Usually like this Love is given to anyone born, but between services, income and other things from the day A day the soil of the heart hardens. A body is put on the heart, a shirt is put on the body. But this is not enough! One - an idiot! - made cuffs and began to fill the breasts with starch. They will come to their senses in old age. The woman rubs herself. A man is waving a windmill at Müller. But it's too late. The skin multiplies with wrinkles. Love will bloom, bloom, and then shrivel. As a boy I was moderately gifted with love. But from childhood, people are trained by hard work. And I ran to the shore of Rion and wandered around, not doing a damn thing. Mom was angry: “The boy is lousy!” Dad threatened to whip me with a belt. And I, having acquired a fake three-ruble note, played “three leaves” with the soldier under the fence. Without a load of shirts, without a load of shoes, I fried in the Kutaisi heat. He turned the sun's back, then his belly, until his stomach began to ache. The sun marveled: “The whole thing is barely visible! And also with a heart. Trying small! Where is there room in this arshin for me, and the river, and the hundred-height rocks?!” young men There are plenty of things for young people to do. We teach grammar to fools and fools. Well, I was kicked out of the 5th grade. Let's go throw them into Moscow prisons. Curly-haired lyricists are growing in your little apartment bedroom world. What will you look for in these bologna lyrics?! I was taught to love in Butyrki. Why do I long for the Bois de Boulogne?! Why do I sigh from the views of the sea?! I fell in love with the peephole of camera 103 at the Bureau of Funeral Processions. They look at the daily sun, A are. “What, they say, are these little rays worth?” And then I would give everything in the world for a wall hare for a yellow hare. My university You know French. Share. Multiply. Decline h at bottom. Well, bow down! Tell me, can you get along with the house? Do you understand the tram language? The human chick has just hatched - with his hand in books, with notebooks. And I learned the alphabet from signs, leafing through pages of iron and tin. They will take the land by uprooting it, stripping it, they teach. And all of it is the size of a tiny globe. And I studied geography sideways - it’s not for nothing that I slam to the ground overnight! The Ilovaiskys are troubled by painful questions: - Was Barbarossa’s beard red? - Let it be! I don't delve into prop s Real nonsense, I know any story in Moscow! They take Dobrolyubov (to hate evil), - the family is against it, the family whines. Since childhood, I have become accustomed to hating fat people, always selling myself for lunch. They will learn, they will sit down - in order to please the lady, their little thoughts jingle with their copper foreheads. And I spoke with only houses. Only water pumps are my interlocutors. Listening attentively through the dormer window, they caught the roofs - what would I throw into my ears. And then they chattered about the night and each other, their tongues moving like a weather vane. Adult The adults have things to do. Pockets of rubles. Love? Please! Rublikov z A one hundred. And I, a homeless man, put my torn hands in my pocket and wandered around, wide-eyed. Night. Put on your best dress. You rest your soul on wives, on widows. Moscow strangled me in its embrace with the ring of its endless Gardens. The hearts and clocks of lovers are ticking. The partners of the love bed are delighted. I caught the wild heartbeat of the capitals, Passionately O Yu lying area. Widespread - my heart is almost outside - I open myself to both the sun and the puddle. Enter with passion! Intermeddle with love! From now on I have no power to rule my heart. I know the hearts of others. It's in the chest - everyone knows! Anatomy has gone crazy on me. Solid heart - buzzing everywhere. Oh, how many of them, springs alone, have been dumped into the hot one in 20 years! Their unspent cargo is simply unbearable. It’s unbearable not just for the verse, but literally. What happened More than is possible, more than necessary - as if looming in a dream like a poet's delirium - the lump of the heart has grown enormous: the bulk of love, the bulk of hatred. Under the burden, my legs walked unsteadily - you know, I’m well-coordinated - and yet I trudge along like a hearty appendage, my shoulders bending at an oblique fathom. I swell the poems with milk - and there is nowhere for it to spill out, it seems - it fills up again. I'm exhausted by the lyrics - the world's nurse, the hyperbole of Maupassant's prototype. I'm calling Podn I l by a strongman, carried by an acrobat. How voters are called to a rally, how villages are called to the alarm during a fire - I called: “Here it is!” Here! Take it!” When such a colossus gasped - without looking, at dust, dirt, a snowdrift - the lady shied away from me like a rocket: “For us to make it smaller, for us it’s like a tan O If only..." I can’t bear it, so I carry my burden. I want to leave her - and I know I won’t! The rib