Julian Tuwim (1894 - 1953 / Łódź / Poland)
The Saturday Night Song
Hooray, the echo will resound throughout the wide square,
When a sincere drunkard's song emanates from my throat;
Tonight I'll be lapping up a smoky pub's atmosphere,
I'm bloody well going to get sloshed, buzzed and somewhere float.
My spirit gorged, I'll bang the table with my strong fist,
Searching for a little brightness from these gloomy days-
Take no more you soft touch! Liberty! May the vile twists
Of my ricketed brats in the garret rot away.
I'll drink-smash everything in sight but never mind,
I'll pay myself! Can I not afford to break a glass or two?
I can, you bastards! With the rubles from my black grind
I could even have two dozen mistresses to woo.
I smash-because I feel like it! Hang it all! Freedom! I've power!
Run, spirit, till dawn. Out of the way. Today we rule!
And when I leave the pub with hands in the pocket of my trousers
I'll stagger wide down the drunken street, nobody's fool!
Comments about this poem (The Saturday Night Song by Julian Tuwim )
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