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- Poetic Path (Rruga Poetike) (http://www.forumihorizont.com/forumdisplay.php3?forumid=191)
-- Vladimir Majakovski (http://www.forumihorizont.com/showthread.php3?threadid=7513)

Vladimir Majakovski

Nje nga te preferuarat e mia.

IMPOSSIBLE

I can’t do it alone-
carry the grand piano
(and even less,
the safe).
But if I can’t manage the safe
or the grand piano,
then,
having retrieved it,
how can I carry my heart.
Bankers know:
“We’re boundlessly rich.
If we don’t have enough pockets,
we can stuff our safes.”
In you—
I have hidden
my love,
like riches in steel,
and I walk about
exalting, a Croesus.
And,
if desire insist
I can draw out a smile,
a half-smile,
even less,
and, in company reveling,
in half a nights expend
some fifteen roubles’ worth of lyrical change.

YOU

(nje tjeter poezi qe adhuroj)


YOU

You came—
determined,
because I was large,
because I was roaring,
but on close inspection
you saw a mere boy.
You seized
and snatched away my heart
and began
to play with it—
like a girl with a bouncing ball.
And before this miracle
every woman
was either astounded
or a maiden inquiring:
“Love such a fellow?
Why, he’ll pounce on you!
She must be a lion tamer,
a girl from the zoo!”
But I was triumphant,
I didn’t feel it—
the yoke!
Oblivious with joy,
I jumped
and leapt about, a bride-happy redskin,
I felt so elated
and light.

CONCLUSION

CONCLUSION

Neither quarrels,
nor miles,
can wash away love.
It has been deeply thought,
tested,
checked.
Solemnly raising index-lined verse,
I swear-
I love
immutably, truly!

wowww I love his poetry, is kinda ironic -the first one poem-?

I love the verse "In you - I have hidden my love..." and THE CONCLUSION is beautifullllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
lllllllllllllllllllll...

Neither quarrels,
nor miles,
can wash away love.
It has been deeply thought,
tested,
checked.

I swear-
I love
immutably, truly!

Could you?

I suddenly smeared the weekday map
splashing paint from a glass;
On a plate of aspic
I revealed
the ocean's slanted cheek.
On the scales of a tin fish
I read the summons of new lips.
And you
could you perform
a nocturne on a drainpipe flute?


1913

All and Everything

No.
It can’t be.
No!
You too, beloved?
Why? What for?
Darling, look -
I came,
I brought flowers,
but, but... I never took
silver spoons from your drawer!

Ashen-faced,
I staggered down five flights of stairs.
The street eddied round me. Blasts. Blares.
Tires screeched.
It was gusty.
The wind stung my cheeks.
Horn mounted horn lustfully.

Above the capital’s madness
I raised my face,
stern as the faces of ancient icons.
Sorrow-rent,
on your body as on a death-bed, its days
my heart ended.

You did not sully your hands with brute murder.
Instead,
you let drop calmly:
“He’s in bed.
There’s fruit and wine
On the bedstand’s palm.”

Love!
You only existed in my inflamed brain.
Enough!
Stop this foolish comedy
and take notice:
I’m ripping off
my toy armour,
I,
the greatest of all Don Quixotes!

Remember?
Weighed down by the cross,
Christ stopped for a moment,
weary.
Watching him, the mob
yelled, jeering:
“Get movin’, you clod!”

That’s right!
Be spiteful.
Spit upon him who begs for a rest
on his day of days,
harry and curse him.
To the army of zealots, doomed to do good,
man shows no mercy!

That does it!

I swear by my pagan strength -
gimme a girl,
young,
eye-filling,
and I won’t waste my feelings on her.
I'll rape her
and spear her heart with a gibe
willingly.

An eye for an eye!

A thousand times over reap of revenge the crops'
Never stop!
Petrify, stun,
howl into every ear:
“The earth is a convict, hear,
his head half shaved by the sun!”

An eye for an eye!

Kill me,
bury me -
I’ll dig myself out,
the knives of my teeth by stone — no wonder!-
made sharper,
A snarling dog, under
the plank-beds of barracks I’ll crawl,
sneaking out to bite feet that smell
of sweat and of market stalls!

You'll leap from bed in the night’s early hours.
“Moo!” I’ll roar.
Over my neck,
a yoke-savaged sore,
tornados of flies
will rise.
I'm a white bull over the earth towering!

Into an elk I’ll turn,
my horns-branches entangled in wires,
my eyes red with blood.
Above the world,
a beast brought to bay,
I'll stand tirelessly.

Man can’t escape!
Filthy and humble,
a prayer mumbling,
on cold stone he lies.
What I’ll do is paint
on the royal gates,
over God’s own
the face of Razin.

Dry up, rivers, stop him from quenching his thirst! Scorn him!
Don’t waste your rays, sun! Glare!
Let thousands of my disciples be born
to trumpet anathemas on the squares!
And when at last there comes,
stepping onto the peaks of the ages,
chillingly,
the last of their days,
in the black souls of anarchists and killers
I, a gory vision, will blaze!

It’s dawning,
The sky’s mouth stretches out more and more,
it drinks up the night
sip by sip, thirstily.
The windows send off a glow.
Through the panes heat pours.
The sun, viscous, streams down onto the sleeping city.

O sacred vengeance!
Lead me again
above the dust without
and up the steps of my poetic lines.
This heart of mine,
full to the brim,
in a confession
I will pour out.

Men of the future!
Who are you?
I must know. Please!
Here am I,
all bruises and aches,
pain-scorched...
To you of my great soul I bequeath
the orchard.

Attitude To A Miss


That night was to decide
if she and I
were to be lovers.
Under cover
of darkness
no one would see, you see.
I bent over her, it’s the truth,
and as I did,
it’s the truth, I swear it,
I said
like a kindly parent:
“Passion’s a precipice –
so won’t you please
move away?
Move away,
please!”

Mjaft tani me keto majakovskat ne anglisht. Se si duken.