credit


hipsterchu:

Love - Vldimir Mayakovsky



grupaok:

Vladimir Tatlin, Funeral parade for Vladimir Mayakovsky, 1930



blackpierrot:

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;
impudent and caustic, I’ll jeer to superfluity.

Of Grandfatherly gentleness I’m devoid,
there’s not a single grey hair in my soul!
Thundering the world with the might of my voice,
I go by – handsome,
twenty-two-year-old.

Вашу мысль
мечтающую на размягченном мозгу,
как выжиревший лакей на засаленной кушетке,
буду дразнить об окровавленный сердца лоскут:
досыта изъиздеваюсь, нахальный и едкий.

У меня в душе ни одного седого волоса,
и старческой нежности нет в ней!
Мир огромив мощью голоса,
иду – красивый,
двадцатидвухлетний.



straydogcafe:

i’m so in love with my mayakovsky facsimile



❝ But I
have tamed
myself
I have stomped
on the throat
of my own song ❞
—— By Vladimir Mayakovsky


nordverden:

Vladimir Mayakovsky, 1974.



levantineviper:

— Vladimir Mayakovsky | Listen! (1913)



rosswolfe:

Crowds gather for Maiakovskii’s funeral, 1930.
via The Charnel-House



The “fight for futurism” was a deliberately outrageous campaign against contemporary art and literature initiated in Moscow and carried on in the provincial cities of Russia. To advertise their first appearance on October 13, 1913, the futurist comrades, Burliuk, Mayakovsky, Kamensky, and Livshits, gathered at a busy point in Moscow and at exactly noon set off down the street with a slow and solemn step, each in turn reciting his latest, most shocking “futurist” poems. Their mien as they moved was stern and serious and they didn’t smile at all, though Mayakovsky was wearing an orange blouse (supposedly made for him by his mother and sisters), Burliuk was in a top hat and frock coat and had a dog with rampant tail painted on his cheek, Livshits wore an extravagant tie and handkerchief, Kamensky, who was an aviator, had an airplane painted on his face, and they all wore wooden spoons, instead of green carnations, in their buttonholes. Kamensky in his book describes the wild consternation of the crowds that gathered to observe this literary phenomenon. Amusement turned into outrage and even fear. Members of the crowd threatened to beat the poets. Someone called the police, who tried to break it up. A young girl offered Mayakovsky an orange, which he proceeded to eat. “He’s eating! He’s eating!” the whisper went up and down the street.

—Edward J. Brown, Mayakovsky: A Poet in the Revolution



levantineviper:

Mayakovsky | Excerpt from Vladimir Ilyich Lenin (1924)