They tell me, shaking their heads: <br />'You should be kinder... You are somehow-furious.' <br />I used to be kind. It didn’t last long. <br />Life was breaking me hitting me in the teeth. <br />I lived like a silly puppy. <br />They would hit me- and again I would turn the other cheek. <br />I’d wag my tail of complacency, <br />and then, to make me furious, <br />someone chopped it off with a single blow. <br />And now I will tell you about fury, <br />about that fury with which you go to a party <br />and make polite conversation <br />while dropping sugar into your tea with tongs. <br />And when you offer me more tea <br />I’m not bored- I merely study you. <br />I submissively drink my tea from the saucer, <br />and, hiding my claws, stretch out my hand. <br />And I’ll tell you something else about fury. <br />When before the meeting they whisper: <br />'Give it up... <br />You’re young, better you write, <br />don’t jump into a fight for a while...' <br />Like hell I’ll give in! <br />To be furious at falsehood- is real goodness! <br />I’m warning you- that fury hasn’t left me yet. <br />And you ought to know- I’ll stay infuriated for a long time. <br />There’s none of my former shyness left in me. <br />After all- life is interesting when you’re furious! <br /> <br /> <br />1955 <br />Translated by Tina Tupikina-Glaessner, Geoffrey Dutton, and Igor Mezhakoff-Koriakin (revised)<br /><br />Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fury-8/
