Petrov and Kamarov
Petrov: Hey, Kamarov, old chap!
Let's catch a few of these gnats!
Kamarov: No, I'm not yet up to that;
We'd do better to catch some tom-cats!
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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A Song
We shall close our eyes,
O people! O people!
We shall open our eyes,
O warriors! O warriors!
Lift us up above the sea,
O angels! O angels!
Drown the enemy under the sea,
O demons! O demons!
We have closed our eyes,
O people! O people!
We have opened our eyes,
O warriors! O warriors!
Give us strength to fly over the sea,
O birds! O birds!
Give us courage to die under the sea,
O fish! O fish!
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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The Red-Haired Man
There was a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears.
Neither did he have any hair, so he was called red-haired theoretically.
He couldn't speak, since he didn't have a mouth. Neither did he have a nose.
He didn't even have any arms or legs. He had no stomach and he had no back and he had no spine and he had no innards whatsoever. He had nothing at all!
Therefore there's no knowing whom we are even talking about.
In fact it's better that we don't say any more about him.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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A Romance
He looks at me with a madman's eyes -
It's your house and porch I know so well.
He gives me a kiss with his crimson lips -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
He brought me a bouquet of crimson carnations -
It's your austere face I know so well.
He asked in return for a single kiss -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
He touched me with his finger bearing a dark ring -
It is your dark ring I know so well.
Together we tumbled down on a Turkish divan -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
He looks at me with a madman's eyes -
Dwindle away, o you stars, and fade, o you moon!
He gives me a kiss with his crimson lips -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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First Poem From The
Pyotr Pavlovich (entering the room):
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
I am carrying someone's elbow
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
Where's Professor De Dispenchin?
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
Where on Earth are office hours?
If this little clockie dangling
Its two weights a-reaching down
Oldish clockie while still pending
Flew an arc without a frown
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
I broke down the rhythm of time
Carabeester on a booster
Works instead of Zdagger Upper
Hand is stretched ever farther
Yielding something arrow-handed
From one minute to another
Rushing blindly as if branded
Right from milk-white clockface down
[...] Read more
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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Sleep Teases A Man
Markov took off his boots and, with a deep breath, lay down on the divan.
He felt sleepy but, as soon as he closed his eyes, the desire for sleep immediately passed. Markov opened his eyes and stretched out his hand for a book. But sleep again came over him and, not even reaching the book, Markov lay down and once more closed his eyes. But, the moment his eyes closed, sleepiness left him again and his consciousness became so clear that Markov could solve in his head algebraical problems involving equations with two unknown quantities.
Markov was tormented for quite some time, not knowing what to do: should he sleep or should he liven himself up? Finally, exhausted and thoroughly sick of himself and his room, Markov put on his coat and hat, took his walking cane and went out on to the street. The fresh breeze calmed Makarov down, he became rather more at one with himself and felt like going back home to his room.
Upon going into his room, he experienced an agreeable bodily fatigue and felt like sleeping. But, as soon as he lay down on the divan and closed his eyes, his sleepiness instantly evaporated.
In a fury, Markov jumped up from his divan and, hatless and coatless, raced off in the direction of Tavrichesky Park.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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I Love Sensual Women
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual enjoyment.
The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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An Evening Song To She Who Exists By My Name
Daughter of the daughter of the daughters of the daughter Pe
foreto the apple you ate of yee
beguiling Adam's heights foreto you favorite daughter of the daughter of Pe
being the Mother of the world and the world itself and the child of the world being
open the eye of the soul of grain
open the shores and do not turn yee head about
open the fallen shadows of thrones to the larch
open through Angels singing birds
open the sighing breath in the air of the sown winds
that call you down to them that call you
that love you
that yellow find yee in life.
The steam bath of your faces
the steam bath of your faces
foreto opening memory's window take a look around what is situated in the distance
take a count of the moving and the restless
and count out on your hand A those restless ones
those restless ones foreto taking from movement accepting life
[...] Read more
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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But The Artist...
But the artist sat the nude model on the table and moved her legs apart. The girl hardly resisted and merely covered her face with her hands.
Amonova and Strakhova said that first the girl should have been taken off to the bathroom and washed between her legs, as any whiff of such an aroma was simply repulsive.
The girl wanted to jump up but the artist held her back and asked her to take no notice and sit there, just as he had placed her. The girl, not knowing what she was supposed to do, sat back down again.
The artist and his female colleagues took their respective seats and began sketching the nude model. Petrova said that the nude model was a very seductive woman, but Strakhova and Amonova said that she was rather plump and indecent.
Zolotogromov said that this was what made her seductive, but Strakhova said that this was simply repulsive, and not at all seductive.
-- Look -- said Strakhova -- ugh! It's pouring out of her on to the table cloth. What is there seductive about that, when I can sniff the smell off her from here.
Petrova said that this only showed her feminine strength. Abel'far blushed and agreed. Amonova said she had seen nothing like it, that you get to the highest point of arousal and it still wouldn't secrete like this girl did. Petrova said that, faced with that, one could get aroused oneself and that Zolotogromov must already be aroused.
Zolotogromov agreed that the girl was having quite an effect on him. Abel'far sat there red in the face and she was breathing heavily.
-- However, the air in this room is becoming unbearable -- said Strakhova. Abel'far fidgeted on her chair and then leapt up and went out of the room.
-- There -- said Petrova -- you see the result of female seductiveness. It even acts on the ladies. Abel'far has gone off to put herself to rights. I can feel that I will soon have to do the same thing.
-- That -- said Amonova -- only shows the advantage we thin women possess. Everything with us is always as it should be. But both you and Abel'far are splendiferous ladies and you have to keep yourselves very much in check.
[...] Read more
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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The Hunters
Six men went hunting, but only four returned.
Two, in fact, hadn't returned.
Oknov, Kozlov, Stryuchkov and Motylkov returned home safely, but Shirokov and Kablukov perished on the hunt.
OKNOV went around very upset the whole day and wouldn't even talk to anyone. Kozlov walked round behind Oknov with great persistence, badgering him with all manner of questions, by which means he drove Oknov to a point of extreme irritation.
KOZLOV: Do you fancy a smoke?
OKNOV: No!
KOZLOV: Do you want me to bring you that thing over there?
OKNOV: No!
KOZLOV: Perhaps you'd like me to tell you a funny story?
OKNOV: No!
KOZLOV: Well, do you want a drink? I've got some tea and cognac here.
OKNOV: Not content with just having smashed you over the skull with this stone, I'll rip your leg off as well.
STRYUCHKOV AND MOTYLKOV: What are you doing? What are you doing?
KOZLOV: Pick me up from the ground.
MOTYLKOV: Don't you get excited now, that wound will heal.
KOZLOV: And where's Oknov?
OKNOV (Ripping off Kozlov's leg): I'm right here.
KOZLOV: Oh, my gosh golly!
STRYUCHKOV AND MOTYLKOV: Seems he's ripped the leg off him as well!
OKNOV: Ripped it off and thrown it over there!
[...] Read more
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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