Vladimir Mayakovsky reads his poem.
А ВЫ МОГЛИ БЫ?
Я сразу смазал карту будня,
плеснувши краску из стакана;
я показал на блюде студня
косые скулы океана.
На чешуе жестяной рыбы
прочел я зовы новых губ.
А вы
ноктюрн сыграть
могли бы
на флейте водосточных труб?
On the scales of a tin fish, I read the summons of new lips.
(via russkayaliteratura)
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?
If I’m destined to become a tsar here,—
My men will be told
To imprint your darling face,
My dear,
Onto the nation’s gold.
But, if I end up there,
Where the tundra swallows the plains,—
Where the North Wind with the river bargains,—
I will scratch Lily’s name all over the chains
And kiss them, laboring in the darkness.
Utram bibis? Aquam an undam?
