NOW THE POEM ITSELF
Let me remind you the facts. Spinning your neck, I stopped at some thousandths
meters.
The earth is beneath me –
microscope drop:
squiggle and stick, stick and squiggle…
Europe lies in a heap of excavations,
the rumble of guns overlaid indiscriminately.
clear,
you see only the most common spots.
here
she is,
Russia,
my favorite country.
Red,
fresh from the crucible revolution.
Working
monstrous force
turned it over and cut it.
Only barely
The remnants of NEP turned black with rust.
And this is Poland,
scrapped from scraps.
Here you have the whole palette at once.
Glue this!
Wasted by the pilsudchita
saliva one thousand liters.
Do you feel –
to hook you for a patch,
and this
everything
will come apart at the seams.
Germany –
crater fire-breathing heat.
Stone,
ash verbal sowing.
Lava –
it will freeze in conciliatory yellowness,
the, red,
the revolution trembles with an earthquake.
Farther.
darkness.
France.
Solid milleran tailcoat
Black-black.
Straight blue.
Only the shirt shines –
like a flash of olives.
The further – the blacker.
The further – the darker.
The further – the darker.
And on the horizon,
where is America,
sky cut,
solid blackness was swept out by caviar.
Sometimes only
black mountain
exploded with a star of light –
then from India,
then from Angora,
then from the Hungarian Republic of Soviets.
When
the fan was curled up by the rays,
day merk –
what kind of fireworks were sparkling!
Wherever you bend down –
fire.
Even at night, even from the sky I recognize the RSFSR.
Little by little,
barely,
but at the same time steadily,
irresistibly
beneath me
are deployed
parallel lights –
this is Russia railroad the dark.
And over there
the lights have thinned out in the lines,
bunched up in heaps,
burn tango.
It means –
Paris opens brothels
or some other livestock trader.
Collect lightning
yes from here
in the gold-window
this very
in Moulin
in Rouge…
Yes, do not bother?
Historical laws!
I am a marxist,
of course, I will not go!
If you knew,
with what pain
limited to witnessing role.
Extinguish the antennae of the eyes. Adjust hearing antennas for versts!
First
– youthful zeal –
happily accepted the slightest breeze.
I catch flights of letters-bullets.
Add up.
I decrypt,
worried and trembling.
And suddenly:
“Lloyd George calls to Liverpool.
To the conference.
Page-page!!”
Next.
Good mat.
He didn't work,
and Tretyakov in his “Рыде”:
“Why don't you go?
Hey, you,
diplomat!
Day after tomorrow.
Required!
In Madrid!”
What am I sick of this old man!
Thousandth radio.
Few words:
“Lloyd George.
Болезнь.
Puffed out forehead.
Resignation.
Summoned the ambassadors.
The conference!”
Konotop!
Draw from another air wave
waves
other nonsense full of.
“Berlin
Paris:
Chase the coin!”
“Paris
Berlin:
No coins!”
“Berlin.
In Fosh's office.
You pay! –
otherwise ring”.
“Paris.
Well,
we will pay,
excuse me”.
And this is at the end of every month.
From this
even Apollo Belvedere will go berserk.
And since
I
person, and not marble,
that is
me
brought straight.
I'm not in the kurzal in the summer evening,
to listen
these
radio gossip.
Screw up.
There will be no new yet –
I'll drag on the clouds, sir.
Very original feeling. The head drove the clouds and clouds. The earth is not
You can see. You can't even see your own shoulders. Only the sky. Only clouds. Yes in
clouds my head.
It is seething with clouds.
Cloud protection.
And I
on this very
at sea
I swim with a mountain-head –
some other brother of the Black Sea coast.
Squadrons
camelsaildragonship.
Float.
Gilded by solar Croesus.
And meeting the ultra-Marconi fantasy,
breakable on the forehead with a cloud cutter.
Gromishche.
It will roll up
from the cloud
along the slope,
over the ear
crashing through.
Sticking clouds of cotton wool in my ears,
I stand in silence, zippered squinting.
And then
flies
this same Summer;
without spitefulness the days flow and without pain,
and this
for a person
great pleasure.
I stand calm. Without a single thought. With a thousand willpower I hold back the antennas.
Do not hum!
Only on the twists of the subconscious,
country roads roundabout,
half-thought about the culture of passing generations:
earlier
aero
rustled on the shins,
and now
already rustling on your knees.
So
days
flowed and flowed in peace.
The days are over.
And one day
deflated such a thing,
what am I
shook the antenna of each.
Columns of legs,
not columns – stems.
So these very legs shake.
Into the sky,
into this cloud nanny,
through the earthly
persistent itching,
all the laws of nature turned inside out,
into the sky
a thunderstorm struck from the ground.
Ears –
just destroys.
Radio whirlwind.
“Paris…
According to Versailles
Poincaré da Lloyd…”
“Vein.
Down with!”
“Paris.
Exposed.
You lie, bosh.
