Of memories breaking the stream, you’re looking around, your face having with proud distressed. The name for thee — Kazimir. You’re watching the wane of the sun of salvation for thee. From beauty supposedly the mountains of your land are destroyed. No basement to hold up the figure of thee. Give me the eyes of thee! I’ll unblock the window on my head! What for, you human, your face is with proud distressed? Just a fly is the life of thee, and the wish of thee is just eatables fat. Doesn’t shine the sun of salvation for thee. Thunder will put to your knees the helmet of head of thee. Pe is the inkpot of words of thee. Trr is the wish of thee. Agalton is emaciated memory of thee. Hey, Kazimir! Where’s your table? There’s no any supposedly, and the wish of thee is Trr. Hey, Kazimir! Where’s a girlfriend of thee? Even her there’s no, and the inkpot of memory of thee is Pe. Eight years have clicked in the ears of yours, Fifty minutes has knocked in the heart of yours, Ten times the river has flowed in front of you, Has ceased the inkpot of wish of thee Trr and Pe. “Pretty stuff indeed”, you say, and the memory of thee is Agalton. Here you stand and supposedly are moving the smokes apart with your hands. Expression is waning, by proud distressed, on the face of thee, Disappears the memory of thee and the wish of thee — Trr.

Daniil Kharms, May 1935 (translated by Dmitry Cheglakov)