Daniil Kharms The Constancy of Dirt and Joy Cool water gurgles in the river, mountain shadows lie down in a field, and in the sky the light fades, while birds have flown into our dreams, and the janitor with his black mustaches stands all night long by the rusty gate and with his dirty hands he scratches under his dirty hat his itching pate, through windows hear the joyous din, the stomp of feet and bottles ring. A day goes by, and then a week, and then the years are passing by, and one by one in single file the people vanish in their graves, while the janitor with his black mustaches stands all night long by the rusty gate and with his dirty hands he scratches under his dirty hat his itching pate, through windows hear the joyous din, the stomp of feet and bottles ring. The moon and sun have paled together, the constellations change their shape, and motion turns to sticky syrup, and time becomes a lot like sand. Still the janitor with his black mustaches stands all night long by the rusty gate and with his dirty hands he scratches under his dirty hat his itching pate, through windows hear the joyous din, the stomp of feet and bottles ring. 14 October 1933 Translated by Matvei Yankelevich