I did this translation of one of my favourite Mayakovsky poems a long time ago now, so thought I would resurrect it. I may look at this poem on Tuesday along with maybe one or two other of his short verse. My intention to focus on his children’s poetry has fallen by the wayside because those charming poems are so full of internal rhyme and assonance and playfulness that I could not possibly produce any kind of translation that would do them justice, even if I had years to play with rather than a short four days of which at least two are taken up with less scintillating, but paid translation work.

So in the meantime, here it is:

THE SLIGHTLY NERVOUS VIOLIN

The pleading violin broke down
and suddenly cried out
so childishly
that the drum butted in:
“It’s OK, it’s OK, it’s OK!”
Then, becoming tired,
he left in the middle of the violin’s speech
slunk out onto bustling Kuznetskii
and went.
Wondering, the orchestra watched as
the violin wept
without words
without rhythm;
only somewhere
a stupid cymbal
clanged out:
“What now?”
“How so?”
And when the French horn,
bronze-curved
fat
yelled out:
“Dumbo!
Crybaby!
Get out!”
I stood
and climbed stumbling over the stands
cowering in terror at the pulpit
and somehow shouted:
“My God!”
I threw my arms around the wooden neck:
“You know, violin, we are awfully alike:
see, I also
yell -
and I can’t prove a thing!”
The musicians guffawed:
“Haha!
He’s taken a wooden bride,
dunderhead!”
But I don’t give a damn!
I’m a good guy.
“Know what, violin?
Come on -
we’ll live together!
Eh?”

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