Vladimir Mayakovsky
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovskywas a Russian Soviet poet, playwright, artist and stage and film actor...
comrade faster march
Comrade life,/ let us/ march faster,/ March/ faster through what's left/ of the five-year plan.
days difficult equipped life planet poorly
Our planet / is poorly equipped / for delight./ One must snatch / gladness / from the days that are. / In this life / it's not difficult to die. / To make life / is more difficult by far.
age-and-aging fondness gray hairs might shake streak walk year
No gray hairs streak my soul, no grandfatherly fondness there! I shake the world with the might of my voice, and walk --handsome, twenty-two year old.
delight life-is this-life
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die. To make life is more difficult by far.
play two soul
Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me And become just two lips entirely?
sunset men clouds
If you like I'll be furious flesh elemental, or- changing to tones that the sunset arouses- if you like- I'll be extraordinary gentle, not a man but - a cloud in trousers.
dark light hair
They stood brow to brow, brown to white, black to black, he supporting her elbows, she playing her limp light fingers over his collarbone, and how he "ladored,"he said, the dark aroma of her hair blending with crushed lily stalks, Turkish cigarettes and the lassitude that comes from "lass." "No, no, don't," she said, I must wash, quick-quick, Ada must wash; but for yet another immortal moment they stood embraced in the hushed avenue, enjoying as they had never enjoyed before, the "happy-forever" feeling at the end of never-ending fairy tales.
sky communism plunge
But I, from poetry's skies, plunge into communism, because without it I feel no love.
theatre coffins legs
I understand the power and the alarm of words - Not those that they applaud from theatre-boxes, but those which make coffins break from bearers and on their four oak legs walk right away.
sky lines towns
In our language rhyme is a barrel. A barrel of dynamite. The line is a fuse. The line smoulders to the end and explodes; and the town is blown sky-high in a stanza.
country rain land
I want to be understood by my country, but if I fail to be understood - what then?, I shall pass through my native land to one side, like a shower of slanting rain.
hands sky crumbling
Were I as quiet as thunder, how I'd wail and whine! One groan of mine would start the world's crumbling cloister shivering. And if I'd end up by roaring with all of its power of lungs and more - the comets, distressed, would wring their hands and from the sky's roof leap in a fever.
heart fire church
In the church of my heart the choir is on fire
heart humming motor
To us love says humming that the heart's stalled motor has begun working again.