Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky (Влади́мир Влади́мирович Маяко́вский) (July 19 [O.S. July 7] 1893 – April 14, 1930) was a Russian and Soviet poet and playwright, among the foremost representatives of ... more »
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Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky Poems
Past One O'Clock
1 She loves me-loves me not. My hands I pick
A Cloud In Trousers - part I
You think malaria makes me delirious? It happened.
Violin And A Little Nervous
Violin was torn to pieces begging, And then broke out in tears So childishly, That Drum couldn't handle it any longer,
To His Beloved Self, The Author Dedicate...
Some words. Heavy as a blow. 'Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's- to God what is God's.'
The Fop's Blouse
I will sew myself black trousers from the velvet of my voice. And from three yards of sunset, a yellow blouse.
Listen, if stars are lit it means - there is someone who needs it. It means - someone wants them to be,
Tobacco smoke has consumed the air. The room is a chapter in Kruchenykh's inferno. Remember -
A Cloud In Trousers - epilogue
Your thoughts, dreaming on a softened brain, like an over-fed lackey on a greasy settee, with my heart's bloody tatters I'll mock again;
Thoughts, go your way home. Embrace, depths of the soul and the sea.
To Sergei Esenin
You have passed, as they say, into worlds elsewhere. Emptiness... Fly, cutting your way into starry dubiety.
At The Top Of My Voice
My most respected comrades of posterity! Rummaging among these days' petrified crap exploring the twilight of our times, you,
From Street To Street
The boule- vard. Bull-
But Could You?
I blurred at once the chart of trite routine by splashing paint with one swift motion. I showed upon a plate of brawny glutin
An Extraordinary Adventure Which Happene...
A hundred suns the sunset fired, into July summer shunted, it was so hot, even heat perspired-
Comments about Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Past One O'Clock
She loves me-loves me not.
My hands I pick
and having broken my fingers
So the first daisy-heads
one happens to flick
scattered into May.
Let a cut and shave
reveal my grey hairs.
Let the silver of the years
ring out endlessly !
Shameful common sense -
I hope, I swear -
Will never come
It's already two.
No doubt, you've gone to sleep.
In the night
The Milky Way
with silver filigrees.
I don't hurry,
and there is no point in me
waking and disturbing ...