ENDORSEMENT OF AN APPLICATION TO THE WRITERS’ FUND
We beg the Fund to make another grant
To the above-named author applicant.
We quite agree he writes atrociously,
But his dependents do not know that he
Lacks talent—and a third-rate author’s boys
Eat neither more nor less than Lev Tolstoi’s.
JUBILEE
The poet’s jubilee! Uncork the wine!
The man has titles and a high position.
The trouble is, he hasn’t got one line
Worth printing in a jubilee edition!
TO A FRIEND SEEKING HELP IN PUBLISHING
A BOOK I HAVE NOT READ
Friend, I’ll not leave you in the lurch,
But I, too, have my pride:
Before you rush me off to church,
I want to see the bride.
TO A POET FOND OF BORROWING
You boast fine sheep, a score or more.
But here’s the paradox:
I’ve heard the best ones bleat before
In other people’s flocks.
TO A POET FRIEND OF WHOM HIS MOTHER,
AN OLD AVAR WOMAN, SAID:
He did not talk in babyhood,
Yet understand him well I could.
Now he can talk, and write as well,
But what he means I cannot tell.
TO THE ONE AND ONLY POET
No other poet lives in your location,
A circumstance you neatly utilise.
Should anyone contest your reputation,
You’ll cease to be a poet in men’s eyes.
TO A TRANSLATOR INTO AVAR
The author views your work with awe—
That’s something to be grateful for.
But Avars think you should be hung
For murdering our mother tongue!