And the worst thing they saw my face. A cloud in pants. Cloud in Pants Vladimir Mayakovsky

Cloud in Pants Vladimir Mayakovsky

Tetraptich

(Introduction)

your thought,
dreaming on a softened brain,
like a fat footman on a greasy couch,
I will tease about the bloody flap of the heart:
I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.

I have not a single gray hair in my soul,
and there is no senile tenderness in it!
The world is overwhelmed by the power of the voice,
I'm going - beautiful,
twenty-two.

Gentle!
You put love on violins.
Love on the timpani lays rough.
And you can't twist yourself like me,
to have one solid lips!

Come learn -
from the living room cambric,
a dignified official of the angelic league.

And which lips calmly flips,
like a cookbook page cookbook.

Want to -
I will be mad from meat
- and, like the sky, changing tones -
want to -
I will be impeccably gentle,
not a man, but a cloud in his pants!

I do not believe that there is a flower Nice!
I am praised again
men stale like a hospital
and women, tattered as the saying goes.

Do you think it's malaria?

It was,
was in Odessa.

"I'll be there at four," Maria said.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.

Here comes the evening
into the night terror
left the windows
frowning,
December.

In decrepit back they laugh and neigh
candelabra.

I can't be recognized now.
sinewy hulk
groans
writhing.
What could such a lump want?
And the lump wants a lot!

After all, it doesn't matter to yourself.
and what is bronze,
and the fact that the heart is a cold piece of iron.
At night I want my ringing
hide in soft
into the feminine.

And so,
huge,
hunched in the window
I melt window glass with my forehead.
Will there be love or not?
Which -
big or tiny?
Where does the body have such a large:
must be small
humble darling.
She shied away from car horns.
Loves the end bells.

More and more,
buried in the rain
face in his pockmarked face,
I am waiting,
splashed by the thunder of the city surf.

Midnight, rushing about with a knife,
caught up
stabbed -
get him out!

The twelfth hour has fallen
like the head of the executed from the chopping block.

Gray raindrops in the glass
fell out,
made a grimace,
like howling chimeras
Notre Dame Cathedral.

Damned!
What, and this is not enough?
Soon your mouth will scream.
Hear:
quiet,
like a sick person out of bed
nerve jumped.
And so, -
first walked
barely,
then he ran
excited,
clear.
Now he and the new two
rush about in a desperate tap dance.

The plaster on the ground floor has collapsed.

Nerves -
big,
small,
many! -
jumping mad,
and already

Nerves are shaking!

And the night in the room tints and tints, -
a heavy eye cannot reach out of the mud.

The doors suddenly banged
like a hotel
does not hit the tooth on the tooth.

You entered
sharp, like "here!",
mucha suede gloves,
said:
"You know -
I'm getting married".

Well, get out.
Nothing.
I'll get stronger.
See how calm!
Like a pulse
dead man.
Remember?
You said:
"Jack London,
money,
Love,
passion", -
and I saw one:
you are Gioconda,
to be stolen!
And they stole it.

Again, in love, I will go out into the games,
fire illuminating the eyebrow bend.
What!
And in the house that burned out
sometimes homeless vagrants live!

tease?
"Less than a beggar's pennies,
you have emeralds of madness.
Remember!
Pompey died
when they teased Vesuvius!

Hey!
Lord!
lovers
sacrilege,
crimes,
slaughterhouse -
and the worst
saw -
my face
When
I
absolutely calm?

And I feel -
"I"
not enough for me.
Some of me break out stubbornly.

Hello!
Who is speaking?
Mother?
Mother!
Your son is very sick!
Mother!
He has a heart of fire.
Tell the sisters, Lyuda and Olya, -
he has nowhere to go.
Every word,
even a joke
which he vomits with a burning mouth,
thrown out like a naked prostitute
from a burning brothel.
People are sniffing
it smelled fried!
They caught up with some.
Brilliant!
In helmets!
No boots!
Tell the firemen
on a burning heart they climb in caresses.
I myself.
Eyes weepy with barrels I will roll out.
Let's lean on the ribs.
I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out!
Collapsed.
Do not jump out of the heart!

On a burning face
from cracked lips
charred kiss rush rose.
Mother!
I can't sing.
At the church of the heart, the choir is engaged!

Burnt figurines of words and numbers
from a skull
like children from a burning building.
So fear
grab the sky
vysil
the burning hands of the Lusitania.

shaking people
in the apartment is quiet
a hundred-eyed glow bursts from the pier.
The last cry -
at least you
that I am burning, groan in the centuries!

Praise me!
I'm not great.
I'm over everything that's done
I put "nihil".

I used to think -
books are made like this:
the poet came
lightly opened his mouth,
and immediately an inspired simpleton sang -
Please!
And it turns out -
before it starts to sing
walk for a long time, sore from fermentation,
and quietly flounders in the mire of the heart
stupid imagination.
While they are boiling, rhyming with rhymes,
from loves and nightingales some kind of brew,
the street writhes speechless -
she has nothing to scream and talk.

Towers of Babel,
lifted up, lifted up again,
but god
cities on arable land
destroys,
interfering word.

The street flour silently pearled.
A scream rose from his throat.
Bristled, stuck across the throat,
chubby taxis and bony cabbies
the chest was in a hurry.

The consumptives are flatter.
The city blocked the road with darkness.

And when -
after all! -
coughed up a crush on the square,
pushing the porch that has stepped on the throat,
thought:
in the choirs of the archangel's chant
God, robbed, goes to punish!

And the street sat down and yelled:
"Let's go eat!"

Make up the city of Kruppy and Kruppiki
wrinkle of threatening eyebrows,
and in the mouth
corpses of dead words decompose,
only two live, fattening -
"bastard"
and something else
seems to be "borscht".

poets,
soaked in weeping and sobbing,
rushed from the street, ruffling their hair:
“How to drink two of these
and young lady
and love,
and a flower under the dew?
And for the poets
street thousand:
students,
prostitutes,
contractors.

Lord!
Stop!
You are not a beggar
you dare not ask for handouts!

We healthy
with a step sazhen,
it is necessary not to listen, but to tear them -
their,
sucked by a free app
for every double bed!

Whether to humbly ask them:
"Help me!"
Pray for an anthem
about the oratorio!
We ourselves are creators in a burning hymn -
factory and laboratory noise.

What do I care about Faust
rocket extravaganza
sliding with Mephistopheles in the heavenly parquet!
I know -
nail in my boot
more nightmarish than Goethe's fantasy!

I,
golden-eyed,
whose every word
newborn soul,
birthday body,
I tell you:
smallest speck of life
more valuable than all that I will do and have done!

Listen!
preaches,
tossing and groaning,
of today scream-lipped Zarathustra!
We
with a face like a sleepy sheet,
with lips hanging like a chandelier,
We,
convicts of the city-leper colony,
where gold and mud have ulcerated the leprosy,
we are cleaner than the Venetian azure,
washed by seas and suns at once!

Don't care what's not
by Homers and Ovids
people like us
from soot in smallpox.
I know -
the sun would dim when it saw
our souls are golden placers!

Veins and muscles - more prayers.
Should we beg for favors of time!
We -
every -
keep in our fives
worlds drive belts!

It took the audience to Calvary
Petrograd, Moscow, Odessa, Kyiv,
and there was none
which
would not shout:
"Crucify
crucify him!"
But me -
People,
and those who offended -
You are dearest and dearest to me.

seen
How does a dog lick a kicking hand?

I,
ridiculed by today's tribe,
how long
dirty joke,
I see time going through the mountains,
which no one sees.

Where people's eyes break off stubby,
head of the hungry hordes,
in the crown of thorns revolutions
the sixteenth year is coming.

And I am his forerunner;
I - where the pain is, everywhere;
on every drop of tear leakage
crucified himself on the cross.
Nothing can be forgiven.
I burned the souls where tenderness was raised.
It's harder than taking
a thousand thousand Bastilles!

And when,
his arrival
revolt announcing,
come out to the savior -
you i
I'll take my soul out
trample on
so big! -
and bloody ladies, like a banner.

Oh why is this
where does it come from
in bright fun
swing dirty fists!

Came
and curtained her head with despair
the idea of insane asylums.

AND -
as in the death of the dreadnought
from choking spasms
rush into the open hatch -
through your
to scream torn eye
climbed, distraught, Burliuk.
Almost bleeding tear-stained eyelids,
got out,
got up,
went
and with a tenderness unexpected in a fat man
took it and said:
"Fine!"
It's good when in a yellow jacket
the soul is wrapped up from inspections!
Fine,
when thrown into the teeth of the scaffold,
shout:
"Drink Van Gouten's cocoa!"

