A Cloud In Trousers - part IV

Maria! Maria! Maria! Let me in, Maria! I can't suffer the streets! You won't? You'd rather wait until my cheeks cave in, until, pawed by everyone, I arrive, stale, toothlessly mumbling that today I am "amazingly honest." Maria, as you see my shoulders droop. In the streets men will prick the blubber of four-story craws, thrust out their little eyes, worn in forty years of wear and tear to snigger at my champing again! on the hard crust of yesterday's caress. Rain has drowned the sidewalks in sobs; the puddle-prisoned rougue, all drenched, licks the corpse of the streets by cobbles clobbered, but on his grizzled eyelashes yes! on the eyelashes of frosted icicles, tears gush from his eyes yes! from the drooping eyes of the drainpipes. The rain's snout licked all pedestrians; but fleshy athletes, gleaming, passed by in carriages; people burst asunder, gorged to the marrow, and grease dripped through the cracks; and the cud of old ground meat, together with the pulp of chewed bread, dribbled down in a turbid stream from the carriages. Maria! How stuff a gentle word into their fat-bulged ears? A bird sings for alms, hungry and resonant. But I am a man, Maria, a simple man, coughed up by consumptive night on the dirty hand of the Presnya. Maria, do you want such a man? Let me in, Maria! With shuddering fingers I shall grip the doorbell's iron throat! Maria! The paddocks of the streets run wild. The fingers of the mob mark my neck. Open up! I'm hurt! Look -my eyes are stuck with ladies' hatpins! You've let me in. Darling! Don't be alarmed if a mountain of women with sweating bellies squats on my bovine shoulders through life I drag millions of vast pure loves and a million million of foul little lovekins. Don't be afraid if once again in the inclemency of betrayal, I'll cling to thousands of pretty faces "that love Mayakovsky!" for this is the dynasty of queens who have ascended the heart of a madman. Maria, come closer! Whether in unclothed shame or shudders of apprehension, do yield me the unwithered beauty of your lips: my heart and I have never got as far as May, and in my expended life there is only a hundredth April. Maria! The poet sings sonnets to Tiana, but I am all flesh, a man every bit I simply ask for your body as Christians pray: "Give us this day our daily bread!" Maria - give! Maria! I fear to forget your name as a poet fears to forget some word sprung in the torment of the night, mighty as god himself. Your body I shall cherish and love as a soldier, amputated by war, unwanted and friendless, cherishes his last remaining leg. Maria you won't have me? you won't have me! The once again, darkly and dully, my heart I shall take, with tears besprinkled, and carry it, like a dog carries to its kennel a paw which a train ran over. With the heart's blood I gladden the road, and flowering it sticks to the dusty tunic. The sun, like Salome, will dance a thousand times round the earth - the Baptist's head. And when my quantity of years has finished its dance, a million bloodstains will lie spread on the path to my father's house. I shall clamber out filthy (from sleeping in ditches); I'll stand at his side and, bending, shall speak in his ear: "Listen, mister god! Isn't it tedious to dip your puffy eyes every day into a jelly of cloud? Let us¡ªwhy not start a merry-go-round on the tree of what is good and evil! Omnipresent, you will be in each cupboard, and with such wines we'll grace the table than even frowning Apostle Peter will want to step out in the ki-ka-pou. In Eden again we'll lodge little Eves: command- and this very night, for you, from the boulevards, I'll round up all the most beautiful girls. Would you like that? You would not? You shake your head, curlylocks? You're frowning, grey brows? You believe this creature with wings behind you knows what love is? I too am an angel; I was one with a sugar lamb's eye I gazed; but I'll give no more presents to mares of ornamental vases made of tortured Sevres. Almighty, you concocted a pair of hands, arranged for everyone to have a head: but why didn't you see to it that one could without torture kiss, and kiss and kiss?! I though you a great big god almighty, but you're a dunce, a minute little godlet. Watch me stoop and reach for the shoemaker's knife in my boot. Swindlers with wings, huddle in heaven! Ruffle your feathers in shuddering flight! I'll rip you open, reeking of incense, wide open from here to Alaska! Let me in! You can't stop me. I may be wrong or right, but I'm as calm as I can be. Look¡ again they've beheaded the stars, and the sky is bloody with carnage! Hey, you! Heaven! Off with your hat! I am coming! Not a sound. The universe sleeps, its huge paw curled upon a star-infested ear.