Letter to Tatyana Yakovleva | Vladimir Mayakovsky, 1928
Tatyana Yakovleva, 1906-1991
In the kiss of hands
lips,
in body tremors
close to me
red
Colour
my republics
too
should
blaze.
I dont like
Parisian love:
any female
decorate with silk
stretching, dozing,
saying –
tubo –
dogs
ferocious passion.
You are the only one for me
straight growth,
get close
with an eyebrow,
give
about this
important evening
tell
more human.
Five hours,
and from now on
verse
of people
dense forest,
extinct
populated city,
I hear only
whistle dispute
trains to Barcelona.
In the black sky
lightning step,
thunder
ugly
in heavenly drama –
not a thunderstorm
and this
simply
jealousy moves mountains.
stupid words
don’t trust raw materials
don’t get confused
this shaking,
I bridle
I will humble
feelings
offspring of the nobility.
passion measles
come down with a scab,
but joy
inexhaustible
I’ll be long
I’ll just
I speak in verse.
Jealousy,
wives,
tears…
well them! –
swollen eyelids,
fit Viu.
I’m not myself
and I
jealous
for Soviet Russia.
Saw
on the shoulders of the patch,
them
consumption
licks with a sigh.
What,
we are not to blame
hundred million
was bad.
We
now
so tender –
sports
straighten not many, –
you and us
needed in Moscow
lacks
leggy.
Not for you,
in the snow
and in typhoid
walking
with these legs
here
for caresses
give them away
in dinners
with the oilmen.
Don’t you think
just squinting
from under straightened arcs.
Go here,
go to the crossroads
my big
and clumsy hands.
Do not want?
Stay and winter
and this
insult
we will lower it to the general account.
I don’t care
you
someday I’ll take
one
or together with Paris.
Vladimir Mayakovsky, c 1928