Beware, sergeant…”
“Berlin.
Down!” *
* “Berlin. Down with!” (нем.)
“Washington.
Close Europe loan.
We invite debtors to hurry up with the installment”.
“Moscow.
Well!
Go!
Suck your nose”.
Behind the radio, the radio is dancing in the air.
Air
in solid
and a thunder-letter eralash.
What is it! Rather! Rather! See. Throwing clouds. Palm to forehead. Eyes
fortified above the ground. Yesterday still shackled by borders, lay here
Russia as a lonely red oasis. Half of Europe is on fire today. Breaks through the fire
borders of geography of Russia. And from the west, to the greetings of fiery hands, fire splashes
german fire. From the red body of Russia, from the red body of Germany
the columns of the proletariat separated with fiery hands. And in Danzig –
fingers of armies,
fingers of tanks,
Fokker fingers
one sting the other hand.
And under your fingers
it was a little wet
there,
where the pilsudchina lay in the corridors. –
Merged. Continuous firefight under me. Shrank. Strained. Burst
star.
Bursting screams:
“Guard!
Stay!”
this
spills with a five-pointed star
in five parts of dumbfounded light.
here
one startooth,
acute,
narrow,
crashes into the ends of the French land.
Blackness is trying.
Put out would,
to catch.
And in themselves
in the rear
the border flares up.
I have never seen anything more spectacular!
Border stretches out the tip of the ray.
Will not help!
Throw back blow.
Red and red – merged like mercury.
Through France
further,
rampant,
formidable,
biting redstar prong.
Harvest, enthusiastic:
– Do not try!
Now
the revolution is not flooded.
Bow down to her! –
And the beam
climbs the Apennigne slope.
And the beam
dawns across the Pyrenees.
Sweeping away the Norwegian border traces,
in the north
a red storm is breaking.
Here
the second ray burns through the ice,
to the pole of snow purple.
Trains are cleaner
Siberia poured the third ray.
Red stream it
almost reached Tokyo.
The fourth ray of heat
thrust his long prong into the southeast,
and already
some kind
toasted rajah
ray
from the Himalayas
Downed into the valleys.
As if checking
– I bury whether I am sharp, –
to australia star.
Australia caught fire.
To the right – fifth.
Attacks the same.
It plays red blacks bumps.
Passed across the Sahara,
along the yellow wedge,
siyane
to the south pole threw.
Waving huge arms, then lighting, then mascara eyes, ear net
catching every word, I was all worked out in irresistible will – to conquer.
I masked our columns with clouds. Beacons of eyes indicated the places of the lightest
assault. Confusing enemy radio. All showers, all lavas, all the lightnings of the world – embrace
collect, I bring down on the black heads of enemies. We will win. We do not want, we are not
we may not win. Only America is left. Bend over. I sow anxiety.
America is trembling:
revolution demon
enters the Atlantic fold…
However,
this is not my topic now,
this has already been described
in an interesting poem “One hundred and fifty million”.
Who will read it, learns, how we won. I refer those interested to this
stories. And I
froze;
look,
I admire,
and I
I see:
all earthly mass,
completely crumpled under the red-star points,
red,
shines with a second Mars.
The vision of the years flew by is thrilled,
charter
delight in a triumphant rage,
I
head
tucked into the sky again
and again
I became
for centuries on guard.
I've seen revolutions,
saw wars.
To me
and the hungry bored man.
For once to see,
that here,
calm,
a man lives between fun and neg.
I enjoy the vastness,
I enjoy the silence,
I rejoice in the cloudy fields.
Mouth
liquefied space drinks.
But only
sometimes
combing out lazily
tangled in hair
star burdock.
As if
glass
time, –
flowed, it didn't flow,
I do not know, –
probably, flowed.
AND, finally, after some time –
clouds to shreds,
to shreds, shreds.
Everything disappeared
until the last
pale
cloud.
Looking at the ground, smiling enthusiastically.
All over
around
not very black,
no red,
but there was no white either.
Земшар
gilded with solid radiance,
and the sky
over the ball
goldgoldwhite.
where previously
река
drove water,
lilac flood,
lush,
naked, –
Now
strict channel geometry
lay down calmly in the marble channel.
Where is the dust
heaving,
blown by the winds,
Sahara, the heat of laziness, –
grew up
from earthly
from every inch,
buildings and greenery.
Eye –
rapturous over the extravaganza re!
The most real
under me
there she is –
a life,
dreamed of from the days of Fourier,
Robert Owen and Saint-Simon.
Mayakovsky!
Be human again!
By the power of thought,
nerves,
Year
I,
like a hundred faithful spyglass,
quietly folded his neck.
It will seem like a fiction to some.
And I,
in the middle of the XXI century,
on the ground,
among the Federation of Communes –
citizen ZEFEK.
The most interesting, of course, starts from here. Hardly any of you
knows exactly the events of the end of the XXI century. I know. This is exactly what is described in
my third part.
1922