Travel notes - Pasternak


Not a sense of beauty
In the Crimea and on the Riviera,
Love river sow thistle,
Thistle believe.

Profane poor south
He considers vulgarity duty,
About her, like a swarm of flies,
Zasizheny and slandered.

In the meantime, and then
Raw beauty of the world
Do not bore the court
For our blezira.


Hoping furnace, the tank
climbing, resting,
So at night tobacco
In the ridges blahouhaet.
On the Ground heliotrope
It transmits its scent
Brine navy robes,
Hung on ladders.
The farm gardener
tossing and turning more frequently,
Eyes on the sky
Popping out of the hut.
Night in the stars, verse northeast,
Yi palisadin
Morhayut skvoz growths
pupils grapes.
Gillyflower and the Milky Way
One leykoy Drizzle,
And the proximity of a little
His eyes CORN.


Happy, who fully,
Without a shadow of chuzheroden,
All childhood with the poor,
All the blood of the people.
I did not get a number of them,
No, not a forsa
With the ranks prihlebal
In the native alien wormed his way.
Homeland at an early age
Attracted to this hymn,
That the sky is not the case
Did love is mutual.
People, like a house without chrome,
And we do not notice,
With this set of tent,
Like air, endless.
He thicket depth,
Where someone in early childhood
given names
Events and Creation.

You're nothing without him.
is he, as its products,
Puts a bit
Your dreams and goals.


steaming, rose up from sleep,
Space for Navtlugi,
Poznan novelty
I was at my disposal.

Throwing the best plan,
I was traveling with red tape,
The road to Beslan
Was the storm washed away,

Slope way softened,
And swollen Aragvi
rushed, tearing shoe
With dangling waxed thread.

I saw in the morning
From the bridge of the old Mytnaya
Vzbeşennuyu empty
With the machine battering.


Over the last threshold
Do not make arbitrary.
Let's take the first lines
embrace, Paolo!

Never power circuits
I loved not hurt,
In those days, you were all,
I loved and saw.

Included it our quarterly
arms, Sitting fur skins,
Everywhere your vital spirit
And I ringleader.

staggered terraces
Of climbing wisteria
I measured your story
and listen to, mouth cuckoo.

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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