What is a verbal bully

Mayakovsky and his revolution

It is impossible to imagine Mayakovsky outside the historical context. Not just the Silver Age, not only avant-garde and modern, but, first of all, breaking the old foundations. City, technological progress, factories, industrialization and 150,000,000 mouths screaming in every poet's propaganda poem. Instead of images and "poetics" - slogans and hot poster language, instead of lyrics and "high calm" - barking sounds, chopped syllables and the famous "ladder" - a technique necessary to accurately convey oral accents in writing. nine0003

While still a minor for revolutionary propaganda and distribution of leaflets, Mayakovsky "passed on the case" - the young man was transferred from unit to unit: Basmannaya, Meshchanskaya, Myasnitskaya and, finally, Butyrskaya prison, where he spent 11 months in solitary confinement No. 103. The Great October Revolution In 1917, as expected, he enthusiastically met: the Komfut and LEF (Left Front of Arts) groups, cooperation with the propaganda "Windows of ROSTA" (a series of propaganda posters of the Russian Telegraph Agency during the Civil War), the poem "150,000,000" and "Vladimir Ilyich Lenin" and many program poems, such as "Left March". nine0003

"To accept or not to accept? There was no such question for me (and for other Muscovites-futurists). My revolution," the poet asserted.

Mayakovsky himself considered the following years of the Civil War to be the most fruitful in his life. However, since 1922, undergoing more and more attacks from censorship for his revealing sketches and parodies of the new state apparatus, the poet began to visit more and more often abroad - but that's a completely different story.

© RIA Novosti

Soviet poet Vladimir Mayakovsky among young people at the exhibition "20 Years of Mayakovsky's Work"

Order for the Army of Art

Gimp of the old men of the brigade
Gimp of the same kind.
Comrades!
To the barricades! -
barricades of hearts and souls.
Only that communist,
who burned the bridges to retreat.
Quit walking, futurists,
Leap into the future!
to build a little steam locomotive -
turned the wheels and leaked.
If the song does not destroy the station,
then what is the alternating current for?
Pile up behind the sound the sound you
and forward,
sing and fistula.
There are also good letters:
Er,
Sha,
Shcha.
It's not enough - build in pairs, fluff
along the trouser leg of the piping.
All Soviets will not move the armies,
if the musicians do not march.
Drag the pianos into the street,
the drum from the window with a hook!
Drum,
cut the piano,
but so that there was a roar,
so that thunder.
What is it - to pore at the factories,
to smear the face in soot
and on someone else's luxury
to rest
clap with drooping eyes.
Enough penny truths.
Wipe the old from the heart.
The streets are our brushes.
Squares are our palettes.
The book of the times of the
thousandth revolution
does not sing the days.
To the streets, futurists,
drummers and poets!

1918

Left march

Turn around on the march!
Verbal is not a place for slander.
Hush, speakers!
Your
word,
Comrade Mauser.
It is enough to live by the law,
given by Adam and Eve.
Let's drive the horse of history.
Left!
Left!
Left!

Hey blue blouses!
Reite!
Over the oceans!
Or
the battleships in the roadstead
have sharp keels?!
Let
baring his crown,
raise the British lion howl.
The commune cannot be conquered.
Left!
Left!
Left!

There
beyond the mountains of grief
there is no end of the sun.
For hunger
for mora sea
print the millionth step!
Let them surround the hired gang,
steel pour out with lei, -
Russia will not be under the Entente.
Left!
Left!
Left!

Will the eagle's eye grow dim?
Will we stare at the old?
Fasten
at the world's throat
fingers of the proletariat!
Chest forward brave!
Paste the sky with flags!
Who's walking right there?
Left!
Left!
Left!

1918

Mayakovsky and his outrageousness

As a poet, Mayakovsky began with Cubo-Futurists - a group of like-minded people who represented the avant-garde trend in art. In addition to him, the poetic "compartment" of the Cubists included Velimir Khlebnikov, David and Nikolai Burliuk, Vasily Kamensky, Alexei Kruchenykh, Benedikt Livshits and Elena Guro. Mayakovsky described his creative debut as follows: “In the afternoon I came out with a poem. Or rather, pieces. Bad. Not printed anywhere. Night. Sretensky Boulevard. I read the lines to Burliuk. it's you who wrote it! Yes, you are a poet of genius!" The application of such a grandiose and undeserved epithet to me made me happy. I was completely devoted to poetry. That evening, quite unexpectedly, I became a poet <...> Already in the morning, Burliuk, introducing me to someone, bassed: "Do not know? My brilliant friend. The famous poet Mayakovsky." I push. But Burliuk is adamant. He also growled at me, moving away: "Now write. Otherwise you put me in the stupidest position." I had to write!

