You can read the poem “Poems about the Soviet Passport” by Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky on the website. The poem, dedicated to an official document certifying citizenship, breathes patriotism: not ostentatious, but real, sincere, filled with the author’s personal feelings and experiences.

In the 20s, Mayakovsky often traveled abroad, as he was a correspondent for various printed publications. He did not write travel notes, but in a couple of poetic lines he could express what he saw and evaluate what he saw. In poems about passports, the poet colorfully, succinctly and figuratively describes the situation at customs: checking the passports of guests arriving from different countries. By the reaction of officials, one can judge the attitude towards the country from which the owner of the passport came, and the weight of his country in the international arena. The poet, not without sarcasm, describes the priorities of officials: they are servilely servile in front of American passports, look derogatory at the documents of those arriving from the “geographical misunderstanding” - Poland, and are indifferent to the passports of Europeans - Danes and Swedes. But the real sensation in a routine procedure is made by the passport of a citizen of the country of the Soviets. This is not just a document. The passport becomes a symbol of another world - frightening, incomprehensible, causing both fear and respect. The symbolism of the proletarian state is the hammer and sickle, the color purple is the embodiment of humanity’s age-old dream of free labor, a reminder of the blood shed for freedom and equality.

One of the most prominent patriotic poets of the lost Soviet state was Vladimir Mayakovsky. He sincerely hated the enemies of the socialist Motherland and devotedly loved it.

The text of Mayakovsky’s poem “Poems about the Soviet Passport” can be downloaded in full. The work can be taught in an online literature lesson in the classroom.

I would be a wolf
Vygraz
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
Along the long front
coupe
and cabins
official
suave moves.
Handing over passports
and I
I rent
mine
purple book.
To one passport -
smile at the mouth.
To others -
careless attitude.
With respect
take, for example,
passports
with double
English left.
With my eyes
after eating out the good uncle,
without ceasing
bow,
they take
as if they take tips,
passport
American.
In Polish –
they look
like a goat in a poster.
In Polish –
stick out their eyes
in tight
police elephantiasis -
where, they say,
and what is this
geographic news?
And without turning
heads of cabbage
and feelings
no
without having experienced
they take
without blinking,
Danish passports
and different
others
Swedes
And suddenly,
as if
burn,
mouth
grimaced
Mr.
This
Mr. official
beret
mine
red-skinned passport.
Beret –
like a bomb
takes -
like a hedgehog
like a razor
double-edged
beret,
like a rattlesnake
at 20 stings
snake
two meters tall.
Blinked
meaningfully
porter's eye
at least things
will give you away for nothing.
Gendarme
questioningly
looks at the detective
detective
to the gendarme.
With what pleasure
gendarmerie caste
I would be
whipped and crucified
for
what's in my hands
hammer-fingered,
sickle
Soviet passport.
I would be a wolf
gnawed it out
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
I
I get it
from wide legs
duplicate
priceless cargo.
Read,
envy
I -
citizen
Soviet Union.

Soviet Russia was a real thorn in the side of the Western world at the end of the 20s - they were afraid of it, they were surprised by it, they hated it and looked at it. new country as a Cook Islander looks at a ship from Spanish conquistadors. Against the background of such relations, Mayakovsky writes a poem dedicated to the Soviet passport, choosing the latter as a symbol of the new system. "Poems about the Soviet passport" with famous phrase“I take it out of wide trousers” is not only an ode to the purple book, but a spit in the direction of bureaucracy, which the free spirit of the poet could not stand.

String parsing

Distrust, fear and surprise at the country of the Soviets led to the installation of an Iron Curtain between the West and the USSR, which, in the opinion of the “advanced” bourgeoisie, was supposed to stop the spread of the “red infection”. Few of them Soviet citizens traveled abroad, one of the few was Mayakovsky. He could look and compare, see and feel, notice and convey sensations on paper. The poem is not written against the backdrop of wild fantasy, but is based on personal feelings that arise when crossing the border and while being in European countries.

