Poem of the week: Her Shoes by Andrei Voznesensky (r.i.p.)
by Andrei Voznesensky (r.i.p.)
When I walk in the park or swim in the sea,
A pair of her shoes waits there on the floor.
The left one leaning on the right,
Not enough time to set them straight.
The world is pitch-black, cold and desolate,
But they are still warm, right off her feet.
The soles of her feet left the insides dark,
The gold of the trademark has rubbed off.
A pair of red doves pecking seed,
They make me dizzy, rob me of sleep.
I see the shoes when I go to the beach,
Like those of a bather drowned in the sea.
Where are you bather? The beaches are clean.
Where are you dancing? With whom do you swim?
In a world of metal, on a planet of black,
Those silly shoes look to me like
Doves perched in the path of a tank, frail
And dainty, as delicate as eggshell.