And this second
bengali,
loud
I wouldn't trade for anything
I am not on...

And from cigar smoke
liquor glass
the drunken face of the Severyanin was drawn out.
How dare you be called a poet
and, gray, tweet like a quail!
Today
necessary
brass knuckles
cut the world in the skull!

You,
disturbed by the thought of one -
"Do I dance gracefully" -
watch me having fun
I -
areal
pimp and card cheat.
From you,
who were wet with love,
from which
in the centuries a tear shed,
I'll leave
sun monocle
I'll put it in a wide-open eye.

Incredibly dressed up
I will walk on earth
to like and burn,
and ahead
I'll lead you on Napoleon's chain like a pug.
The whole earth will fall with a woman,
fidgets with meats, although to surrender;
things come to life
lips of a thing
lisp:
"swell, swell, swell!"

All of a sudden
and clouds
and cloudy stuff
raised an incredible pitching in the sky,
as if the white workers are dispersing,
sky declaring an embittered strike.
Thunder from behind a cloud, beast, got out,
huge nostrils provocatively blowing my nose,
and the sky's face twisted for a second
the stern grimace of an iron Bismarck.
And someone
entangled in clouds,
stretched out his hands to the cafe -
and like a woman
and soft as if
and as if gun carriages.

You think -
this sun is gentle
pats the cafe on the cheek?
It's shoot the rebels again
General Galife is coming!

Take out, walking, hands from trousers -
take a stone, a knife or a bomb,
and if he has no hands -
come and beat his forehead!
Go hungry
sweaty,
submissive,
sour in the flea mud!
Go!
Mondays and Tuesdays
let's paint with blood for the holidays!
Let the earth under the knives remember
who wanted to vulgarize!

earth,
obese like a lover
who fell in love with Rothschild!
So that the flags flutter in the heat of firing,
like every decent holiday -
lift up, lampposts,
bloody carcasses of meadowsweet.

cursed,
begged
cut,
follow someone
bite into the sides.

In the sky, red like the Marseillaise,
trembled, oblique, sunset.

Already crazy.

Nothing will happen.

The night will come
have a bite
and eat.
See -
the sky is Judith again
a handful of betrayed stars?

Came.
Feasting on Mamai,
planting back on the city.
We won't break this night with our eyes,
black like Azef!

I eat, throwing myself into tavern corners,
I pour wine over my soul and tablecloth
and see:
in the corner - eyes are round, -
the Mother of God sank into her heart with her eyes.
What to present according to a painted pattern
radiance of the tavern horde!
You see - again
spat upon the Calvary
prefer Barabbas?
Maybe on purpose I
in the human mess
no one's face is newer.
I,
May be,
the most beautiful
from all your sons.
Give them
bursting with joy,
imminent death of time,
to become children who must grow up,
boys are fathers,
girls are pregnant.
And let the new born grow
inquisitive gray-haired Magi,
and they will come
and children will be baptized
the names of my poems.

I, who sing of the car and England,
maybe just
in the most ordinary gospel
thirteenth apostle.
And when my voice
obscenely hoots -
from hour to hour,
the whole day,
maybe Jesus Christ is sniffing
my soul forget-me-not.

Maria! Maria! Maria!
Let go, Maria!
I can't on the streets!
Do not want?
Waiting
how the cheeks will fall into a hole
tried by everyone
fresh,
I will come
and toothlessly mumble,
that today I
"surprisingly honest."
Maria,
see -
I have already begun to slouch.

In the streets
people will make holes in fat in four-story crops,
poke out eyes,
shabby in the forty-year task, -
giggle
what's in my teeth
- again! -
stale roll of yesterday's caress.
The rain washed the sidewalks
puddles squeezed crook,
wet, licking the streets clogged with cobblestone corpse,
and on gray eyelashes -
Yes! -
on the eyelashes of frosty icicles
tears from the eyes -
Yes! -
from the lowered eyes of the drainpipes.
All pedestrians muzzle rain sucked,
and in the carriages an athlete was polished behind a fat athlete;
people burst
going through,
and fat oozed through the cracks,
a muddy river with crews flowing down
along with a dried-up bun
zhevotina of old cutlets.

Maria!
How to squeeze a quiet word into their fat ear?
Bird
is taken by the song,
sings,
hungry and calling
and I'm a man, Maria,
simple,
coughed up on a consumptive night into Presnya's dirty hand.
Mary, do you want this?
Let go, Maria!
With a spasm of fingers I will clamp the iron throat of the bell!

Pastures go wild in the streets.
On the neck abrasions crush fingers.

You see - stuck
pins in the eyes of ladies' hats!

Babe!
Don't be afraid,
what's on my neck
sweaty women sit like a wet mountain, -
it's through life I drag
millions of huge pure loves
and a million million little dirty loves.
Don't be afraid,
again,
in treason bad weather,
I will cling to thousands of pretty faces, -
"Loving Mayakovsky!" -
yes, it's a dynasty
on the heart of the mad ascended queens.
Mary, closer!
In undressed shamelessness,
in fearful trembling,
but give your lips the unfaded beauty:
I never lived with my heart until May,
but in the life
only the hundredth April is.
Maria!

Sonnet poet sings to Tiana
and I -
all meat,
the whole person
your body just ask
as Christians ask -
"our daily bread
give us today."

Maria - come on!

Maria!
I'm afraid to forget your name
like a poet afraid to forget
some
in the throes of nights the word is born,
majesty equal to God.
Your body
I will cherish and love
like a soldier
shattered by war
unnecessary,
nobody's
saves his only leg.
Maria -
do not want?
Do not want!

So - again
dark and dull
I'll take my heart
drenched in tears,
carry,
like a dog,
which is in the kennel
bears
a paw that had been run over by a train.
I gladden the road with blood,
clings with flowers to the dust of the tunic.
A thousand times will dance with Herodias
sun earth -
the head of the Baptist.
And when my number of years
splash to the end -
a million bloodlines will spread the trail
to my father's house.

I'll get out
dirty (from spending the night in ditches),
I will stand side by side
bend over
and say in his ear:
“Listen, Lord God!
How are you not bored
in cloudy jelly
to dip your irritated eyes daily?
Let's - you know -
arrange a carousel
on the tree of study of good and evil!
Omnipresent, you will be in every closet,
and put such wines on the table,
to want to walk in ki-ka-pu
gloomy Peter the Apostle.
And in paradise again we will settle Evochek:
command -
tonight is
from all the boulevards of the most beautiful girls
I will bring you.
Want?
Do not want?
Shaking your head, curly?
Supis a gray eyebrow?
You think -
this,
behind you, winged one,
knows what love is?
I am also an angel, I was one -
looked into the eye like a sugar lamb,
but I no longer want to give mares
sculpted vases from Servian flour.
Almighty, you invented a pair of hands
did,
that everyone has a head, -
why didn't you think
to be pain-free
kiss, kiss, kiss?!
I thought you were an almighty god
and you are a half-educated, tiny god.
See I'm bending over
because of the ankle
I take out a shoe knife.
Winged scoundrels!
Hustle in paradise!
Ruffle your feathers in a frightened shake!
I will open you, smelling of incense
from here to Alaska!

Don't stop me.
I'm lying
is it right
but I can't be calmer.
See -
the stars are beheaded again
and the sky was bloody with slaughter!
Hey you!
Sky!
Take off your hat!
I'm coming!

The universe is sleeping
put on paw
with pincer stars huge ear.

Analysis of Mayakovsky's poem "A Cloud in Pants"

The love lyrics of the poet Vladimir Mayakovsky are very unusual and extraordinary. Tenderness and sensuality, passion and aggression, as well as rudeness, conceit, pride and vanity easily coexist in it. Such an enchanting "cocktail" is able to evoke a wide variety of feelings in readers, but leaves no one indifferent.

The very peculiar and impulsive poem "A Cloud in Pants" belongs to the early period of Mayakovsky's work. The poet worked on it for almost 17 months and first presented his work in the summer of 1915 in St. Petersburg, where literary readings were held at Elsa Brik's apartment. There, Mayakovsky met the hostess' younger sister, Lilya Brik, who became the poet's muse for many years. It was to her that the author dedicated his poem, which, despite its rather peculiar and defiant content, is still not devoid of a certain elegance and romanticism.

