Yurii Andrukhovych

Vodka fatally depraves
male company.
There must be at least one woman -
...

I could even wash the locomotives
at Keleti station -
just to be nearer Buda with her green
...

They say that no one comes here in January.
Not a soul in the palace or the outbuildings,
padlocks on the doors, garden plants in bags,
...

In German it's called
Hochsitz.
That kind of wooden cabin on stilts
...

….until finally I realised:
I'd been sitting there for a good half hour
...

The same smells, the same
scented candles, and various other contraptions:
...

we search for the most esoteric knowledge
climb ladders to reach highest sections in the stacks
...

Today they talked again about the masturbator.
Summer heat attracts plenty of womenfolk to the riverbank,
...

Having hung on the door the triangular sign
with the words Do not disturb please
...

We made such an excellent couple
that we would have been perfect for a TV commercial.
...

India begins with dreams about setting out
on an eastbound journey. These dreams have plots, they are
...

I'd like to donate a rib
to an anatomy workshop.
...

"Look! One guy admitted
that he's scared of death!" -
...

Kikabidze, she said, firmly,
His name was Kikabidze.
...

ere we long to board the right train
following the maze of signs we hasten
through cramped corridors between bundles and suitcases
we don't have time to look up where under the spherical vault
hangs down dusty and dingy
florentine chandeliers
we compress sweaty copper coins like springs
we form disorderly lines
a gypsum wall-mounted ten-year-old putto is above us
sometimes blowing into his gilt horn
we glance at a bored blonde girl
who eats an apple leaning against a column
finally we reach the platform
impregnated with beer and roses
we kiss someone we beg them not to forget we hesitate
if we're in a right seat
until we release ourselves from the earth
and softly depart
soothed we look through the windows at the first trees
turning yellow in the suburban woods
...

we use dead languages
helpless we walk along the retorts of astrolabes and
skulls
from the heights of ramparts we listen
to the clanging of St. Nicolas we listen
on pavement to the eloquent rhetorician Cicero filthy with chalk
during medical lessons we peep into the eyes of
dead people
we hide tobacco and sleazy sketches in our pockets
in the morning we obediently follow chaplain
we fling little philosophical stones into cats
at noon the wittiest syllogisms and formulas
run away from us because
on the other side of the steep damp wall
a mellifluous maid of assistant mayor
hangs up just laundered
wet dripping
underwear
...