B. Ignatovich: Leningrad, by the Hermitage (1930)
I've returned to my city that I know deep in my tears,
In my veins, my swollen childhood glands.
You have returned, so swallow down now
The cod's liver oil of Leningrad's riverside lamps,
Recognize now the December day,
With its yolk of yellow mixed in with foul tar.
Petersburg! I am not yet ready to die:
You have my telephone numbers.
Petersburg! I still have addresses
By which to find dead people's voices.
I live on the back staircase, and against my temple
Bumps the bell-pull, yanked out, flesh and all,
And all night long I await my dear guests,
Rattling the shackles of door chains.
Osip Mandelshtam, 1930