"Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me and become just two lips entirely?"
I really loved this short collection; the poems read like someone's not so well-hidden diary. There's a certain cry, but for what, the reader never learns and with each poem or stanza one other option is eliminated until you are left with only the cry.
I don't speak Russian so I don't know how accurate the translation was, but it was alive and raw, and I'd like to think Mayakovsky's poetry is just the same in Russian as well, alive and raw.
"Gentle souls!
You play your love on the violin.
The crude ones play it on the drums violently.
But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me and become just two lips entirely?"
I really loved this short collection; the poems read like someone's not so well-hidden diary. There's a certain cry, but for what, the reader never learns and with each poem or stanza one other option is eliminated until you are left with only the cry.
I don't speak Russian so I don't know how accurate the translation was, but it was alive and raw, and I'd like to think Mayakovsky's poetry is just the same in Russian as well, alive and raw.