Translated by Daniel Weissbort, appears in Twentieth Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Steel
I care nothing for battle odes,
The enchantment of elegiac conceits.
For me, all poetry must be malapropos,
Not as people would have life be.
If you but knew out of what rubbish
Poetry grows, quite unabashed,
Like the yellow dandelion by the fence,
Like burdock and goosefoot.
An angry outcry, the bracing smell of tar,
A mysterious mold on the wall …
And already the verses ring out, impassioned, tender,
To pleasure you and me.