I Grew Up In The

Poetry Is What Is Gained In Translation.

The Delirium And Horror Of The East. The Dusty Catastrophe Of Asia. Green Only On The Banner Of The Prophet. Nothing Grows Here Except Mustaches.

Persecution Mania Is Still Around. In Your Writing, In Your Exchanges With People, Meeting People Who Are In Russian Affairs, Russian Literature, Etcetera.

Who Included Me Among The Ranks Of The Human Race?

The Government, The State, They're Just Objects Of Jokes Rather Than Serious Consideration. I Can't Possibly Take Them Seriously.