Brandishing a platinum baton (a man with frayed nerves)

Poem

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Sergey Kalmykov

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Brandishing

a platinum baton,

the majordomo,

dressed in a platinum-and-

rose suit

embroidered with silk

threads, announced

to those gathered in

the room:

the Grand Master

of Unidimensional Arts

and Doctor of Painting,

 a  m a n  w i t h  f r a y e d  n e r v e s. 

 

A dapper

thousand-year-old young man 

ran into the room,

slightly cocking

his head, he ran up

to the hostess

and boldly introduced himself: 

the Grand Master of Unidimensional

Arts and Doctor 

of Painting – t h e  i n v e n t o r

o f  g o l d e n  t u m b l e 

w e e d s.

 

Whispers of surprise

(and admiration)

echoed around

the crowded

parlor.

The thousand-year-old young man

immediately

began to present

his ideas.

The guests froze 

in their seats

in poses of

sincere attention 

and admiration.

The man with 

the nerves spoke 

at length.

His successes were

literally dizzying.

The hostess treated 

him to candies.

 

Little Leda

Lead him by

the sleeve

as they descended to

the garden grounds.

After circling the pond, they

entered a gazebo

covered in ivy.

In the middle of the gazebo

there was a round 

wooden table,

on the table was a glass,

and in the glass –

a blue rose.

The girl took out

a box from under the bench

and opened it

with a small key.

In the box lay 

nine pale-blue eggs, each 

of the size of

a pigeon

 egg.

-What are those?

- the great artist 

asked with interest.

 

At that moment, 

a long-faced modest

girl, a friend

of Leda, came to the gazebo,

she held in her hands a little

straw basket,

covered with a knit

napkin.

The girl said 

that she brought

 another four eggs.

 

She took off the napkin,

took the eggs out of the basket

and placed them in 

the box.

– She was at the farm of her

second cousin’s aunt, 

conducting experiments.

The great artist 

was listening attentively 

to what the girls

were telling him.

– Bzz – bzz – bzz.

Bzz – bzz – bzz – buzzed

the girls 

into his ears.

   

Suddenly unexpected

shots rang out. Thirteen 

pistol shots 

from a toy 

gun. Thirteen 

eggs cracked. From

them hatched

thirteen agile 

bees. 

And immediately they 

started flying 

and buzzing over 

everyone’s head.

Fearing 

that the bees might

sting his

face, the great

artist took out 

of his pocket

a vial filled with

some kind of pinkish

greenish 

liquid, and 

poured the contents 

of the vial on 

the steps of the gazebo.

 

- We must divert

their attention – he

muttered, pocketing

the vial labeled in violet ink:

“The latest tincture 

of Leonardo da Vinci.”

Smelling the spicy,

 pungent scent 

of the tincture, the bees 

began to crawl

up the steps and collect

the aromatic 

liquid

with their proboscises.

As they drank the tincture, 

their movements

started to become

lazier and lazier,

and with that

they themselves began –

not by days and hours, 

but by the seconds –

to grow and increase

in weight and volume.

Having reached about 

three meters each

and fixating their

enormous unmoving, 

vacant eyes

on Leda, her friend, and the great

artist, the bees

froze in dazed 

poses, like an Indian

or Chinese statue.

 

The great 

artist examined

their broken shells and 

touched them

with his hand.

Having felt that 

they were not yet

hard and stiff, 

but flexible, like

celluloid, he

advised the friends 

to eat as much quicklime 

as they could. – Otherwise, 

as you see – he said – 

they hatch prematurely, 

and instead of 

little beings,

bees 

will hatch.

- Well – said

the girls – we

will try to eat 

the lime now.

- You need to be able to organize your 

experiments – said 

the great artist.

- I should also go with you to visit

your second cousin’s aunt 

at her amazing farm.

 

My dears, 

you need to change 

tactics. You, like 

me as of yesterday,

have been sticking to

tactics of secrecy and

mystery. But –

a d v e r t i s i n g – is 

the ticket to success.