It is noteworthy that this work was originally called "Thirteen Apostles" and was almost twice as long as "Cloud in Pants". Moreover, Mayakovsky himself acted as the thirteenth apostle, who took the liberty of judging people and their actions. However, the title of the poem, as well as its individual parts, were banned by censorship at the first publication, so the poet had to remove especially acute social and political moments, turning a rather tough and rebellious work into a model of new love lyrics.

The poem begins with the fact that its twenty-two-year-old hero, in the image of which the author himself acts, is experiencing a deep personal tragedy. His beloved Maria, to whom he makes an appointment, does not come at the appointed hour. In a manner characteristic of the poet, chopped and straightforward phrases describe the mental anguish of the protagonist, for whom every stroke of the clock is given by pain in the heart. Experiences turn a young man into a decrepit, hunched-over old man who, leaning his forehead against the window glass and peering into the darkness, asks the question: “Will there be love or not?”.

By the time Maria nevertheless appears on the threshold of his room and announces that she is marrying another, the protagonist no longer feels anything but sizzling hatred. Moreover, it extends not so much to the former lover, but to the cruel and unfair world, where people enter into marriages of convenience, and not for love, and the main value is money, not feelings.

The subsequent parts of the poem are devoted to the angry denunciation of society who is mired in sins, but does not pay attention to it at all. At the same time, Mayakovsky affects not only the material, but also the spiritual aspects of people's lives, arguing that it is faith in God that makes them slaves. Every now and then the author tries to bring the reader down to earth, using very capacious and figurative comparisons like "the nail in my boot is more nightmarish than Goethe's fantasy." At the same time, the poet skillfully shows what path his hero takes in order to purify his self-consciousness and get rid of unnecessary feelings that prevent him from being strong, tough, decisive and adamant. However, it is unhappy love that makes him rethink life values and change priorities, directing his energy to change this sinful world.

“I know that the sun would dim when it saw our souls of gold placers,” says Vladimir Mayakovsky, thereby emphasizing that every person is a completely self-sufficient and proud being who is able to make his life happy, get rid of doubts and mental anguish. At the same time, the author claims that the sky does not care what happens on earth, and one cannot count on the help of higher powers, because "the universe is sleeping, putting a huge ear on its paw with pincers of the stars."

Introduction

your thought,
dreaming on a softened brain,
like a fat footman on a greasy couch,
I will tease about the bloody flap of the heart:
I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.

I have not a single gray hair in my soul,
and there is no senile tenderness in it!
The world is overwhelmed by the power of the voice,
I'm going - beautiful,
twenty-two.

Gentle!
You put love on violins.
Love on the timpani lays rough.
And you can't twist yourself like me,
to have one solid lips!

Come learn -
from the living room cambric,
a dignified official of the angelic league.

And which lips calmly flips,
like a cookbook page cookbook.

Want to -
I will be mad from meat
- and like the sky, changing tones -
want to -
I will be impeccably gentle,
not a man, but a cloud in his pants!

I do not believe that there is a flower Nice!
I am praised again
men stale like a hospital
and women, tattered as the saying goes.

Do you think it's malaria?

It was,
was in Odessa.

"I'll be there at four," Maria said.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.

Here comes the evening
into the night terror
left the windows
frowning,
December.

In decrepit back they laugh and neigh
candelabra.

I can't be recognized now.
sinewy hulk
groans
writhing.
What could such a lump want?
And the lump wants a lot!

After all, it doesn't matter to yourself.
and what is bronze,
and the fact that the heart is a cold piece of iron.
At night I want my ringing
hide in soft
into the feminine.

And so,
huge,
hunched in the window
I melt window glass with my forehead.
Will there be love or not?
Which -
big or tiny?
Where does the body have such a large:
must be small
humble darling.
She shied away from car horns.
Loves the end bells.

More and more,
buried in the rain
face in his pockmarked face,
I am waiting,
splashed by the thunder of the city surf.

Midnight, rushing about with a knife,
caught up
stabbed -
get him out!

The twelfth hour has fallen
like the head of the executed from the chopping block.

Gray raindrops in the glass
fell out,
made a grimace,
like howling chimeras
Notre Dame Cathedral.

Damned!
What, and this is not enough?
Soon your mouth will scream.
Hear:
quiet,
like a sick person out of bed
nerve jumped.
And so,-
first walked
barely,
then he ran
excited,
clear.
Now he and the new two
rush about in a desperate tap dance.

The plaster on the ground floor has collapsed.

Nerves -
big,
small,
many!-
jumping mad,
and already
Nerves are shaking!

And the night is creeping and crawling around the room, -
a heavy eye cannot reach out of the mud.

The doors suddenly banged
like a hotel
does not hit the tooth on the tooth.

You entered
sharp, like "here!",
mucha suede gloves,
said:
"You know -
I'm getting married".

Well, get out.
Nothing.
I'll get stronger.
See how calm!
Like a pulse
dead man.
Remember?
You said:
"Jack London,
money,
Love,
passion",-
and I saw one:
you are Gioconda,
to be stolen!
And they stole it.

Again, in love, I will go out into the games,
fire illuminating the eyebrow bend.
What!
And in the house that burned out
sometimes homeless vagrants live!

tease?
"Less than a beggar's pennies,
you have emeralds of madness.
Remember!
Pompey died
when they teased Vesuvius!

Hey!
Lord!
lovers
sacrilege,
crimes,
slaughterhouse -
and the worst
saw -
my face
When
I
absolutely calm?

And I feel -
"I"
not enough for me.
Some of me break out stubbornly.

Hello!
Who is speaking?
Mother?
Mother!
Your son is very sick!
Mother!
He has a heart of fire.
Tell the sisters, Lyuda and Olya, -
he has nowhere to go.
Every word,
even a joke
which he vomits with a burning mouth,
thrown out like a naked prostitute
from a burning brothel.
People are sniffing
it smelled fried!
They caught up with some.
Brilliant!
In helmets!
No boots!
Tell the firemen
on a burning heart they climb in caresses.
I myself.
Eyes weepy with barrels I will roll out.
Let's lean on the ribs.
I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out!
Collapsed.
Do not jump out of the heart!

On a burning face
from cracked lips
charred kiss rush rose.

Mother!
I can't sing.
At the church of the heart, the choir is engaged!

Burnt figurines of words and numbers
from a skull
like children from a burning building.
So fear
grab the sky
vysil
the burning hands of the Lusitania.

shaking people
in the apartment is quiet
a hundred-eyed glow bursts from the pier.
The last cry -
at least you
that I am burning, groan in the centuries!

Praise me!
I'm not great.
I'm over everything that's done
I put "nihil".

I used to think -
books are made like this:
the poet came
lightly opened his mouth,
and immediately an inspired simpleton sang -
Please!
And it turns out -
before it starts to sing
walk for a long time, sore from fermentation,
and quietly flounders in the mire of the heart
stupid imagination.
While they are boiling, rhyming with rhymes,
from loves and nightingales some kind of brew,
the street writhes speechless -
she has nothing to scream and talk.

Towers of Babel,
lifted up, lifted up again,
but god
cities on arable land
destroys,
interfering word.

The street flour silently pearled.
A scream rose from his throat.
Bristled, stuck across the throat,
chubby taxis and bony cabbies
the chest was in a hurry.

The consumptives are flatter.
The city blocked the road with darkness.

And when -
anyway!-
coughed up a crush on the square,
pushing the porch that has stepped on the throat,
thought:
in the choirs of the archangel's chant
God, robbed, goes to punish!

And the street sat down and yelled:
"Let's go eat!"

Make up the city of Kruppy and Kruppiki
wrinkle of threatening eyebrows,
and in the mouth
corpses of dead words decompose,
only two live, fattening -
"bastard"
and something else
seems to be "borscht".

poets,
soaked in weeping and sobbing,
rushed from the street, ruffling their hair:
“How to drink two of these
and young lady
and love,
and a flower under the dew?
And for the poets
street thousand:
students,
prostitutes,
contractors.

Lord!
Stop!
You are not a beggar
you dare not ask for handouts!

We healthy
with a step sazhen,
it is necessary not to listen, but to tear them -
their,
sucked by a free app
for every double bed!

Whether to humbly ask them:
"Help me!"
Pray for an anthem
about the oratorio!
We ourselves are creators in a burning hymn -
factory and laboratory noise.

What do I care about Faust
rocket extravaganza
sliding with Mephistopheles in the heavenly parquet!
I know -
nail in my boot
more nightmarish than Goethe's fantasy!

