A homemade poem

[Grablevskij]

Could you have a look at the poem that I have prepared as a homework given at university.
To tell the truth it is just poetic translation of an existing poem, but in respect to studying English it may be not so important.

I would highly appreciate any criticism.


Vertical section

On my stomach am I lying,
Cigarette in my lips,
Under me there is a bedstead
So that I can lie on it.

The bed is standing on parquet,
And there is a plank away,
And I see through the parquet
On a bed my neighbour stay.

On his stomach is he lying,
With a cigar in his lips,
Under him there is a bedstead
So that he can lie on it.

The bed is standing on parquet,
And there is a plank away,
And he sees through the parquet
On a bed another neighbour.

TV tuner in his fin,
On his side the neigbour’s lying,
And there is a match broadcasted,
And the floor is not looked at.

But the match is not perpetual,
Ninety minutes and that’s all,
To say nothing of the break,
But for fifteen-minute break.

And the curly ball has stopped
Flying madly back and forth
And a stout keeper locks
Painted and graffitied entrance.

And the perfect tiny gadget
Made of glass and having buttons,
From unclenched neighbour’s fingers
Falls on the parquet as is.

With fatigued glare tracing
TV’s flying operation,
The neighbour fixes his attention
On the plank that is away.

But in vain he tries to fasten
His keen blinker on the hole,
As there are in our house
Just three storeys and that’s all.

 

[fromatto]

Vertical section

I am lying on my stomach,
A cigarette between my lips,
Under me, there is a bedstead
Supporting my weight.

The bed is standing on parquet,
And there is a plank missing,
And through the hole in the floor
I can see my downstairs neighbour.

He is lying on his stomach,
A cigarette between his lips,
And under him there is a bedstead
Supporting his weight.

His bed is standing on parquet,
And there is a plank missing,
And through the hole in his floor
He can see his neighbour lying on a bed.

His neighbour is lying on his side
Watching football
A TV remote in his hands,

He does not look at the floor.

But soon the match is over,
Ninety minutes and that’s all,
To say nothing of the half-time break,
The fifteen minute interval.

The looping ball has stopped
Flying madly backwards and forwards
And now an old security guard locks up the
The painted and graffitied stadium.

The sleak smooth TV remote,
All buttons and shiny plastic,
Slips from the neighbour's fingers and
Falls on the parquet floor.

And with eyes tired from watching
The glare of the game,
He tries to fix his attention
On the missing plank.

But he cannot focus
His keen eyes on the hole,
Because in our house there are
Just three storeys and that is all.[/quote]

It's a nice poem and I think I understand the image. It's a cross-section of a 3 storeyed building where each neighbour can look down to his neighbour below. I don't quite understand what happens what happens in the last verse. The ground floor neighbour drops the TV remote and it falls into the hole but, because there is no-one beneath him, he cannot fix his eyes into the darkness ?

I hope you like the changes I have made.