#soviet poet

[madeleineengland]

"I want to sleep with you, fall asleep and sleep.

That magnificent folk word, how deep, how true, how inequivocal. Just - sleep.

And nothing more. No, another thing: and know right into the deepest sleep that it is you. And more: how your heart sounds. And... kiss your heart."

- Marina Tsvetaeva 

[thebrideofcorinth]

Vladimir Mayakovsky (19 July 1893 – 14 April 1930)

[finita--la--commedia]

We have forgotten how to offer alms, And meet the dawn, and breath the sea's salt heavens, And go in shops, and count from our palms Our copper trash against the gold of lemons.

Nikolay Tikhonov (1896-1979), from “We have forgotten … ”, translated from the Russian by Michael Frayn in “Twentieth century Russian poetry: silver and steel: an anthology” (1993) “ Мы разучились нищим подавать,  Дышать над морем высотой соленой,  Встречать зарю и в лавках покупать  За медный мусор — золото лимонов. “

[finita-la-commedia]

How terrible not to love – horrible not to dare. ... I could really be some use to you – I’d make a good door-man. Do you need a door-man by any chance ? I once used to be cheerful – Need an expert on cheerfulness ? Got a case of grief ? The real thing ? ... I once used to love …

Vladimir Mayakovsky (Russian, 1893-1930) from “That's What” (1930), translated from Russian by Rosy Carrick

[mary-karp]

Vladimir Vysotsky. Photos by A.Gershman

[finita--la--commedia]

Today is not my birthday. However, I will be 47 soon. Old age ? Oh yes ! It’s only when some eighteen-year-old girl looks at you that you become young again for a moment. You toss your head back like a young buck and walk past her. Lyrical ? Lyrical ! Stupid ? Stupid !

Igor Kholin (1920-1999), a diary note of August 19, 1966 in: “Kholin 66: Diaries and Poems”, translated from the Russian by Ainsley Morse and Bela Shayevich  “Сегодня не мой день рождения. Однако и мне скоро 47 лет. Старость ? Да ! Только тогда, когда взглянет на тебя девушка лет 18, становишься молодым на минуту. Вскидываешь голову кверху, как молодой человек, проходишь мимо нее. Лирика ? Лирика ! Глупо ? Глупо !“

[finita--la--commedia]

Don’t disappear. So, give your palm to me. I truly think you’ll find on it I’m written.

Yevgeny Yevtushenko, from “Don’t disappear”, translated from the Russian by Rupert Moreton  

[finita--la--commedia]

And I ? ... I have no right to be silent I am charged with words that burn.

Mikhail Lukonin (Russian, 1918-1976), from “My Friends” (1947) in “Twentieth century Russian poetry: silver and steel: an anthology” (1993)