I,
golden-eyed,
whose every word
newborn soul,
birthday body,
I tell you:
smallest speck of life
more valuable than all that I will do and have done!

Listen!
preaches,
tossing and groaning,
of today scream-lipped Zarathustra!
We
with a face like a sleepy sheet,
with lips hanging like a chandelier,
We,
convicts of the city-leper colony,
where gold and mud have ulcerated leprosy,
we are cleaner than the Venetian azure,
washed by seas and suns at once!

Don't care what's not
by Homers and Ovids
people like us
from soot in smallpox.
I know -
the sun would dim when it saw
our souls are golden placers!

Veins and muscles - more prayers.
Should we beg for favors of time!
We -
every -
keep in our fives
worlds drive belts!

It took the audience to Calvary
Petrograd, Moscow, Odessa, Kyiv,
and there was none
which
would not shout:
"Crucify
crucify him!"
But me -
People,
and those who offended -
You are dearest and dearest to me.

seen
How does a dog lick a kicking hand?

I,
ridiculed by today's tribe,
how long
dirty joke,
I see time going through the mountains,
which no one sees.

Where people's eyes break off stubby,
head of the hungry hordes,
in the crown of thorns revolutions
the sixteenth year is coming.

And I am his forerunner;
I - where the pain is, everywhere;
on every drop of tear leak
crucified himself on the cross.
Nothing can be forgiven.
I burned the souls where tenderness was raised.
It's harder than taking
a thousand thousand Bastilles!

And when,
his arrival
revolt announcing,
come out to the savior -
you i
I'll take my soul out
trample on
so big! -
and bloody ladies, like a banner.

Oh why is this
where does it come from
in bright fun
swing dirty fists!

Came
and curtained her head with despair
the idea of insane asylums.

AND -
as in the death of the dreadnought
from choking spasms
rush into the open hatch -
through your
to scream torn eye
climbed, distraught, Burliuk.
Almost bleeding tear-stained eyelids,
got out,
got up,
went
and with a tenderness unexpected in a fat man
took it and said:
"Fine!"
It's good when in a yellow jacket
the soul is wrapped up from inspections!
Fine,
when thrown into the teeth of the scaffold,
shout:
"Drink Van Gouten's cocoa!"

And this second
bengali,
loud
I wouldn't trade for anything
I am not on...

And from cigar smoke
liquor glass
the drunken face of the Severyanin was drawn out.
How dare you be called a poet
and, gray, tweet like a quail!
Today
necessary
brass knuckles
cut the world in the skull!

You,
disturbed by the thought of one -
"Do I dance gracefully" -
watch me having fun
I -
areal
pimp and card cheat.
From you,
who were wet with love,
from which
in the centuries a tear shed,
I'll leave
sun monocle
I'll put it in a wide-open eye.

Incredibly dressed up
I will walk on earth
to like and burn,
and ahead
I'll lead you on Napoleon's chain like a pug.
The whole earth will fall with a woman,
fidgets with meats, although to surrender;
things come to life
lips of a thing
lisp:
"swell, swell, swell!"

All of a sudden
and clouds
and cloudy stuff
raised an incredible pitching in the sky,
as if the white workers are dispersing,
sky declaring an embittered strike.
Thunder from behind a cloud, beast, got out,
huge nostrils provocatively blowing my nose,
and the sky's face twisted for a second
the stern grimace of an iron Bismarck.
And someone
entangled in clouds,
stretched out his hands to the cafe -
and like a woman
and soft as if
and as if gun carriages.

You think -
this sun is gentle
pats the cafe on the cheek?
It's shoot the rebels again
General Galife is coming!

Take out, walking, hands from trousers -
take a stone, a knife or a bomb,
and if he has no hands -
come and beat his forehead!
Go hungry
sweaty,
submissive,
sour in the flea mud!
Go!
Mondays and Tuesdays
let's paint with blood for the holidays!
Let the earth under the knives remember
who wanted to vulgarize!

earth,
obese like a lover
who fell in love with Rothschild!
So that the flags flutter in the heat of firing,
like every decent holiday -
lift up, lampposts,
bloody carcasses of meadowsweet.

cursed,
begged
cut,
follow someone
bite into the sides.

In the sky, red like the Marseillaise,
trembled, oblique, sunset.

Already crazy.

Nothing will happen.

The night will come
have a bite
and eat.
See -
the sky is Judith again
a handful of betrayed stars?

Came.
Feasting on Mamai,
planting back on the city.
We won't break this night with our eyes,
black like Azef!

I eat, throwing myself into tavern corners,
I pour wine over my soul and tablecloth
and see:
in the corner - eyes are round, -
the Mother of God sank into her heart with her eyes.
What to present according to a painted pattern
radiance of the tavern horde!
You see - again
spat upon the Calvary
prefer Barabbas?
Maybe on purpose I
in the human mess
no one's face is newer.
I,
May be,
the most beautiful
from all your sons.
Give them
bursting with joy,
imminent death of time,
to become children who must grow up,
boys are fathers,
girls are pregnant.
And let the new born grow
inquisitive gray-haired Magi,
and they will come
and children will be baptized
the names of my poems.

I, who sing of the car and England,
maybe just
in the most ordinary gospel
thirteenth apostle.
And when my voice
obscenely hoots -
from hour to hour,
the whole day,
maybe Jesus Christ is sniffing
my soul forget-me-not.

Maria! Maria! Maria!
Let go, Maria!
I can't on the streets!
Do not want?
Waiting
how the cheeks will fall into a hole
tried by everyone
fresh,
I will come
and toothlessly mumble,
that today I
"surprisingly honest."
Maria,
see -
I have already begun to slouch.

In the streets
people will make holes in fat in four-story crops,
poke out eyes,
shabby in the forty-year task, -
giggle
what's in my teeth
- again!-
stale roll of yesterday's caress.
The rain washed the sidewalks
puddles squeezed crook,
wet, licking the streets clogged with cobblestone corpse,
and on gray eyelashes -
Yes!-
on the eyelashes of frosty icicles
tears from the eyes -
Yes!-
from the lowered eyes of the drainpipes.
All pedestrians muzzle rain sucked,
and in the carriages an athlete was polished behind a fat athlete;
people burst
going through,
and fat oozed through the cracks,
a muddy river with crews flowing down
along with a dried-up bun
zhevotina of old cutlets.

Maria!
How to squeeze a quiet word into their fat ear?
Bird
is taken by the song,
sings,
hungry and calling
and I'm a man, Maria,
simple,
coughed up on a consumptive night into Presnya's dirty hand.
Mary, do you want this?
Let go, Maria!
With a spasm of fingers I will clamp the iron throat of the bell!

Pastures go wild in the streets.
On the neck abrasions crush fingers.

You see - stuck
pins in the eyes of ladies' hats!

Babe!
Don't be afraid,
what's on my neck
sweaty women sit like a wet mountain, -
it's through life I drag
millions of huge pure loves
and a million million little dirty loves.
Don't be afraid,
again,
in treason bad weather,
I will cling to thousands of pretty faces, -
"Loving Mayakovsky!" -
yes, it's a dynasty
on the heart of the mad ascended queens.
Mary, closer!
In undressed shamelessness,
in fearful trembling,
but give your lips the unfaded beauty:
I never lived with my heart until May,
but in the life
only the hundredth April is.
Maria!

Sonnet poet sings to Tiana
and I -
all meat,
the whole person
your body just ask
as Christians ask -
"our daily bread
give us today."

Maria - come on!

Maria!
I'm afraid to forget your name
like a poet afraid to forget
some
in the throes of nights the word is born,
majesty equal to God.
Your body
I will cherish and love
like a soldier
shattered by war
unnecessary,
nobody's
saves his only leg.
Maria -
do not want?
Do not want!

So - again
dark and dull
I'll take my heart
drenched in tears,
carry,
like a dog,
which is in the kennel
bears
a paw that had been run over by a train.
I gladden the road with blood,
clings with flowers to the dust of the tunic.
A thousand times will dance with Herodias
sun earth -
the head of the Baptist.
And when my number of years
splash to the end -
a million bloodlines will spread the trail
to my father's house.

