Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Aleksandr Vvedensky: Kuprianov and Natasha


Kuprianov and his dear lady Natasha after walking those swinish guests to the door prepare for bed.
kuprianov
said, taking off his majestic tie
Frightening the dark the candle burns,
it has silver bones.
Natasha,
why do you stroll about yearning,
the guests are probably for certain long since gone.
I even forgot, Marousia,
Sonia,
o darling let us go to bed,
I want to dig around in you
in search of interesting things.
It’s not for nothing they say we have different constitutions.
natasha
(taking off her blouse)
Kuprianov, there’s little sense in this candle,
I fear it wouldn’t have lit up a poodle,
and there’s two of us here.
I fear I will howl
from anguish, passion, terror, thought,
I fear you o mistress shirt,
you that hides me within,
I am entangled in you like a fly.
kuprianov
(taking off his jacket)
Soon you and I, Natasha
will embark on our funny recreation.
The two of us, the two of us
will occupy ourselves with procreation.
We will become like tuna.
natasha
(taking off her skirt)
O God, I’m left without a skirt.
What am I to do in my painted pants.
Meanwhile on chairs stood goblets, rather silver and pert,
wine blackened like a monk
and the moribund worm twitched.
I resume.
I feel even shame.
I’m becoming naked like the sky,
nothing is visible as yet,
but soon a star will glitter.
It’s so disgusting.

kuprianov
(taking off his pants)
Soon I will rise by your side
almost naked like the tide.
As I recall,
at instances like these I felt enraptured
when I beheld a woman’s fountainhead
green or blue
but it was red.
I’d giggle myself blind
stroking the satin hemispheres of her behind.
Yes, I was happy.
And I thought woman is a reed,
she is almost human,
an unattainable duck.
Hurry up please.
natasha
(taking off her pants)
Shedding my plumage
I think of how I’m causing stimulation
to your olfactory glands
and optical nerves.
You gorge yourself upon my earthly image
and can foretaste the pleasure
of standing upon me like a tower two o’clock.
You glimpse the hair through my shirt,
divine the beating of my wave,
but why then does my mind cloud up,
I’m half asleep like boredom. ...
September 1931

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