.........
Today I was trying to introduce some good person to the poetry of Mayakovskii, but couldn't find any decent translations in the Internet.. so - I had to do it myself :)
(What a way to waste a couple of hours when your are supposed to relocate some freshly-baked code to the server!)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Have It!
In about an hour into this empty street
Your fat will flow one man at a time
I've shown you treasures so deep and sweet
- I am the greatest spender of precious rhymes
For instance, you! - off your mustache
The cabbage is dripping, escaped from the borsch
And you, woman, all powdered and flashy
You're an oyster peaking from the shell of trash
On the butterfly of my poetic heart
You all will stomp, dirty boots, no boots
The horde of beasts sturring grumpily
The 100-headed louse snapping its roots
And what if today, I, the rude savage
Won't entertain your wasted time
I will laugh and spit right at your faces
I - the biggest spender of precious rhymes
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
And could you?
I've smothered all the greyish notions
By splashing paint from the vase
I carved the thick jaws of the ocean
On the plate of boulliabase
Beneath the metal fish's armour
I've found love's aspiring root
And you? Could you perform a nocturne
with water in the gutter flute?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
They Don't Understand..
I came to the barber, I told him quickly
"Be so kind and trim my ears."
The smooth barber immediately turned prickly
His face deformed, like that of a pear
"Crazy! redhead!" - someone said
The curses bounced, a beep and a toot
and for some time a laughing head
jumped in the crowd like an old radish root
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
And Yet!
The street has collapsed like the nose of a syphilitic
The river is sweetness dissolved in saliva
Undressed from the folliage till the last leaflet
The gardens voluptuously relax in summer
I came to the square
with the sunburnt houses
arranged on my head in a reddish wig
People are scared - from inside of my mouth
Undigested scream is flapping its wings
But they won't judge me nor would they bark at me
They'd garment my steps like they would any prophet's
Because all those, with collapsed noses
know that I am their poet
Like any pub, your judgement is chilling!
I'll be the only one grabbed by the whores
To carry me to God thru the burning buildings
to absolve their guilt and remorse
And God will cry while reading my poetry -
(not a word, just seizures condensed into words)
And he'll run all over the sky with my poetry
And he'll share with his friends my magical chords.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Listen!
Listen!
If someone turns the stars on
it means that they need it?
it means that someone wants them to be there?
it means that someone calls these little spits - "jewels"
Battling
thru the flurries of mid-day dust
he rushes to God
he is so afraid he is late
Crying
kissing God's veiny hand
begging
to make sure that the star is there!-
He swears
he'll never bear the starless torture
And later
he paces anxiously but looks calm
and says to someone:
Now, you are not afraid?
of anything?
Right?
Listen!
If they turn the stars on
it means that they need it?
if means that it absolutely must be so
that every night
at least one star is lit
over the roof tops?!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Search for "Mayakovskii" on Google, and among the results you'll see 4 of his profiles on myspace.com. Here is one:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=108487626
The good thing is - he is in my "extended network". :)
(What a way to waste a couple of hours when your are supposed to relocate some freshly-baked code to the server!)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Have It!
In about an hour into this empty street
Your fat will flow one man at a time
I've shown you treasures so deep and sweet
- I am the greatest spender of precious rhymes
For instance, you! - off your mustache
The cabbage is dripping, escaped from the borsch
And you, woman, all powdered and flashy
You're an oyster peaking from the shell of trash
On the butterfly of my poetic heart
You all will stomp, dirty boots, no boots
The horde of beasts sturring grumpily
The 100-headed louse snapping its roots
And what if today, I, the rude savage
Won't entertain your wasted time
I will laugh and spit right at your faces
I - the biggest spender of precious rhymes
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
And could you?
I've smothered all the greyish notions
By splashing paint from the vase
I carved the thick jaws of the ocean
On the plate of boulliabase
Beneath the metal fish's armour
I've found love's aspiring root
And you? Could you perform a nocturne
with water in the gutter flute?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
They Don't Understand..
I came to the barber, I told him quickly
"Be so kind and trim my ears."
The smooth barber immediately turned prickly
His face deformed, like that of a pear
"Crazy! redhead!" - someone said
The curses bounced, a beep and a toot
and for some time a laughing head
jumped in the crowd like an old radish root
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
And Yet!
The street has collapsed like the nose of a syphilitic
The river is sweetness dissolved in saliva
Undressed from the folliage till the last leaflet
The gardens voluptuously relax in summer
I came to the square
with the sunburnt houses
arranged on my head in a reddish wig
People are scared - from inside of my mouth
Undigested scream is flapping its wings
But they won't judge me nor would they bark at me
They'd garment my steps like they would any prophet's
Because all those, with collapsed noses
know that I am their poet
Like any pub, your judgement is chilling!
I'll be the only one grabbed by the whores
To carry me to God thru the burning buildings
to absolve their guilt and remorse
And God will cry while reading my poetry -
(not a word, just seizures condensed into words)
And he'll run all over the sky with my poetry
And he'll share with his friends my magical chords.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Listen!
Listen!
If someone turns the stars on
it means that they need it?
it means that someone wants them to be there?
it means that someone calls these little spits - "jewels"
Battling
thru the flurries of mid-day dust
he rushes to God
he is so afraid he is late
Crying
kissing God's veiny hand
begging
to make sure that the star is there!-
He swears
he'll never bear the starless torture
And later
he paces anxiously but looks calm
and says to someone:
Now, you are not afraid?
of anything?
Right?
Listen!
If they turn the stars on
it means that they need it?
if means that it absolutely must be so
that every night
at least one star is lit
over the roof tops?!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Search for "Mayakovskii" on Google, and among the results you'll see 4 of his profiles on myspace.com. Here is one:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=108487626
The good thing is - he is in my "extended network". :)