Alexei Kruchenykh

Pomade, 1913. Illustrated by Mikhail Larionov.

Dir bul shchyl

three poems written
in my own language
deferring from others’,
their words have no
definite meaning

1.   Dir bul shchyl
ubeshshchur
skum
vy so bu
r l ez

2
Frot fron yt
I don’t argue I’m in love
black language
the wild tribe had it
too

3
Ta sa mae
kha ra bau
saem siyu oke
rainoke mola
al

The flowing moon
Now looks out
Now hides
A quarrel – shhh!
Lustra’s tearing the
stormclouds apart
that one’s dressed flowing-cloudlike
bread’s out on the table
cabbage soup
They say a nude woman’s
beautiful in the moonlight
The voice is deaf faces are red
Snacking mushrooms drinking
Spattering saliva scurrying
Ah where can I skedaddle to get away from you
The sky cleverly covering
with dove-blue grey rags
the whole night Busy with caviar
the sky’s choking and smelling of
the color of dove and udders
O love me pity
me
Eitherway I’m bleeding
me and you
Eitherway I’m already crucified
by the steppe and the willows

(First published in Kruchenykh’s Pomade, 1913)