Look at the photo tape Vladimir Mayakovsky through the lens of the camera >>

On December 18, 1912, the Cubo-Futurists announced the creation of their own group with the manifesto "Slap in the face of public taste": "<. ..>Only we are the face of our Time. The horn of time blows us in verbal art. The past is crowded. The Academy and Pushkin are more incomprehensible than hieroglyphs. Throw Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, etc., etc. off the ship of Modernity.<...> To all these Maxims Gorky, Kuprin, Blok, Sologub, Averchenko, Cherny, Kuzmin, Bunin and so on and so forth - all that is needed is a dacha on the river. Such a reward is given by fate to tailors. From the height of skyscrapers we look at their insignificance!" Here, the new converts postulated four main rights of poets :

"1. To increase the vocabulary in its volume by arbitrary and derivative words (Word-innovation).

2. To irresistible hatred for the language that existed before them

3. With horror to remove from your proud brow the Wreath of penny glory you made from bath brooms

4. To stand on a block of the word "we" in the midst of a sea of ​​whistling and indignation. "

Actually, this sea of ​​whistling and indignation was not only an expected, but also a welcome reaction to the work of the Cubo-Futurists - hence the loud statements, theomachism, obscene language, public challenge. Shake off from the tongue all the poetic "beauties" that are dead and no longer carry any meaning or image, and with the help of such a "shock therapy" to revive a language that is pure, clear and applied. nine0003

Nate!

In an hour from here to the clean lane
your flabby fat will flow out over a person,
and I have opened so many verses of caskets,
I - priceless words wast and spender.

Here you are, man, you have cabbage in your mustache
Somewhere half-finished, half-eaten cabbage soup;
here you are, a woman, white was thick on you,
you look like an oyster from the shells of things.

All of you perched on the butterfly of the poetic heart
, dirty, in galoshes and without galoshes.
The crowd will go wild, will rub,
The hundred-headed louse bristles its legs.

And if today I, a rude Hun,
do not want to grimace in front of you - and now
I will laugh and spit joyfully,
I will spit in your face
I am a priceless spender and waste.

1913

© RIA Novosti

Poet Vladimir Mayakovsky at a party dedicated to the opening of a new canteen building at the Art Workers' Recreation Center. Sochi. 1929

Out of a desire for outrageousness - and a dismissive attitude towards the classics, whom, contrary to the image created, Mayakovsky not only knew well, but also loved. And this affection, no, no, yes, and looked through even in his most familiar poems. nine0003

Anniversary

Alexander Sergeevich,
Allow me to introduce myself.
Mayakovsky.
Give me your hand!
Here is the chest.
Listen,
is no longer a knock, but a groan;
I worry about him,
in a humble lion cub.
I never knew,
, that there are so many
thousand tons
in my
shamefully frivolous head.
I'm dragging you.
Are you surprised, of course?
Squeezed? nine0266 Does it hurt?
Sorry dear.
I have,
and you too,
have an eternity to spare.
What do we
lose
an hour or two?!
<...>
I am pleased to be with you—
I am glad,

that you are at the table.
Muse is
deftly
your tongue pulls you.
How is it

Olga used to say? ..
Yes, not Olga!
from Onegin's letter
to Tatyana.
- Say,
your husband is
a fool
and an old gelding,
I love you,
be sure to be mine,
I am right now
in the morning I must be sure
that I will see you in the afternoon. -
There was everything:
and standing under the window,
letters,
shaking nervous jelly.
Here is
when
is not able to grieve -
this,
Alexander Sergeyevich,
much harder.
Aida, Mayakovsky!
Beacon to the south! nine0266 Heart
rhymes -
here
and love came skiff,
dear Vladim Vladimirovich.
No,
is not old age for this name!
Carcass
stirrup forward,
me
with pleasure
I can handle two,
and anger -
and three.
They say -
I am the topic of i-n-d-i-v-i-d-u-a-l-e-n!
Entre nous...
I will give you -
they say -
they saw
even
two
members of the All-Russian Central Executive Committee in love.
Here -
started gossip,
amuse the soul with it.
Alexander Sergeevich,
Don't listen to them!
Maybe
I
one
I really regret
that today
you are not alive.
I
while I was alive