I'll get out
dirty (from spending the night in ditches),
I will stand side by side
bend over
and say in his ear:
- Listen, Lord God!
How are you not bored
in cloudy jelly
to dip your irritated eyes daily?
Let's - you know -
arrange a carousel
on the tree of study of good and evil!
Omnipresent, you will be in every closet,
and put such wines on the table,
to want to walk in ki-ka-pu
gloomy Peter the Apostle.
And in paradise again we will settle Evochek:
order-
tonight is
from all the boulevards of the most beautiful girls
I will bring you.
Want?
Do not want?
Shaking your head, curly?
Supis a gray eyebrow?
You think -
this,
behind you, winged one,
knows what love is?
I am also an angel, I was one -
looked into the eye like a sugar lamb,
but I no longer want to give mares
sculpted vases from Servian flour.
Almighty, you invented a pair of hands
did,
that everyone has a head, -
why didn't you think
to be pain-free
kiss, kiss, kiss?!
I thought you were an almighty god
and you are a half-educated, tiny god.
See I'm bending over
because of the ankle
I take out a shoe knife.
Winged scoundrels!
Hustle in paradise!
Ruffle your feathers in a frightened shake!
I will open you, smelling of incense
from here to Alaska!

Don't stop me.
I'm lying
is it right
but I can't be calmer.
See -
the stars are beheaded again
and the sky was bloody with slaughter!
Hey you!
Sky!
Take off your hat!
I'm coming!

The universe is sleeping
put on paw
with pincer stars huge ear.

Analysis of the poem "A Cloud in Pants" by Mayakovsky

"A Cloud in Pants" is one of Mayakovsky's most famous and popular works, giving an idea of the distinctive features of his talent and worldview. The poet worked on it for about a year and a half and first presented it to the public in 1915. L. Brik was present at the author's reading, which made an indelible impression on Mayakovsky. He dedicated his poem to her. This was the beginning of a long, painful romance.

The poem was originally called "The Thirteen Apostles" and was much larger in length. Due to too sharp statements about the church, the work was banned by censorship and underwent significant revision by the author.

The verse refers to love lyrics, since the plot is based on the expectation of the lyrical hero of his beloved. This painful expectation turns into hatred when the hero learns that his beloved is going to get married. The rest of the poem is a philosophical reflection of the author, a description of his overwhelming feelings.

"A Cloud in Pants" to the maximum extent gives an idea of the expressive techniques used by Mayakovsky: non-standard meter, abundant use of neologisms and distorted words, inaccurate and broken rhyme, original metaphors and comparisons.

The long wait for Mary turns into real torture for the poet. Behind the laconic description of the passage of time ("Eight. Nine. Ten.") hides hard-to-suppressed anger and impatience. The lyrical hero meets the news of Mary's forthcoming marriage outwardly calmly, but a gigantic feeling of anger and hatred for the world around him "stubbornly breaks out" from his soul.

Mayakovsky throws out this feeling against the vulgarity and abomination of bourgeois society. If earlier the creative process seemed to him a relatively simple matter, now, looking at the disgusting reality, he cannot express his feelings. All the bright words died, only "bastard and ... it seems," borscht "" remained. This statement of the poet is very significant. He never lacked words and created new ones at any time.

Anger leads the poet to the idea of a merciless reprisal against an imperfect society. He calls to take up arms and gray everyday days "to paint with blood on holidays."

Mayakovsky throughout the poem highlights the significance of his "I". This is not only a manifestation of selfishness, but also the assertion of the priority of an individual over the interests and opinions of an inert crowd. The apotheosis of this thought is the recognition by the author of himself as the "thirteenth apostle" and the approach to Jesus Christ.

At the end of the poem, the author again turns to Mary with a humble, rude prayer. He frankly asks the woman to give up her body. Rejection leads to a new outburst of rage. The unsatisfied poet looks forward to his death in anticipation of a conversation with God. He accuses the creator of impotence and threatens to destroy the whole paradise. This threat conveys the mood of the poet to the maximum extent and emphasizes his irreconcilable character.

Vladimir Mayakovsky

"A cloud in pants"

Tetraptich

(Introduction)

Your thought, dreaming on a softened brain, like a fat lackey on a greasy couch, I will tease about a bloody heart flap: I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.

I have not a single gray hair in my soul, and there is no senile tenderness in it! Having thundered the world with the power of my voice, I go - a beautiful, twenty-two-year-old.

Gentle! You put love on violins. Love on the timpani lays rough. And you can’t twist yourself, like me, so that there are only solid lips!

Come learn from the living room, cambric, dignified official of the angelic league.

And which lips calmly turn over the pages of a cookbook like a cook.

If you want to be mad from meat - and, like the sky, changing tones, you want to be impeccably gentle, not a man, but - a cloud in your pants!

I do not believe that there is a flower Nice! I again glorify men, stale, like a hospital, and women, tattered, like a proverb.

Do you think it's malaria?

It was, it was in Odessa.

"I'll be there at four," Maria said. Eight. Nine. Ten.

So the evening in the night horror left the windows, gloomy, December.

Candelabra laugh and neigh in the decrepit back.

They wouldn’t recognize me now: the sinewy hulk is groaning, writhing. What could such a lump want? And the lump wants a lot!

After all, it doesn’t matter for yourself that it’s bronze, and that the heart is a cold piece of iron. At night, I want to hide my ringing in soft, feminine.

And now, huge, I stoop in the window, I melt the glass of the window with my forehead. Will there be love or not? Which one is big or tiny? Why does such a body have such a big one: it must be a small, meek lyubenochek. She shied away from car horns. Loves the end bells.

Again and again, burying my face in the rain in his pockmarked face, I wait, splashed with the thunder of the city surf.

Midnight, rushing about with a knife, caught up, stabbed, get him out!

The twelfth hour fell, like the head of the executed from the chopping block.

In the panes, gray raindrops bled, the grimace was huge, as if the chimeras of Notre Dame Cathedral were howling.

Damned! What, and this is not enough? Soon your mouth will scream. I hear: quietly, like a patient from a bed, a nerve jumped. And so, at first he barely walked, then he ran, excited, clear. Now both he and the new two are rushing about in a desperate tap dance.

The plaster on the ground floor has collapsed.

Nerves big, small, many!

Nerves are shaking!

And the night in the room tints and tints, the heavy eye cannot stretch out of the mud.

The doors suddenly rattled, as if the inn was missing teeth.

You came in, sharp as "here!", torturing suede gloves, said: "You know, I'm getting married."

Well, get out. Nothing. I'll get stronger. See how calm! Like the pulse of the dead. Remember? You said: "Jack London, money, love, passion", but I saw one thing: you are the Mona Lisa, which must be stolen! And they stole it.

Again, in love, I will go out into the games, illuminating the bend of the eyebrows with fire. What! And in the house that burned out, homeless vagrants sometimes live!

tease? "Less than a beggar's kopecks, you have emeralds of madness." Remember! Pompey died when Vesuvius was teased!

Hey! Lord! Lovers of sacrilege, crimes, slaughterhouses, and the worst thing they saw my face when I am absolutely calm?

And feel "I" is not enough for me. Some of me break out stubbornly.

Hello! Who is speaking? Mother? Mother! Your son is very sick! Mother! He has a heart of fire. Tell the sisters, Lyuda and Olya, he has nowhere to go. Every word, even a joke, that he spits out with a burning mouth, is thrown out like a naked prostitute from a burning brothel. People smell the smell of fried food! They caught up with some. Brilliant! In helmets! No boots! Tell the firefighters: they climb into the burning heart in caresses. I myself. Eyes weepy with barrels I will roll out. Let's lean on the ribs. I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out! Collapsed. Do not jump out of the heart!

On the face burning from the crack of the lips, a charred kiss to rush grew.

Mother! I can't sing. At the church of the heart, the choir is engaged!

Burnt figurines of words and numbers from the skull, like children from a burning building. So the fear of grasping the sky rose up the burning hands of the Lusitania.

To people shaking in the apartment, a quiet, hundred-eyed glow bursts from the pier. The last cry, at least about the fact that I am burning, groan in the centuries!

Praise me! I'm not great. I put "nihil" over everything that is done.

I used to think books are made like this: a poet came, easily opened his mouth, and immediately an inspired simpleton sang please! And it turns out that before they begin to sing, they walk for a long time, calloused from fermentation, and the stupid roach of the imagination quietly flounders in the mire of the heart. While they are boiling, chirping in rhymes, some kind of brew of love and nightingales, the street is writhing without a tongue, it has nothing to shout and talk with.

The cities of Babylon, being proud, we lift up again, and the god of the city destroys the arable land, interfering with the word.