arches will not hold back the thrust. The chest was cracking with effort. You She came - businesslike, behind the roar, behind the height, looking at him, she saw just a boy. She took it, took the heart and just went to play - like a girl with a ball. And each one seems to be a miracle - where the lady dug in, and where the girl is. “Love someone like that? Yes, this one will rush! Must be a tamer. Must be from the menagerie! And I rejoice. If he doesn’t exist, it’s a yoke! Out of joy, I couldn’t remember myself, I jumped up and down like a wedding Indian, it was so fun, it was easy for me. Impossible I can’t do it alone - I won’t demolish the piano (let alone a fireproof cabinet). And if it wasn’t the wardrobe, or the piano, then would I have taken my heart and taken it back? Bankers know: “We are endlessly rich. There aren’t enough pockets, so we put them in fireproof ones.” I hid the love in you - wealth in iron - I walk and rejoice in Croesus. And maybe, if I really want to, I’ll take a smile, half a smile and a smaller one, while carousing with others, I’ll spend it completely O Fifteen rubles of lyrical trifle. Same with me Fleets even flock to the harbors. The train is heading towards the station. Well, even more so - I love you! - I am drawn and drawn to you. The stingy Pushkin knight comes down to admire and rummage through his basement. So I come back to you, my love. This is my heart, I admire mine. You return home joyfully. You scrape dirt off yourself by shaving and washing. So I’m coming back to you - isn’t it when I go to you, I’m not going home?! The earthly womb accepts the earthly. We return to the final goal. So I reach out to you steadily, we barely parted, barely saw each other. Conclusion Neither quarrels nor miles can wash away love. Thought out, verified, tested. Raising the line-fingered verse solemnly, I swear - I love you unfailingly and faithfully!
“I love” Vladimir Mayakovsky
Usually like this
Love is given to anyone born, -
but between services,
income
and other things
from day to day
the soil of the heart hardens.
The body is put on the heart,
on the body - a shirt.
But this is not enough!
One -
idiot! -
made the cuffs
and my breasts began to be filled with starch.
They will come to their senses in old age.
The woman rubs herself.
A man is waving a windmill at Müller.
But it's too late.
The skin multiplies with wrinkles.
Love will bloom
will bloom -
and shrinks.As a boy
I was moderately gifted with love.
But since childhood
people
laboriously trained.
And I -
escape to the shores of Rion
and wandered around
without doing a damn thing exactly.
Mom was angry:
“The boy is lousy!”
Dad threatened to whip me with a belt.
And I,
having acquired a counterfeit three-ruble note,
played “three leaves” with a soldier under the fence.
Without a load of shirts,
without shoe weight
roasted in the Kutaisi heat.
Turned the sun's back,
then the belly -
until the pit of my stomach begins to ache.
The sun marveled:
“The whole thing is barely visible!
And also -
with a heart.
Trying small!
Where
in this
in arshin
place -
me too
and the river,
and hundred-height rocks?!”young men
There are plenty of things for young people to do.
We teach grammar to fools and fools.
me
kicked out of the 5th grade.
Let's go throw them into Moscow prisons.
In your
apartment
small world
For bedrooms, curly lyrics are growing.
What will you look for in these bologna lyrics?!
me here
love
taught
in Butyrki.
Why do I long for the Bois de Boulogne?!
Why do I sigh from the views of the sea?!
I'm here
at the Bureau of Funeral Processions
fell in love
There are 103 cameras in the peephole.
They look at the daily sun,
become arrogant.
“What, they say, are these little rays worth?”
And I
for the wall
for the yellow hare
Then I would give everything in the world.My university
You know French.
Share.
Multiply.
You're inclined to wonder.
Well, bow down!
Tell -
and sing along with the house
can you?
Do you understand the tram language?
Human chick
just got out -
for books with your hand,
for notebooks.
And I learned my alphabet from signs,
leafing through the pages of iron and tin.
They will take the land
having cut off
having ripped her off, -
teach.
And all of it is the size of a tiny globe.
And I
taught geography sideways, -
no wonder
to the ground
I'm having a sleepover!
The Ilovaiskys are troubled by painful questions:
“Was Barbarossa’s beard red?”
Let it go!
I don’t delve into dusty nonsense -
I know every story in Moscow!
They take Dobrolyubov (to hate evil), -
the family is against it,
the birth whines.
I
fatty
I've been used to hating since childhood,
always yourself
selling for lunch.
They will learn
sit down -
to please a lady
little thoughts jingle with their copper foreheads.
And I
spoke
with only houses.
Only water pumps are my interlocutors.
Listening attentively through the dormer window,
caught the roofs - what will I throw in my ears.
And after
about the night
and about each other
cracked,
the tossing tongue is a weather vane.Adult
The adults have things to do.
Pockets of rubles.
Love?
Please!
A hundred rubles.