I should come to an agreement with you.
Soon here is
and I
will die
and will be mute.
After death
we are
stand almost nearby:
you are on Pe,
and I am
on em.
<...>
If we were alive -
would have become
according to Lef co-editor.
I would
and agitation
I could trust you.
Once I would show:
- like this, they say,
and like that ...
You could -
you have
a good syllable.
I would give you
fat content
and cloth,
in advertising b
gave out
gum ladies.
(I even lied
with iambic,
so that only

would be more pleasant for you.)
You now
would have to
throw a burry iambic.
Today,
Our feathers -
Bayonet
Yes, the teeth of the Wil, -
Battle of Revolutions
Most Fertiva,
and love
more borderly
Onegin love.
Be afraid of Pushkinists.
Old Brain Plushkin,
holding a feather,
will climb
with a rusty one.
- Also, they say,
lefs
appeared
Pushkin.
Here is a black man!
but competes -
with Derzhavin . .. -
I love you,
but alive,
and not a mummy.
Brought
textbook gloss.
You
in my opinion
while alive
- I think -
also raged.
African!
Son of a bitch Dantes! nine0266 High society Skoda.
We would have asked him:
- And who are your parents?
What did you do
before the age of 17? -
Only this Dantes would have been seen.
However,
what a chatter!
Spiritualism sort of.
So to speak,
a slave of honor...
shot down by a bullet...
There are
of them, and to this day
walks a lot -
all kinds of
hunters
to our wives.
Well we have
in the Land of the Soviets. nine0266 You can live,
you can work together.
Only here are
poets,
unfortunately, no -
however, maybe
this is not necessary.
Well, it's time:
dawn
burned out the rays.
No matter how
the policeman
did not look for.
On Tverskoy Boulevard
, they are very accustomed to you.
Well, let's put
on a pedestal.
I would like
monument in life
due
rank.
Would lay
dynamite
- come on,
tease!
I hate
all kinds of dead things!
I love
every life! © RIA Novosti

Monument to Vladimir Mayakovsky. The work of the photographer Ivan Denisenko "Moscow is my - my country", photo exhibition "APN-69"

Mayakovsky and his tenderness

Such is the reverse side of every bright, popular image among the people - it froze on the poet like a mask. Despite the fact that Vladimir Mayakovsky himself was much deeper and, shamefully, much more tender than this loud-voiced hooligan, whom the crowd wanted and got used to seeing. The modesty inherent in Mayakovsky, who in his program poems managed to put himself on a par not only with Pushkin, but also with God, and with the sun itself, was nevertheless read in his lines. nine0003

A cloud in pants

<...> I,
the most golden,
whose every word
gives birth to a soul,
gives birth to a body,
I tell you:
the smallest speck of the living
is more valuable than all that I will do and have done!
<...>

1915

Lost in the general mass of "agitation" and mock bravado, it was precisely this modesty inherent in the poet that made him a "universal soldier", fit not only to captivate the masses with a loud word, but also to tickle the reader in the throat with penetrating stanzas, so to speak, lyrics. nine0003

To myself, my beloved

<...> I will pass,
dragging my love.
On what night
delusional,
sick
by what Goliaths I was conceived -
so big
and so unnecessary?

1916

Listen!

Listen!
After all, if the stars are lit -
means - does anyone need it?
So - someone wants them to be?
So - someone calls these spittles
a pearl? nine0266 And, torn
in blizzards of midday dust,
rushes to God,
is afraid that he was late,
cries,
kisses his sinewy hand,
asks -
that there must be a star! -
swears -
will not endure this starless torment!
And after
he walks anxious,
but outwardly calm.
Says to someone:
"Are you okay now?
Aren't you scared?
Yes?!"
Listen!
After all, if the stars
light up -
means - does anyone need it? nine0266 So - it is necessary,
, that at least one star lights up over the roofs of
every evening?!

1914

Mayakovsky and his Lilichka

It was these heartfelt verses - "Listen" - the cunning Mayakovsky read Elsa Brik on a walk. Needless to say, the younger sister Lily fell in love with the poet without memory - and, by the way, remained his faithful admirer all her life, despite all the personal ups and downs. Mayakovsky met the Brikov couple - Lilya and Osip - on July 1915 years. In his 1928 autobiography, I Myself, the poet calls the day they met "the most joyful date" - a dubious summary.

"Fatal" Lilya was flattered by the attention of such a famous person, she wrote letters to Mayakovsky, where she called him a "puppy" and asked him to bring her a "car" from abroad, however, by her own admission: "When Mayakovsky shot himself, the great poet died And when Osip died, I died. "

© RIA Novosti

Soviet poet Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky and Lilya Yuryevna Brik in Germany at the Norden See resort at 1922

From 1918 to 1922, Mayakovsky and Briki lived under the same roof and traveled together. Of course, "not Lily alone" - the poet also had connections on the side, but it was Brik who remained his number one love, his muse "with a whip." “It is useful for Volodya to suffer, he will suffer and write good poems,” she reasoned, and she was right: the love lyrics of such a “big and rude” poet came out excellent.

Spinal flute

<...>Do whatever you want. nine0266 If you want, fourth.
I myself will wash your hands, righteous one.
Only -
hear! -
take away the damned one,
which you made my favorite!<...>

1915

To everything

<...> Enough!

