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In An Alien Land
In an alien land I grieved,
But I'm back in Moscow now;
Yet, the ingrate that I am,
Not a shade of joy I show.
Bitter memories are gone
But if my choice had a free hand,
Festively a cosmopolitan
I'd rather live in a foreign land
October 17,1944.
The Raven
Once at night, in time of terror, I was reading Thomas More,
Less ignoring his Utopia might be laid at my own door.
In the long, dull exposition I was seeking confirmation
Of arrests for vagrancy in the land exempt from war,
Since this sort of vagrancy necessitates no form of war.
Is he deep, this Thomas More?
... And I pondered on the nation in whose land debased was freedom...
Suddenly I heard a rapping ... Who so late? A frightful bore!
Racked with doubt and sorrow , whispered: "It could hardly be a friend;
All my friends have been imprisoned... Must be thief come to the door."
In ecstatic expectation I called: "Thief, come to the door!"
Someone croaked out: "Nevermore!"
All was clear. Of course, it was the ancient Raven. In great haste,
I unlatched the window, saw the stately Raven of before!
In he rushed impatiently, and stared about the premises...
In confusion I informed him: "You may sit here on the floor;
In this house we have no Pallas, please be seated on the floor.
There's the floor, and nothing more!
Sullen and ungainly, like a brooding fowl he settled down...
Somehow Pallas was unearthed ... I have a heap of bookish lore!
Fluttering , he perched once more; and, black as pitch in his appearance,
Blinked there like a drowsy demon, pecking at the title "More"-
Suddenly arroused, his beak kept pecking at the title "More,"
And pronounced he: "Nevermore!"
I was starled, O, Plutonian! Like a Teuton, taciturn!
Perched above, with bitter words my conduct subtly you deplore!
Stop grimacing, wizzard bird; reveal at least half of your mind;
Your abyss, how penetrate? For I have feared since time before
Yet another such abyss in realms corrupted heretofore...
Croaked the Raven : "Nevermore!"
Raven, Raven! All the planet waits the warrior, not the poet;
In Plutonia you may not quite understand our discord sore!
O, what genius of tomorrow will compose about our strivings
In this age a crown of creations, making cunning use of folklore;
And most likely take as subject our own fancy-fashioned folklore!
And croaked the Raven: Nevermore!
O Prophet, plainly no mere bird! Impatience has a limit;
Then Voltaire comes in most handy, bombs and hatchets, what is more.
Now that shame has made us pallid - may it come, though not too soon,
Since the terror's at its' summit! - will it come, this Thermidor?
... Danton fell, and Robespierre was stricken down by Thermidor?
Croaked the Raven : Nevermore!
O, Prophet, plainly no mere bird! Is there no foreign country,
Where to argue freely about art portends no peril sore?
Shall I ever reach that region, if such be, and not get shot?
In Peru or Netherlands, I'd solve that old contentious chore
Of the realist and romantic still disputing as before!
Croaked the Raven: Nevermore!
" Never, never!" quoth the bird ... That foreign land's beyond the sea...
Hereupon in burst two soldiers, drowsy doorman and a major...
I did not click my heels before them, merely spat into a face,
But the Raven, somber Raven, simply croaked out: Nevermore!
Now I push and push a barrow, keep repeating Nevermore!
There's no rising ....Nevermore!
February 21, 1948.
There is no freedom
"There is no freedom there never was" ...
Joke on, my son: I press your hand:
Smite down their power! These jokes amuse
And horrify a father's mind ...
Big children do not fear the whip,
And adults lock them in prison;
But this has no effect at all;
They just don't care, who still are children.
Joke on my son. Mere sound and fury, yet
I love your fresh and caustic wit,
though the foe will ridicule your pranks.
As for the friends, they ceased to care
For what they cannot justify:
The anger of an adult babe!
February 3, 1950.
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