And I,
homeless,
hands
torn
stuck it in his pocket
and wandered around, big-eyed.
Night.
Put on your best dress.
You rest your soul on wives, on widows.
Me
Moscow smothered in its arms
ring of their endless Gardens.
Into the hearts
in hours
lovers are ticking.
The partners of the love bed are delighted.
Capitals heartbeat is wild
I caught
Lying on the passionate area.
Plowing -
the heart is almost outside -
I open myself to both the sun and the puddle.
Enter with passion!
Intermeddle with love!
From now on I have no power to rule my heart.
I know the hearts of others.
It's in the chest - everyone knows!
On me
Anatomy has gone crazy.
Solid heart -
buzzing everywhere.
Oh, how many there are
only springs,
in 20 years, he fell into the heat of the moment!
Their unspent cargo is simply unbearable.
Unbearable is not so
for the verse,
but literally.What happened
More than possible
more than necessary -
as if
loomed like a poet's delirium in a dream -
the lump of the heart has grown enormous:
bulk love,
huge hatred.
Under the Burden
legs
walked shakily -
You know,
I'm
okay harmonious -
and yet
I'm dragging my heart's appendage,
shoulders bending obliquely fathom.
I swell poetry with milk
- and not spill out -
nowhere, it seems, is filling up again.
I'm tired of lyrics -
nurse of the world,
hyperbola
prototype of Maupassant.I'm calling
Lifted by a strong man
carried by an acrobat.
How voters are called to a rally,
like the villages
in a fire
call the alarm bell -
I called:
“Here it is!
Here!
Take it!”
When
such a colossus gasped -
without looking
dust,
dirt,
snowdrift -
Damieu
from me
shied away like a rocket:
“We need less
We'd like to tango..."
I can't carry it -
and carry my burden.
I want to leave her -
and I know
I won't give up!
The rib arches will not hold back the thrust.
The chest was cracking with effort.Came -
businesslike,
behind the roar,
for growth,
looking at
I just saw a boy.
I took it
took my heart
and just
went to play -
like a girl with a ball.
And each -
it’s like seeing a miracle -
where the lady dug in,
where is the girl?
“Love someone like that?
Yes, this one will rush!
Must be a tamer.
Must be from the menagerie!
And I rejoice.
He's not there -
yoke!
I can’t remember myself from joy,
galloped
jumped like a wedding Indian,
it was so fun
it was easy for me.Impossible
I can’t do it alone -
I won't tear down the piano
(especially -
safe).
And if not a closet,
not a piano,
is it me
I would break my heart if I took it back.
Bankers know:
“We are endlessly rich.
Not enough pockets -
put it in a fireproof one.”
Love
into you -
wealth in iron -
hid it
I'm walking
and I rejoice in Croesus.
And isn't it
if you really want it,
I'll take a smile
half a smile
and smaller,
carousing with others,
I'll spend midnight
fifteen rubles of lyrical trifle.Same with me
Fleets even flock to the harbors.
The train is heading towards the station.
Well, I’ll come to you even more -
I love it! -
pulls and tends.
Pushkin's miserly knight descends
admire and rummage through your basement.
So I
I’m coming back to you, my love.
This is my heart
I admire my self.
You return home joyfully.
You are dirt
you scrape it off when shaving and washing.
So I
I'm coming back to you, -
Isn't it possible?
coming to you
I'm not going home?!
The earthly womb accepts the earthly.
We return to the final goal.
So I
to you
I'm reaching out steadily
barely parted
We barely saw each other.Conclusion
Love won't wash away
no quarrel
not a mile.
Thought out
verified
verified.
Raising solemnly the line-fingered verse,
I swear -
I love
unchanged and true!
Analysis of Mayakovsky's poem "I Love"
Vladimir Mayakovsky was by nature a very amorous and enthusiastic person. However, the only woman with whom he had a long-term relationship was Lilya Brik. Their romance developed rather strangely, then fading away, then flaring up again. But the wayward and fairly emancipated girl always refused the poet’s marriage proposal.
Meanwhile, it was Lilya Brik who discovered for Mayakovsky a whole universe called love, and made him consider this feeling as a real gift. But, suffering from a lack of reciprocity, the poet kept wondering why an ordinary human feeling could turn an adult and accomplished man into an ordinary boy, vulnerable and defenseless. Analyzing this phenomenon, Mayakovsky wrote the poem “I Love” in 1926, which he dedicated to Lilya Brik, literally turning his soul inside out in front of his chosen one. However, from the first lines, he immediately dotted all the i's, noting that his feeling was not refined and sophisticated, since life did not pamper the poet. But, at the same time, he managed to avoid the moment when “the soil of the heart hardens,” the poet did not know the feeling of bitterness because his “love would bloom, bloom, and shrivel.”
