Showing posts with label Vladimir Mayakovsky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vladimir Mayakovsky. Show all posts

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Mayakovsky's Last Words












And so they say-









"the incident dissolved"
the love boat smashed up










on the dreary routine.
I'm through with life











and [we] should absolve
from mutual hurts, afflictions and spleen.





* Partial contents of Vladimir Mayakovsky's suicide note, 4-13-30.  Translated by Dina Belyayeva.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Agitprop -- Want It? Enter (Mayakovsky)













Transliteration:
KHOCHESH? VSTUPI
1. Khochesh poborot' Kholod?
2. Khochesh poborot' Golod?
3. Khochesh est'?
4. Khochesh pit?
Speshi v udarnuyu gruppu
Obraztsovago truda vstupit'
Nankompros, ROSTA no. ....

 
Translation:
DO YOU WANT TO? JOIN
1. Do you want to conquer coldness?
2. Do you want to conquer hunger?
3. Do you want to eat?
4. Do you want to drink?
Hurry up to join the strike team of exemplary labor.
Nankompros, ROSTA no. .... 

Comments:
  1. The top line is the title of a short agitation verse known as "agitka". 
  2. In Russian language the words "coldness" and "hunger" rhyme, and this couple is a ubiquitous cliche in descriptions of harsh living conditions.
  3. See Udarnik article for "strike teams of exemplary labor".
  4. The smoke in the picture #2 had different associations at these times: today smoke is pollution, then it was a sign of industrial revolution, and posters of early Soviet times abound in smoky chimneys of plants.
  5. Each of the links retained above (i.e., for Nankompros, ROSTA and Udarnik) shed light on a different aspect of this work and early Soviet history.   This poster was created ca. 1920.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Past One O'Clock (Mayakovsky, 1930)





Past one o’clock. You're probably in bed.
The Milky Way is like Oka of silver








No need for me to rush. I have no reasons left
to stir you with the lightnings of my cable fervor.
And so they say, the incident dissolved.









The Love Boat smashed up on the dreary routine.
We’re even. There’s no use in keeping the score
of mutual hurts, affliction and spleen.
Look here, the world exudes an eerie calm.









The sky bequeathed to us its constellations.
In periods like this I’d like to be the one
with ages, history and the creation.





Trans. Dina Beljaeva, 2008