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Written by: Vladimir Mayakovsky | Biography
 | Quotes (2) |
 Thoughts, go your way home.
 depths of the soul and the sea.
In my view,
 it is
to be
 always serene.
My cabin is the worst
 of all cabins - 
All night above me
 Thuds a smithy of feet.
All night,
 stirring the ceiling’s calm,
dancers stampede
 to a moaning motif:
Marquita my darling,
why won’t you,
why won’t you love me …”
But why
 Should marquita love me?!
I have
 no francs to spare.
And Marquita
 (at the slightest wink!)
for a hundred francs
 she’d be brought to your room.
The sum’s not large - 
 just live for show - 
 you highbrow,
 ruffling your matted hair,
you would thrust upon her
 a sewing machine,
in stitches
 the silk of verse.
 arrive at communism
 from below - 
by the low way of mines,
 and pitchforks - 
But I,
 from poetry’s skies,
 plunge into communism,
 without it
 I feel no love.
 I’m self-exiled
 or sent to mamma - 
the steel of words corrodes,
 the brass of the brass tarnishes.
 beneath foreign rains,
must I soak,
 and rust?
Here I recline,
 having gone oversea,
in my idleness
 barely moving
 my machine parts.
I myself
 feel like a Soviet
manufacturing happiness.
I object
 to being torn up,
like a flower of the fields,
 after a long day’s work.
I want
 the Gosplan to sweat
 in debate,
assignning me
 goals a year ahead.
I want
 a commissar
 with a decree
to lean over the thought of the age.
I want
 the heart to earn
its love wage
 at a specialist’s rate.
I want
 the factory committee
 to lock
My lips
 when the work is done.
I want
 the pen to be on a par
 with the bayonet;
and Stalin
 to deliver his Politbureau
 about verse in the making
as he would about pig iron
 and the smelting of steel.
“That’s how it is,
 the way it goes …
 We’ve attained
the topmost level,
 climbing from the workers’ bunks:
in the Union
 of Republics
 the understanding of verse
now tops
 the prewar norm …”

Transcribed: by Mitch Abidor.