The street flour silently pearled. A scream rose from his throat. Bumping, stuck across the throat, chubby taxis and bony spans of the chest hurried.

The consumptives are flatter. The city blocked the road with darkness.

And when, nevertheless, she coughed up a crush on the square, pushing the porch that had stepped on her throat, it was thought: in the choirs of the Archangel's chant, God, robbed, is coming to punish!

And the street sat down and yelled: "Let's go eat!"

The Krupps and Kruppiki make up the city with threatening eyebrows, and corpses decompose in the mouth of the dead words, only two live, fattening "bastard" and some other, it seems, "borscht".

The poets, soaked in weeping and sobbing, rushed from the street, ruffling their hair: "How can two of them sing a young lady, and love, and a flower under the dew?" And behind the poets are street thousands: students, prostitutes, contractors.

Lord! Stop! You are not beggars, you dare not ask for handouts!

We, hefty, with a sazhen step, should not listen, but tear them, stuck with a free supplement to each double bed!

Whether to humbly ask them: "Help me!" Pray for a hymn, for an oratorio! We ourselves are creators in the burning hymn to the noise of the factory and laboratory.

What do I care about Faust, an extravaganza of rockets sliding with Mephistopheles in the heavenly parquet! I know the nail in my boot is more nightmarish than Goethe's fantasy!

TETRAPTIC

your thought,
dreaming on a softened brain,
like a fat footman on a greasy couch,
I will tease about the bloody flap of the heart;
I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.

I have not a single gray hair in my soul,
and there is no senile tenderness in it!
The world is huge with the power of voice,
I'm going - beautiful,
10 twenty-two years old.

Gentle!
You put love on violins.
Love on the timpani lays rough.
And you can't twist yourself like me,
to have one solid lips!

Come learn -
from the living room cambric,
a dignified official of the angelic league.

And which lips calmly flips,
20 like a cookbook page cook.

Want to -
I will be mad from meat
- and like the sky, changing tones -
want to -
I will be impeccably gentle,
not a man, but a cloud in his pants!

I do not believe that there is a flower Nice!
I am praised again
men stale like a hospital
30 and women, tattered as the saying goes.

Do you think it's malaria?

It was,
was in Odessa.

"I'll be there at four," Maria said.

Eight.
Nine.
Ten.

Here comes the evening
into the night terror
40 left the windows,
frowning,
December.

In decrepit back they laugh and neigh
candelabra.

I can't be recognized now.
sinewy hulk
groans
writhing.
What could such a lump want?
50 And the lump wants a lot!

After all, it doesn't matter to yourself.
and what is bronze,
and the fact that the heart is a cold piece of iron.
At night I want my ringing
hide in soft
into the feminine.

And so,
huge,
hunched in the window
60 I melt window glass with my forehead.
Will there be love or not?
Which -
big or tiny?
Where does the body have such a large:
must be small
humble darling.
She shied away from car horns.
Loves the end bells.

More and more,
70 buried in the rain
face in his pockmarked face,
I am waiting,
splashed by the thunder of the city surf.

Midnight, rushing about with a knife,
caught up
stabbed -
get him out!

The twelfth hour has fallen
like the head of the executed from the chopping block.

80 Gray raindrops in glasses
fell out,
made a grimace,
like howling chimeras
Notre Dame Cathedral.

Damned!
What, and this is not enough?
Soon your mouth will scream.

Hear:
quiet,
90 as sick from the bed,
nerve jumped.
And so, -

first walked
barely,
then he ran
excited,
clear.
Now he and the new two
rush about in a desperate tap dance.

100 The plaster on the lower floor has collapsed.

Nerves -
big,
small,
many! -
jumping mad,
and already
Nerves are shaking!

And the night in the room tints and tints, -
a heavy eye cannot reach out of the mud

110 Doors suddenly clattered,
like a hotel
does not get tooth to tooth.

You entered
sharp, like "here!",
mucha suede gloves,
said:
"You know -
I'm getting married".

Well, get out.
120 Nothing.
I'll get stronger.
See how calm!
Like a pulse
dead man.

Remember?
You said:
"Jack London,
money,

Love,
130 passion, -
and I saw one:
you are Gioconda,
to be stolen!

And they stole it.

Again, in love, I will go out into the games,
illuminating the bend of the eyebrows with fire.
What!
And in the house that burned out
sometimes homeless vagrants live!

140 Teasing?
"Less than a beggar's pennies,
you have emeralds of madness.
Remember!
Pompey died
when they teased Vesuvius!

Hey!
Lord!
lovers
sacrilege,
150 crimes
slaughterhouse -
and the worst
saw -
my face
When
I
absolutely calm?

And I feel -
"I"
160 is not enough for me.
Some of me break out stubbornly.

Hello!
Who is speaking?
Mother?
Mother!

Your son is very sick!
Mother!
He has a heart of fire.
Tell the sisters, Lyuda and Olya, -
170 he has nowhere to go.
Every word,
even a joke
which he vomits with a burning mouth,
thrown out like a naked prostitute
from a burning brothel.

People are sniffing
it smelled fried!
They caught up with some.
Brilliant!
180 In helmets!
No boots!
Tell the firemen
on a burning heart they climb in caresses.
I myself.
Eyes weepy with barrels I will roll out.
Let's lean on the ribs.
I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out! I'll jump out!
Collapsed.
Do not jump out of the heart!

190 On a burning face
from cracked lips
charred kiss rush rose.

Mother!
I can't sing.
At the church of the heart, the choir is engaged!

Burnt figurines of words and numbers
from a skull
like children from a burning building.
So fear
200 grab the sky
vysil
the burning hands of the Lusitania.

shaking people
in the apartment is quiet
a hundred-eyed glow bursts from the pier.
The last cry -
at least you
that I am burning, groan in the centuries!

Praise me!
210 I am not like the great.
I'm over everything that's done
I put "nihil".

I used to think -
books are made like this:
the poet came
220 easily opened his mouth,
and immediately an inspired simpleton sang -
Please!
And it turns out -
before it starts to sing
walk for a long time, sore from fermentation,
and quietly flounders in the mire of the heart
stupid imagination.
While they are boiling, rhyming with rhymes,
from loves and nightingales some kind of brew,
230 street writhes speechless -
she has nothing to scream and talk.

Towers of Babel,
lifted up, lifted up again,
but god
cities on arable land
destroys,
interfering word.

The street was flour silently.
A scream rose from his throat.
240 Bristling, stuck across the throat
chubby taxis and bony cabs.
The chest was in a hurry.
The consumptives are flatter.

The city blocked the road with darkness.

And when -
after all! -
coughed up a crush on the square,
pushing the porch that has stepped on the throat,
thought:
250 in the choirs of the archangel's chorale
God, robbed, goes to punish!

And the street sat down and yelled:
"Let's go eat!"

Make up the city of Kruppy and Kruppiki
wrinkle of threatening eyebrows,
and in the mouth
corpses of dead words decompose,
only two live, fattening -
"bastard"
260 and some more
it seems - "borscht".

poets,
soaked in weeping and sobbing,
rushed from the street, ruffling their hair:

“How to drink two of these
and young lady
and love,
and a flower under the dew?

And for the poets
270 street thousand:
students,
prostitutes,
contractors.

Lord!
Stop!
You are not a beggar
you dare not ask for handouts!

We healthy
with a sazhen step,
280 you must not listen, but tear them -
their,
sucked by a free app
for every double bed!

Whether to humbly ask them:
"Help me!"
Pray for an anthem
about the oratorio!
We ourselves are creators in a burning hymn -
factory and laboratory noise.

290 What do I care about Faust,
rocket extravaganza
sliding with Mephistopheles in the heavenly parquet!
I know -
nail in my boot
more nightmarish than Goethe's fantasy!

I,
golden-eyed,
whose every word
newborn soul,

300 birthday body,
I tell you:
smallest speck of life
more valuable than all that I will do and have done!

Listen!
preaches,
tossing and groaning,
of today scream-lipped Zarathustra!
We
with a face like a sleepy sheet,
310 with lips hanging like a chandelier
We,
convicts of the city-leper colony,
where gold and mud have ulcerated leprosy,
we are cleaner than the Venetian azure,
washed by seas and suns at once!

Don't care what's not
by Homers and Ovids
people like us;
from soot in smallpox.
320 I know -
the sun would dim when it saw
our souls are golden placers!

Veins and muscles - more prayers.
Should we beg for favors of time!
We -
every -
keep in our fives
worlds drive belts!