- Bang 

a gong. Bet 

on advertising.

Amplify your 

intimate 

secrets to the level of

global publicity.

May they 

shimmer in fiery

letters above the cities 

of the world.

- So said 

the great artist

to two thirteen-year old 

girls.

- I myself didn’t know

what luck is.

But now I 

know it. 

The great

artist patted

the long-faced girl 

patronizingly

on the shoulder. – We must

announce to the whole

world that you 

are carrying eggs. 

No, do not hide 

your boxes

under the floorboards.

On the contrary, show 

them to the entire world.

 

The great artist

took out his notebook and 

drafted the text 

of a telegram.

- Take it 

to the telegraph office – he said

to the courier.

 

A boy in 

a cape, who suddenly appeared 

like a ghost 

from behind a bush,

took the text, 

turned on 

his heels, gave a wink 

to the girls, and

ran out through 

the garden gate.

- I can well imagine

how it’s all going to turn out,

- said t h e  g e n i u s  o f  t h e  e p o c h   

After walking past

the flowerbeds and 

letting Leda’s girlfriend into the street

through the garden gate,the greatest 

genius 

of the epoch

and Leda returned to

the lounge.

The guests were already 

seated at a large 

table in the adjoining 

dining room.

The majordomo 

invited them into 

the dining room. 

A very 

thin and tall 

man in black 

glasses proposed 

the first toast to 

the man with frayed 

nerves.

 

- We are going to 

the farm –  said

the a r t i s t i c  g e n i u s

- I gave notice to

the great and contemptible 

Lai – Pi – Chu – Pli – Lapa, 

Designer of the Flying 

Tower-Vortexes.

He is coming here 

at my summons.

 

In fifteen 

minutes a zeppelin 

with forty-seven or forty-eight

motors

appeared 

over the edge 

of the horizon. 

The chimneys and roofs 

of the houses 

were eclipsed 

by its moving shadow.

The zeppelin   

stopped

above the terrace of the house.

Immediately 

a rope ladder was dropped 

from the zeppelin,

and guests on the 

terrace, attracted 

by the noise of forty-seven or forty-eight 

motors, 

went out together with 

the hostess and began 

to witness

a circus act,

finding themselves all

involuntary participants

in some kind of 

circus

act.

Lai – Pi – Chu –

Pli – Lapa,

Designer 

of the Flying Tower-

Vortexes

- in a

tailcoat and 

top-hat – 

frantically flailing 

his arms and legs, 

descended 

the staircase.

The push is on

- he said

to the  a r t i s t i c  g e n i u s.

- I created 

the text of the advertisements myself:

- You will see them 

soon. –

The baskets are about

to be lowered down.

The baskets were

lowered from the zeppelin,

and Lai – Pi – Chu –

Pli – Lapa invited

the attendees 

to take their seats 

in the baskets:

 

- We would like to take you to 

the zeppelin: Now,

into the baskets!

Above on the airship there was 

the shriek and clang 

of jazz. 

In the blink of an eye, the baskets 

were filled.

In the blink of an eye, they were raised to the sky.

The zeppelin

spun around 

its magnetic 

axis and floated on,

gliding

over 

the rooftops.

 

A red-bearded 

man of forty

eight, resembling

an ancient Greek 

warrior, lit 

a cigarette with a golden

mouthpiece, having removed

it from a brand new 

case.

On the case

there was an inscription: 

C i g a r e t t e s  o f  W a r.

 

- My angel, why

do you smoke

such awful 

cigarettes -

asked 

an alluring

thousand-pound 

lady, addressing

the red-bearded 

man.

- Why do you 

think them 

awful?

– On the contrary, 

interjected a bald-headed 

thousand-year- 

young dandy 

in a stylish jockey 

uniform.

- They are extremely 

chic!

- The most fashionable 

cigarettes.

- Would you like 

one – said

the red-bearded 

man to

the great artist.

- Thank 

you, I don’t smoke

- responded 

the Grandmaster

of Unidimensional Arts.

 

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