The poem includes eleven chapters, the first of which are devoted to the poet’s childhood and youth. Impartially and in the usual rude manner, the author talks about how the formation of his personality took place. Already in adolescence he dreamed that his life would be filled with love, but not sickly sweet, when couples admire the sea surf and the sound of the wind. Mayakovsky was interested in love in its pure manifestation, when there are only two people in the whole world, and everything else has no meaning for them.
Looking at the relationships of other people through a poetic prism, the poet mercilessly ridicules those who want to impress each other thanks to their clothes, ability to speak French, or wealth. The poet feels special contempt for the last category of people, accustomed to buying love with money. “Since childhood, I have become accustomed to hating fat people, always selling myself for lunch,” the author notes.
His life changed dramatically when Lilya Brik burst into it like a whirlwind, who “took, took away his heart and just went to play - like a girl with a ball.” However, the poet was ready to forgive her absolutely everything and “for joy, without remembering himself, he jumped, jumped like a wedding Indian, it was so fun, it was easy for me.” Numerous quarrels and omissions between lovers occurred quite often, but this fact could not affect the strength of the feelings that Mayakovsky felt for Lilya Brik. And every time, returning to her, the poet knew that he was going home, to where his heart remained forever. “So I reach out to you steadily, we barely parted, we barely saw each other,” the poet notes in his poem. At the same time, he realizes that even an unrequited feeling can give an amazing feeling of happiness and joy only because somewhere there is a person to whom it is addressed. And this thought gives Mayakovsky not only consolation, but also hope that someday his chosen one will be able to leave her prejudices, becoming an ordinary woman who is able to accept the poet. priceless gift and reciprocate it.
“Neither quarrels nor miles can wash away love,” Mayakovsky is convinced. But at the same time, he still cannot resist pathos, declaring: “I swear, I love you unfailingly and faithfully!” The last line of the poem, of course, contains an exaggeration, since after each quarrel with Lilya Brik, the poet very quickly consoled himself in the arms of other women. But he invariably returned to the one who was his muse and inspiration.
The rudeness of the form of the poems and the rudeness of Mayakovsky’s behavior were not only a means of shocking, a desire to attract attention to oneself, but also self-defense, like the famous “yellow jacket”, “with which the soul is wrapped up from inspections.” Under the mask of a street hooligan hid the gentle, loving soul of the poet. It is impossible not to feel the tragic beauty of the poems that hit the heart: “Lilichka!”, “Letter to Comrade Kostrov about the essence of love”, poems: “Spine Flute”, “Man”, etc. They reflected the attitude of the poet, yearning for love, sympathy, understanding , but doomed to loneliness in this “loveless” world. Mayakovsky is inclined to exaggerate his feelings; his poetry is under a current of high emotional tension. The poet’s love is immeasurable, boundless, it is a “fire of the heart,” a beautiful disease:
Your son is beautifully sick!
His heart is on fire...
Mayakovsky's love lyrics are inextricably linked with personal experiences. But it cannot be denied that all his poetry is truly civil, which cannot but affect love lyrics: “In the kiss of hands, or lips, in the trembling of the body of those close to me, the red color of my republics also glows.” If political theme becomes personal in Mayakovsky’s poems, then at the same time he talks about the most intimate human feeling - about love - as a poet-citizen. “For personal reasons about common everyday life” - this is how he described his love poem “About This”. This definition applies to all his love poems.
In Mayakovsky's poems, all feelings are strained to the limit; poems of a calm, descriptive nature are not typical for him. Mayakovsky's verse can be more or less expressive, but never sluggish. Lyrical, according to Mayakovsky, means effective, active, designed not only for sympathy, but above all for the complicity of the reader. His passionate, ebullient temperament is reflected in his works: “the bulk is love, the bulk is hatred.” “It is not enough for him - the agitator, the loud-mouthed leader - to just tell about love; it is important for him to convince the reader, to reach his heart. The power of lyrics lies in their charge with a big feeling, a big idea. Mayakovsky is right: “Description and reflection of reality have no independent place in poetry.” The poet does not tell, does not inform - he convinces, proves.
I believe that the theme of love is central to Mayakovsky’s work, despite the small number of works dedicated to it.
Love won't wash away
No quarrel
Not a mile<…>
unchanged and true!
List of used literature
1. “Vladimir Mayakovsky” LENIZDAT, 1971.
4. “Study of the work of Vladimir Mayakovsky” P.K. Serbin, “Young Guard”, 1978.
5. “Love is the heart of everything” B. Youngfeldt