And this second
bengali
loud
I wouldn't trade for anything
400 I don't...

And from cigar smoke
glass of liquor
the drunken face of the Severyanin was drawn out.

How dare you be called a poet
and, gray, tweet like a quail!
Today
necessary
brass knuckles
cut the world in the skull!

410 you,
disturbed by the thought of one -
"Do I dance gracefully" -
watch me having fun
I -
areal
pimp and card cheat!

From you,
who were wet with love,
from which
420 in the centuries a tear shed,
I'll leave
sun monocle
I'll put it in a wide-open eye.

Incredibly dressed up
I will walk on earth
to like and burn,
and ahead
I'll lead you on Napoleon's chain like a pug.

The whole earth will fall with a woman,
430 fidgets with meats, although to surrender;
things come to life
lips of a thing
lisp:
"swell, swell, swell!"

All of a sudden
and clouds
and cloudy stuff
raised an incredible pitching in the sky,
as if the white workers are dispersing,
440 the sky declaring an embittered strike.

Thunder from behind a cloud, beast, got out,
huge nostrils provocatively blew his nose,
and the sky's face twisted for a second
the stern grimace of an iron Bismarck.

And someone
entangled in clouds,
stretched out his hands to the cafe -
and like a woman
and soft as if
450 and supposedly gun carriages.

You think -
this sun is gentle
pats the cafe on the cheek?
It's shoot the rebels again
General Galife is coming!

Take out, walking, hands from trousers -
take a stone, a knife or a bomb,
and if he has no hands -
come and beat his forehead!

460 Go hungry,
sweaty,
submissive,
sour in the flea mud!

Go!
Mondays and Tuesdays
let's paint with blood for the holidays!
Let the earth under the knives remember
who wanted to vulgarize!

earth,
470 fat like a mistress
who fell in love with Rothschild!

So that the flags flutter in the heat of firing,
like every decent holiday -
lift up, lampposts,
bloody carcasses of meadowsweet.

cursed,
begged
cut,
follow someone
480 bite into the sides.

In the sky, red like the Marseillaise,
trembled, oblique, sunset.

Already crazy.

Nothing will happen.

The night will come
have a bite
and eat.

See -
the sky is Judith again
490 handfuls of betrayed stars?
Came.
Feasting on Mamai,
sowing back to the city.
We won't break this night with our eyes,
black like Azef!

I eat, throwing myself into tavern corners,
I pour wine over my soul and tablecloth
and see:
in the corner - eyes are round, -
500 eyes in the heart of the Mother of God ingrained.

What to present according to a painted pattern
radiance of the tavern horde!
You see - again
spat upon the Calvary
prefer Barabbas?

Maybe on purpose I
in the human mess
no one's face is newer.
I,
510 maybe
the most beautiful
from all your sons.

Give them
bursting with joy,
imminent death of time,
to become children who must grow up,
boys are fathers,
girls are pregnant.

And let the new born grow
520 inquisitive gray magi,
and they will come
and children will be baptized
the names of my poems.

I, who sing of the car and England,
maybe just
in the most ordinary gospel
thirteenth apostle.

Maria! Maria! Maria!
Let go, Maria!
I can't on the streets!
Do not want?
Waiting
how the cheeks will fall into a hole,
540 tried by all,
fresh,
I will come
and toothlessly mumble,
that today I
"surprisingly honest."

Maria,
see -
I have already begun to slouch.

In the streets
550 people will make holes in fat in four-story crops,
poke out eyes,
shabby in the forty-year task, -
giggle
what's in my teeth
- again! -
stale roll of yesterday's caress.

The rain washed the sidewalks
puddles squeezed crook,
wet, licking the streets clogged with cobblestone corpse,
560 and on gray eyelashes -
Yes! -
on the eyelashes of frosty icicles
tears from the eyes -
Yes! -
from the lowered eyes of the drainpipes.

All pedestrians muzzle rain sucked,
and in the carriages an athlete was polished behind a fat athlete:
people burst
going through,

570 and fat oozed through the cracks,
a muddy river with crews flowing down
along with a dried-up bun
zhevotina of old cutlets.

Maria!
How to squeeze a quiet word into their fat ear?
Bird
is taken by the song,
sings,
hungry and calling
580 and I am a man, Maria,
simple,
coughed up on a consumptive night into Presnya's dirty hand.

Mary, do you want this?
Let go, Maria!
With a spasm of fingers I will clamp the iron throat of the bell!

Pastures go wild in the streets.
On the neck abrasions crush fingers.

590 It hurts!

You see - stuck
pins in the eyes of ladies' hats!

Babe!
Don't be afraid,
what's on my neck
sweaty women sit like a wet mountain, -
it's through life I drag

millions of huge pure loves
600 and a million million little dirty loves
Don't be afraid,
again,
in treason bad weather,
I will cling to thousands of pretty faces, -
"Loving Mayakovsky!" -
yes, it's a dynasty
on the heart of the mad ascended queens.

Mary, closer!

In undressed shamelessness,
610 in fearful trembling,
but give your lips the unfaded beauty:
I never lived with my heart until May,
but in the life
only the hundredth April is.

Maria!
Sonnet poet sings to Tiana,
and I -
all meat,
the whole person
620 your body just ask
as Christians ask -
"our daily bread
give us today."

Maria - come on!

Maria!
I'm afraid to forget your name
like a poet afraid to forget
some
in the throes of nights the word is born,
630 majesty equal to God.

Your body
I will cherish and love
like a soldier
shattered by war

unnecessary,
nobody's
saves his only leg.

Maria -
do not want?
640 You don't want to!

So - again
dark and dull
I'll take my heart
drenched in tears,
carry,
like a dog,
which is in the kennel
bears
650 paw run over by train.

I gladden the road with the blood of my heart,
clings with flowers to the dust of the tunic.
A thousand times will dance with Herodias
sun earth -
the head of the Baptist.

And when my number of years
splash to the end -
a million bloodlines will spread the trail
to my father's house.

660 I'll get out
dirty (from spending the night in ditches),
I will stand side by side
bend over
and I will say in his ear:

Listen, Lord God!
How are you not bored
in cloudy jelly
to dip your irritated eyes daily?

Let's - you know -
670 arrange a carousel
on the tree of study of good and evil!

Omnipresent, you will be in every closet,
and we will place such wines on the table,
to want to walk in ki-ka-pu
gloomy Peter the Apostle.
And in paradise again we will settle Evochek:
command -
tonight is
from all the boulevards of the most beautiful girls
680 I will drag you.

Do not want?

Shaking your head, curly?
Supis a gray eyebrow?
You think -
this,
behind you, winged one,
knows what love is?

I am also an angel, I was one -
690 sugar lamb looked into the eye,
but I no longer want to give mares
sculpted vases from Sevres flour.
Almighty, you invented a pair of hands
did,
that everyone has a head, -
why didn't you think
to be pain-free
kiss, kiss, kiss?!

I thought you were an almighty god
700 and you are a half-educated, tiny god.
See I'm bending over
because of the ankle
I take out a shoe knife.

Winged scoundrels!
Hustle in paradise!
Ruffle your feathers in a frightened shake!
I will open you, smelling of incense
from here to Alaska!

710 Don't stop me.
I'm lying
is it right
but I can't be calmer.
See -
the stars are beheaded again
and the sky was bloody with slaughter!

Hey you!
Sky!
Take off your hat!
720 I'm coming!

The universe is sleeping
put on paw
with pincer stars huge ear.

Tetraptich

(introduction)

your thought,
dreaming on a softened brain,
like a fat footman on a greasy couch,
I will tease about the bloody flap of the heart:
I scoff to my fill, impudent and caustic.

I have not a single gray hair in my soul,
and there is no senile tenderness in it!
ogre world O miv power of voice,
I'm going - beautiful,
twenty-two.

Gentle!
You put love on violins.
Love on the timpani lays rough.
And you can't twist yourself like me,
to have one solid lips!

Coming And those learn -
from the living room cambric,
a dignified official of the angelic league.

And which lips calmly flips,
like a cookbook page cookbook.

Want to -
I will be mad from meat
- and like the sky, changing tones -
want to -
I will be impeccably gentle,
not a man, but a cloud in his pants!

I do not believe that there is a flower Nice!
I am praised again
men stale like a hospital
and women, tattered as the saying goes.

Do you think it's malaria?

It was,
was in Odessa.

"I'll be there at four," Maria said.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.

Here comes the evening
into the night terror
left the windows
frowning,
December.

