LENINGRAD

By Osip Mandelshtam

(December 1930)

I've returned to my city, I know it to tears,

Tiny veins, and to glands swollen up like a kid's.

You've returned here; so swallow then, fast as you might,

All the fish oil of Leningrad's riverine lights,

Recognize then, come on, the decembery day

Where an ominous tar yolky yellows would splay.

Oh, but Petersburg! No. I'm not ready to die,

You still hold all the telephone numbers of mine.

I still carry - Oh, Petersburg! - every address

Where to look up the voices of everyone's corpse.

On blacks stairs I reside, and my temple is hit

By the buzz of a doorbell ripped out with its meat,

And all night, while awaiting the dearest of guests,

With the shackles of door-chains I fiddle and mess.