Current Issue 2004

Donald Backman

Katy Chiles

Amber Dean

Gregory Esplin

Rebecca Gould

Yolanda Morata

Irina Negrea

Christopher Romans

Cristina Stanciu


Translation of Boris Slutsky's "Key"

Email this article

Rebecca Gould
City University of New York

I had a room with a private entrance.
I was a bachelor and lived alone.
My friends entered at every whim.

My comrades lived with aunts
and with wives resembling aunts,
with women, fat, too thin,
tired, bored, like rain.

Getting older every year,
birthing children, daughters, sons,
monuments to insufficiency,
statues of failed lives,
of long waiting lines.

My comrades loved their wives.

They asked me many times:

"Why don't you marry, you playboy?
what do you know of domestic bliss?

" My comrades didn't love their wives.
Girls with supple hands pleased them,
with eyes
in which, when you find yourself reflected,
You fall,
you fall,
like a rock.
However, I was careful.
I asked no stupid questions.
I simply provided the key to the lock.
They asked me -- I gave

Works Cited

[i] "Kliuch," Sobranie Sochinenii, ed. Y. Boldireva (Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia Literatura, 1991), 1: 158.

Back to top







Home | Back Issues | blog | Store | Links | Submissions | About | Contact

© 2004 Comparative Literature Student Association at San Francisco State University
design: landisdesigns.com