In decrepit back they laugh and neigh
candelabra.

I can't be recognized now.
sinewy hulk
groans
writhing.
What could such a lump want?
And the lump wants a lot!

After all, it doesn't matter to yourself.
and what is bronze,
and the fact that the heart is a cold piece of iron.
At night I want my ringing
hide in soft
into the feminine.

More and more,
buried in the rain
face in his pockmarked face,
I am waiting,
splashed by the thunder of the city surf.

Midnight, rushing about with a knife,
dogn A la,
stabbed -
get him out!

The twelfth hour has fallen
like the head of the executed from the chopping block.

Gray raindrops in the glass
fell out,
made a grimace,
like howling chimeras
Notre Dame Cathedral.

The plaster on the ground floor has collapsed.

Nerves -
big,
small,
many!-
jumping mad,
and already
Nerves are shaking!

And the night is creeping and crawling around the room, -
a heavy eye cannot reach out of the mud.

The doors suddenly banged
like a hotel
does not hit the tooth on the tooth.

You entered
sharp, like "here!",
mucha suede gloves,
said:
"You know -
I'm getting married".

Well exit And those.
Nothing.
I'll get stronger.
See how calm!
Like a pulse
dead man.
Remember?
You said:
"Jack London,
money,
Love,
passion",-
and I saw one:
you are Gioconda,
to be stolen!
And they stole it.

Again, in love, I will go out into the games,
fire illuminating the eyebrows A bend
What!
And in the house that burned out
sometimes homeless vagrants live!

dr A know?
"Less than a beggar's pennies,
you have emeralds of madness.
Remember!
Pompey died
when they teased Vesuvius!

Hey!
Lord!
lovers
sacrilege,
crimes,
slaughterhouse -
and the worst
saw -
my face
When
I
absolutely calm?

And I feel -
"I"
small for me O.
Some of me break out stubbornly.

On a burning face
from cracked lips
charred kiss rush rose.

Mother!
I can't sing.
At the church of the heart, the choir is engaged!

Burnt figurines of words and numbers
from a skull
like children from a burning building.
So fear
grab the sky
vysil
the burning hands of the Lusitania.

shaking people
in the apartment is quiet
a hundred-eyed glow bursts from the pier.
The last cry -
at least you
that I am burning, groan in the centuries!

Praise me!
I'm not great.
I'm over everything that's done
I put "nihil".

Towers of Babel,
lifted up, lifted up again,
but god
cities on arable land
destroys,
interfering word.

street m at ku silently perla.
A scream rose from his throat.
Bristled, stuck across the throat,
chubby taxis and bony cabbies
the chest was in a hurry.

The consumptives are flatter.
The city blocked the road with darkness.

And when -
anyway!-
coughed up a crush on the square,
pushing the porch that has stepped on the throat,
thought:
in x O archangel's chant
God, robbed, goes to punish!

And the street sat down and yelled:
"Let's go eat!"

Lord!
Stop!
You are not a beggar
you dare not ask for handouts!

We healthy
with a step sazhen,
it is necessary not to listen, but to tear them -
their,
sucked by a free app
for every double bed!

Whether to humbly ask them:
"Help me!"
Pray for an anthem
about the oratorio!
We ourselves are creators in a burning hymn -
factory and laboratory noise.

What do I care about Faust
rocket extravaganza
sliding with Mephistopheles in the heavenly parquet!
I know -
nail in my boot
more nightmarish than Goethe's fantasy!

I,
golden-eyed,
whose every word
newborn soul,
birthday body,
I tell you:
smallest speck of life
more valuable than all that I will do and have done!

Listen!
preaches,
tossing and groaning,
of today scream-lipped Zarathustra!
We
with a face like a sleepy sheet,
with lips hanging like a chandelier,
We,
convicts of the city-leper colony,
where is the gold and dirt from I called a leprosy -
we are cleaner than the Venetian azure,
washed by seas and suns at once!

Don't care what's not
by Homers and Ovids
people like us
from soot in smallpox.
I know -
the sun would dim when it saw
our souls are golden placers!

Veins and muscles - more prayers.
Should we beg for favors of time!
We -
every -
keep in our fives
worlds drive belts!

seen
How does a dog lick a kicking hand?

I,
ridiculed by today's tribe,
how long
dirty joke,
I see time going through the mountains,
which no one sees.

Where people's eyes break off stubby,
head of the hungry hordes,
in the crown of thorns revolutions
the sixteenth year is coming.

And I am his forerunner;
I - where the pain is, everywhere;
on every drop of tear leak
R A slept himself on the cross.
Nothing can be forgiven.
I burned the souls where tenderness was raised.
It's harder than taking
a thousand thousand Bastilles!

And when,
his arrival
revolt announcing,
come out to the savior -
you i
I'll take my soul out
trample on
so big! -
and bloody ladies, like a banner.

Oh why is this
where does it come from
in bright fun
swing dirty fists!

Came
and curtained her head with despair
the idea of insane asylums.

And this second
bengali,
loud
I wouldn't trade for anything
I don't...

You think -
this sun is gentle
pats the cafe on the cheek?
It's shoot the rebels again
General Galife is coming!

Take out, walking, hands from trousers -
take a stone, a knife or a bomb,
and if he has no hands -
come and beat his forehead!
Go hungry
sweaty,
submissive,
soured in flea gr I Zenenko!
Go!
Mondays and Tuesdays
let's paint with blood for the holidays!
Let the earth under the knives remember
who wanted to vulgarize!

earth,
obese like a lover
who fell in love with Rothschild!
So that the flags flutter in the heat of firing,
like every decent holiday -
lift up, lampposts,
bloody carcasses of meadowsweet.

cursed,
begged
cut,
follow someone
bite into the sides.

In the sky, red like the Marseillaise,
trembled, oblique, sunset.

Already crazy.

Nothing will happen.

The night will come
have a bite
and eat.
See -
the sky is Judith again
a handful of betrayed stars?

Came.
Feasting on Mamai,
planting back on the city.
We won't break this night with our eyes,
black like Azef!

I eat, throwing myself into tavern corners,
I pour wine over my soul and tablecloth
and see:
in the corner - eyes are round, -
the Mother of God sank into her heart with her eyes.
What to present according to a painted pattern
radiance of the tavern horde!
You see - again
spat upon the Calvary
prefer Barabbas?
Maybe on purpose I
in a human month And ve
no one's face is newer.
I,
May be,
the most beautiful
from all your sons.
Give them
bursting with joy,
imminent death of time,
to become children who must grow up,
boys are fathers,
girls are pregnant.
And let the new born grow
inquisitive gray-haired Magi,
and they will come
and children will be baptized
the names of my poems.

Pastures go wild in the streets.
On the neck abrasions crush fingers.

You see - stuck
pins in the eyes of ladies' hats!

Sonnet poet sings to Tiana
and I -
all meat,
the whole person
your body just ask
as Christians ask -
"our daily bread
give us today."

Maria - come on!

I'll get out
dirty (from spending the night in ditches),
I'll be side by side O To,
bend over
and tell him A ear:
- Listen, Lord God!
How are you not bored
in cloudy jelly
to dip your irritated eyes daily?
Let's - you know -
arrange a carousel
on the tree of study of good and evil!
Omnipresent, you will be in every closet,
and we will arrange such wines O table,
to want to walk in ki-ka-pu
gloomy Peter the Apostle.
And in paradise again we will settle Evochek:
order-
tonight is
from all the boulevards of the most beautiful girls
I will bring you.
Want?
Do not want?
Shaking your head, curly?
Supis a gray eyebrow?
You think -
this,
behind you, winged one,
knows what love is?
I am also an angel, I was one -
looked into the eye like a sugar lamb,
but I no longer want to give mares
from servskaya m at ki sculpted vases.
Almighty, you invented a pair of hands
did,
that everyone has a head, -
why didn't you think
to be pain-free
kiss, kiss, kiss?!
I thought you were an almighty god
and you are a half-educated, tiny god.
See I'm bending over
because of the ankle
I take out a shoe knife.
Winged scoundrels!
Hustle in paradise!
Ruffle your feathers in a frightened shake!
I will open you, smelling of incense Yu
from here to Alaska!

Don't stop me.
I'm lying
is it right
but I can't be calmer.
See -
the stars are beheaded again
and the sky was bloody with slaughter!
Hey you!
Sky!
Take off your hat!
I'm coming!

The universe is sleeping
put on paw
with pincer stars huge ear.