Kindness should have fists.
-M. Svetlov (in conversation)

Fury

They tell me,
              shaking their heads:
"You should be kinder...
                         You are somehow--furious."
I used to be kind.
                   It didn’t last long.
Life was breaking me
                     hitting me in the teeth.
I lived
        like a silly puppy.
They would hit me--
                    and again I would turn the other cheek.
I’d wag my tail of complacency,
                                and then, to make me furious,
someone chopped it off with a single blow.
And now I will tell you
                        about fury,
about that fury
                with which you go to a party
and make polite conversation
while dropping sugar into your tea with tongs.
And when you offer me more tea
I’m not bored--
                I merely study you.
I submissively drink my tea from the saucer,
and, hiding my claws,
                      stretch out my hand.
And I’ll tell you something else about fury.
When before the meeting they whisper:
                                      "Give it up...
You’re young,
              better you write,
don’t jump into a fight
                        for a while..."
Like hell
          I’ll give in!
To be furious at falsehood--
                             is real goodness!
I’m warning you--
                  that fury hasn’t left me yet.
And you ought to know--
                        I’ll stay infuriated for a long time.
There’s none of my former shyness left in me.
After all--
            life is interesting
                                when you’re furious!

1955
Translated by Tina Tupikina-Glaessner, Geoffrey Dutton, and Igor Mezhakoff-Koriakin (revised)