The Violin - A Little Bit Nervous [Vladimir Mayakovsky]

The violin got all worked up, imploring

then suddenly burst into sobs,

so child-like

that the drum couldn't stand it:

"All right, all right, all right!"

But then he got tired,

couldn't wait till the violin ended,

slipped out on the burning Kuznetsky

and took flight.

The orchestra looked on, chilly,

while the violin wept itself out

without reason

or rhyme,

and only somewhere,

a cymbal, silly,

kept clashing:

"What is it,what's all the racket about?"

And when the helicon,

brass-faced,

sweaty,

hollared:

"Crazy!

Crybaby!

Be still!"

I staggered,

on to my feet getting,

and lumbered over the horror-stuck music stands,

yelling,

"Good God"

why, I myself couldn't tell;

then dashed, my arms round the wooden neck to

fling:

"You know what, violin,

we're awfully alike;

I too

always yell,

but can't prove a thing!"

The musicains commented,

contemptuously smiling:"

Look at him-come to his wooden-bride-

tee-hee!"

But I don't care-

I'm a good guy-

"You know, what, violin,

let's live together,

eh?".

{ This one is the first Russian poem I might have ever read and obviously the first by Mayakovsky. I believe this poem has had influences over my style of writing [If I may reason so, humbly]. I first found this in the translation section of my village library, an old copy of translated russian magazines with withered pages. I copied it onto somewhere and it was with me for long.... It's pretty nostalgic for me and thus finds it's place here on my blog. -retarded}

Past One O'Clock - Vladimir Mayakovsky

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.



This poem was found among Mayakovsky’s papers after his suicide on April 14, 1930. He had used the middle section, with slight changes, as an epilogue to his suicide note.

{ I had always respected Mayakovsky and his works. Him being a Bolshevik poet in the post-revolution Soviet Union did not degrade his poetic abilities - retarded}