I don’t know why I am reminded of a cute Russian poem written by S. Marshak that I read in my childhood that went thus…. I knew a man from Petushkee As muddleheaded as could be. He always got mixed up with clothes; He wore his mittens on his toes, Forgot his collar in his haste, And tied his tie around his waist. What a muddle head was he, That man who lived in Petushkee! They told him as he went about: “You’ve got u’r coat on inside out!” And when they saw his hat, they said: “You’ve put a saucepan on your head!” What a muddle head was he, That man who lived in Petushkee! At lunch he scratched a piece of bread, And spread some butter on his head. He put his walking stick to bed, And he stood in the rack instead. What a muddle head was he, That man who lived in Petushkee! He walked upto a tram one day And climbed in very sprightly; Conductor thought that he would pay, Instead he said politely: “Parding your beggon, Kister Monductor, I’m off for a week’s vacation; I stop you to beg your cramway tar As soon as we reach the station.” Conductor got a fright And didn’t sleep that night. What a muddle head was he, That man who lived in Petushkee! He rushed into the first café: “A railway ticket please, One way.” And at the ticket office said: “A slice of tea and a cup of bread.” What a muddle head was he, That man who lived in Petushkee! He passed the man collecting the fares, And entered a carriage awaiting repairs, That stood on a siding, all by itself. Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf, The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap And settled himself for a bit of a nap. All at once he raised his head, “I must have been asleep”- he said. “Hey, what stop is this?” he cried “Petushkee,” a voice replied. Once again he closed his eyes And dreamt he was in Paradise. When he woke, he looked about, Raised the window and leaned out. “I’ve seen this place before, I believe, Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev? Tell me where I am,” he cried. “In Petushkee”, a voice replied. And so again he settled down And dreamt the world was upside down When he woke, he looked about, Raised the window and looked out. “I seem to know this station too, Is it Nalchik or Baku? Tell me what its called,” he cried. “Petushkee’ a voice replied. Up he jumped: “It’s a crime! I’ve been riding all this time, And here I am where I began! That’s no way to treat a man!’ What a muddle head was he, That man who lived in Petushkee!
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 16:19:36 +0000
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