Germany

Germany –
this is for you!
This is not from Rapallo.
I did not heed the calculations of the People's Commissar for Foreign Trade.
Never,
never fluttered my tongue
compliments official chatter.
I didn't ask,
Wilhelm,
Is it good for Nikolay, –
it's not for me to understand the regal squabbles.
I
from the first days
cursed this war,
spat rhymes in the face of war.
Dissolving democratic drooling,
Kerensky walked in the roar of guns.
I was with those,
who in June
removed
from you
targeted bullets.
And when, pulling off the shelves rims.
French and British squeezed your throats,
our voice
soared a song of freedom,
the arms of the front stretched out to fraternize.
Today
I go
on your land, Germany,
and my love for you
blooms more romantically and romantically.
I have seen –
shipyards on the Oder freeze,
я видел
factories are bound by silence.
Let be, –
I do not believe,
what's on his deathbed
lying.
I have long
from myself
threw off the rags of nations.
Poor Germany,
позволь
to me,
like a german,
like your own son,
excuse your pain for you.

WORKING SONG

We sow,
we reap,
we forge,
we spin,
slaves of the almighty Stinnes.
But we are not dead.
We will come yet.
We will outline and rush.
Turned into a gate,
smile on the face, –
history has become.
Old lies.
We will come yet.
We will pass from the Nordens
through the Wilhelm span of the Brandenburg
the gate.
They have dollars.
Victory gave.
From the Unterdenlind hotels
creep,
gnaw a dollar down the throat,
feasting on our body.
Be patient, companions, reckoning in the name…
For all –
for the war,
for later,
for earlier,
со всеми,
with theirs
and with their
we will pay off in red revenge…
On the throat knee.
we – beasts growling.
Our voice is spasmodic…
We know, under whom,
мы знаем, under whose
the Germans will still rise.
we
still
make the streets of Berlin happy.
Red flag, –
we are tired of waiting –
uplift and rey!
To the red song
from the windows of every Schultz
respond,
свободный
from the West
Rhine.
I give it to you, Germany!
it
not a thousand dollars,
this song will not reduce the score to hunger.
Well,
and you
and I –
we are both beggars, –
I have
this is the best of all, what is.
[1922-1923]

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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