Стихотворения

Both swear I am that selfsame man
By whom their infants were begotten.
Explain, fate, if you care and can
Why one is sound and one is rotten.

Olaf may plod his stony path
And live as chastely as Susanna
Yet pick up in some Turkish bath
His quantum sat of Pox Romana.

While Haakon hikes up primrose way,
Spreeing and gleeing as he goes,
To smirk upon his latter day
Without a pimple on his nose.

I gave it up I am afraid
But if I loafed and found it fun
Remember how a coyclad maid
Knows how to take it out of one.

The more I dither on and drink
My midnight bowl of spirit punch
The firmlier I feel and think
Friend Manders came too oft to lunch.

Since scuttling ship Vikings like me
Reck not to whom the blame is laid,
Y.M.C.A., V.D., T.B.
Or Harbormaster of Port Said.

Blame all and none and take to task
The harlot's lure, the swain's desire.
Heal by all means but hardly ask
Did this man sin or did his sire.

The shack's ablaze. That canting scamp,
The carpenter, has dished the parson.
Now had they kept their powder damp
Like me there would have been no arson.

Nay more, were I not all I was,
Weak, wanton, waster out and out,
There would have been no world's applause
And damn all to write home about.

(April 1934)

Эпилог К «ПРИВИДЕНИЯМ» ИБСЕНА

От вас, любезные друзья,
К которым в глуби подсознанья
Спускался старый Ибсен, — я,
Тень Альвинга, прошу вниманья.

Мне затыкали глотку, но,
Став жертвой злобного навета,
Свой взгляд на драму всё равно
Я изложу в обход запрета.

Пускай не всякий остолоп
Отыщет к драме ключ. Однако
Кой-что и я, хотя не поп,
Кумекаю в вопросах брака.