Sveta Litvak
I catch the smell of beans
I catch the smell of beans
Sit silently in a chair
I’d like to add some salt
I’d like to cook some noodles
I’d like to attend a meeting
The one in the Mutualité
O, take away from me
What’s standing there on the stove
I’ve already learnt how
To listen to Maurice Thorez
To look at Fernand Léger –
to scrub spuds and slice them up
Proudly to demonstrate
With a little bag and wearing a wig
I was born a foreigner
In Russia in my own small town
A thread of scattered beads
A bow that’s untied itself
It’s not just a question of taste
But brains and talent as well
Weakly the flame of the burner
Flares up and dies away
The urchin’s a pain
Skittish my festive steed
Translated by Daniel Weissbort
Page(s) 121
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