Now -
I swear by my pagan power! -
give
any
beautiful,
young, -
I will not waste my soul,
I will rape
and I will spit mockery in my heart!

An eye for an eye!<. ..>

1916

Lilichka!

Instead of a letter

Room -
chapter in the Krunykhovsky hell.
Remember -
outside this window
for the first time
your hands, frenzied, stroked.
Today you are sitting here,
your heart is in iron.
Another day -
you will expel,
you can be scolded.
A trembling broken arm won't fit into a sleeve for a long time.
I'll run out,
I'll throw the body into the street. nine0266 Wild,
mad,
desiccated.
Don't do this,
dear,
good,
let's say goodbye now.
All the same
my love -
heavy weight after all -
hangs on you,
wherever you run b.
Let me roar out in the last cry
the bitterness of offended complaints.
If a bull is killed with difficulty,
he will leave,
he will lie down in cold waters.
In addition to your love,
I have no sea
,
and your love cannot even cry for rest.
A tired elephant wants peace -
regal will lie down in the fired sand.
In addition to your love,
I don't have the sun
,
and I don't know where you are and with whom.
If you tormented the poet like that,
he would exchange his beloved for money and fame,
and
I don’t hear a single joyful ringing,
except for the ringing of your beloved name.
And I won’t throw myself into the span,
I won’t drink poison,
I won’t be able to pull the trigger over my temple.
Above me,
except for your gaze,
the blade of not a single knife has power.
You will forget tomorrow,
that he crowned you,
that he burned a blooming soul with love,
and the carnival of vain days swept up
will ruffle the pages of my books ...
Will my words dry leaves
make you stop,
breathing greedily?

Give at least
the last tenderness to cover your outgoing step
.

May 26, 1916, Petrograd

Conclusion

Love will not be washed away
not by quarrels,
not even a mile away.
thought out,
verified,
tested. nine0266 Ascending solemnly with a hundred-fingered verse,
I swear -
I love
invariably and truly!

1922

Mayakovsky and his patriotism

..> "Around" did not work out. Firstly, they robbed him in Paris, and secondly, after six months of driving, he rushed to the USSR like a bullet. He didn’t even go to San Francisco (they called him with a lecture). We went to Mexico, S.-A S. Sh. and pieces of France and Spain.The result - books: journalism-prose - "My discovery of America" ​​and poetry - "Spain", "Atlantic Ocean", "Havana", "Mexico", "America".0003

In these works, as well as in his public speeches, the author of the repeatedly quoted "Poems about the Soviet Passport" emphasized his blood connection with his homeland. There was even an anecdote, as if to the question: "You traveled a lot. I wonder which city do you consider the most beautiful?" - Mayakovsky answered briefly: "Vyatka. "

Farewell

In the car,
exchanged the last franc.
- What time is it to Marseille? -
Paris
running,
seeing me off,
in all
impossible glory.
Come
to the eyes,
separation is thin,
heart
to me
swell with sentimentality!
I would like
to live
and die in Paris,
if 6 was not
such land -
Moscow.

1925

Poems about the Soviet passport nine0266 There is no respect for mandates
.
To any
hell with mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
Along the long front
compartment
and cabins
officer
6 6 6. courteous 92
They hand over passports,
and I
hand over
my purple little book
.
To one passport -
Smile at the mouth. nine0266 To others -
attitude is trifling.
With respect
take, for example,
passport
with a double bed
English left.
With the eyes
of a good uncle,
without ceasing
bowing,
taking,
as if taking a tip,
passport
American.
They look at Polish -
,
like a goat in a poster.
In Polish -
bulging eyes
in tight
police elephantine -
where, they say,
and what is this
geographic news?
and without turning
heads of heads of heads
and feelings
no
after not led,
are taken,
without blinking,
Danes
and different
others
Sweden.
And suddenly,
as if
as a burn,
mouth
twisted
to Mr.
This
Mr. official
takes
my
red leather passport.
beret -
as a bomb,
beret -
as a hedgehog,
as a razor
bond,
beret,
as an explosive
in 20 pity
Snake
Two -meter.
Blinked
meaningfully
porter's eye,
at least things
will take away for free.
The gendarme
interrogatively
looks at the detective,
the detective
looks at the gendarme.
with what pleasure
gendarme caste
I would be
Isshlestan and crucifix
for,
that I have
hammering,
sickle
Soviet passport.
I would gnaw out like a wolf

bureaucracy. nine0266 There is no respect for mandates
.
To any
hell with mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this one...
I
take out
from wide trousers
a duplicate of
priceless cargo.
Read,
Envy,
I -
Citizen
of the Soviet Union.