THE USSR IN 1933

(From the Russian of Osip Mandelstam)

We live in a country grown eerie and strange;
Only those who are close hear the words we exchange,

But in snatches of talk (it's, of course, well-intentioned)
The Kremlin Caucasian will always be mentioned,

The ten pudgy worms that he has on his hands,
His words like great hammers that beat out commands,

The huge laughing cockroaches of his moustache,
His boot rims so polished they glitter and flash.

Surrounded by high-ranking scoundrels, he plays
With half-human sycophants' hymns in his praise.

They miaow and they snivel, they whistle and moan,
But a big manly voice is for one man alone.

He forges decrees like a blacksmith, that fly
At the groin and the forehead, the temple and eye,

And enjoys executions as something to treasure:
If he could, he would hug them, they give him such pleasure.

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