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
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.'
A Cloud In Trousers - part I
You think malaria makes me delirious? It happened.
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.
Tobacco smoke has consumed the air. The room is a chapter in Kruchenykh's inferno. Remember -
Listen, if stars are lit it means - there is someone who needs it. It means - someone wants them to be,
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;
And Could You?
I suddenly smeared the weekday map splashing paint from a glass; On a plate of aspic I revealed
To Sergei Esenin
You have passed, as they say, into worlds elsewhere. Emptiness... Fly, cutting your way into starry dubiety.
An Extraordinary Adventure Which Happene...
A hundred suns the sunset fired, into July summer shunted, it was so hot, even heat perspired-
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,
Thoughts, go your way home. Embrace, depths of the soul and the sea.
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
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)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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 ...