used to know
where “yes” was stretched to courteous “no”.
I pity you, elastic crank,
as if erased, your past is blank.
You have erased many a passion, many a thought,
but you were happy and excited, were you not?…
Above the waist you are a cowardly man,
an ace of spade, and an unlucky one…
© Copyright Alec Vagapov’s translation
(Andrei Voznesensky)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Mind Poems, Soul Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Smiling Poems, Fate & Destiny Poems, Past Poems, Passion PoemsBased on Keywords: crank, octopus, script, erased, cowardly, ace, elastic, alec, bogged, vagapov, regime