The basis of the poem is a look Soviet man to check documents by customs when traveling abroad. The author describes how passports are collected in the carriage and how the attitude of the customs official changes, depending on the citizenship of the passenger. Some people take the document with a smile of servility, others with respect, others with a sparkle in their eyes and the expectation of a substantial tip (who could it be, if not an American). When a Soviet passport falls into the hands of an official, he becomes like a scalded cat:

And suddenly,
as if
burn,
mouth
grimaced
Mr.

Passport bomb

The official accepts the USSR passport like a bomb, like a snake. Either the red book will explode in his hands, or it will fatally bite him... Both the official and the gendarme have a desire to pulverize the owner of the identity document into the ground - to crucify him and destroy him, but it’s scary...

With what pleasure
gendarmerie caste
I would be
whipped and crucified
for
what's in my hands
hammer-fingered,
sickle
<советский паспорт.

The “hammer-faced” one will inspire terror. The passenger takes out a passport from wide trousers, which are associated with contempt for the Western world and one’s own independence, and considers it a duplicate of an invaluable cargo - a citizen of a new country, under the name USSR, which is terrible for the West.

Envy

Let them envy, because the old always bows before the young, envy of healthy youth always dominates the senile insanity of the bourgeois world. For officials and gendarmes it is absolutely unimportant who is in front of them - a conductor or a plowman, the personality is impersonal - the whole consciousness is occupied by the passport. The impression is that the little red book is not just a few printed pages, but a manuscript with an ancient curse that has been revived for revenge. Whoever takes it in his hands will be crushed by the resurrected destroyer gods.

To increase the artistic value of the passport, Mayakovsky first compares it to a bomb, then to a razor and a hedgehog. The poet laughs at the Western world, in whose eyes, when he sees the red book, he sees both fear and hatred. A couple of pages in a purple binding put the customs officer and the gendarme in a stopper, this makes the author of the poem laugh and delight. The reason for the laughter is clear - the West itself has created a terrible image of the Soviet man and now it itself is afraid of this image. “No one will scare you as much as you scare yourself” - there’s no better way to say it.

Mayakovsky literally shouts to the whole world with his poem “Passport” - I am a citizen of the USSR - be afraid of it, if you want to hate me, but I am higher than your old and rotten world inside!

We will leave the moral side of such pride in Soviet Russia to the conscience of the author; fortunately, he did not have to see the repressions of the mid-30s, when proud holders of Soviet passports were irrevocably taken in trains to Kalyma and Solovki.

Text and video

I would be a wolf
gnawed it out
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
Along the long front
coupe
and cabins
official
suave moves.

Handing over passports
and I
I rent
mine
purple book.
To one passport -
smile at the mouth.
To others -
careless attitude.
With respect
take, for example,
passports
with double
English left.

With my eyes
after eating out the good uncle,
without ceasing
bow,
they take
as if they take tips,
passport
American.
In Polish -
they look
like a goat in a poster.
In Polish -
stick out their eyes
in tight
police elephantiasis -
where, they say,
and what is this
geographic news?

And without turning
heads of cabbage
and feelings
no
without having experienced
they take
without blinking,
Danish passports
and different
others
Swedes
And suddenly,
as if
burn,
mouth
grimaced
Mr.

This
Mr. official
beret
mine
red-skinned passport.
Beret -
like a bomb
takes -
like a hedgehog
like a razor
double-edged
beret,
like a rattlesnake
at 20 stings
snake
two meters tall.

Blinked
meaningfully
porter's eye
at least things
will give you away for nothing.
Gendarme
questioningly
looks at the detective
detective
to the gendarme.
With what pleasure
gendarmerie caste
I would be
whipped and crucified
for
what's in my hands
hammer-fingered,
sickle
Soviet passport.

I would be a wolf
gnawed it out
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
I
I get it
from wide legs
duplicate
priceless cargo.
Read,
envy
I -
citizen
Soviet Union.

At the end of the analysis, I propose to listen to the audio version of the poem performed by a young girl in a cadet uniform.

I would be a wolf
gnawed it out
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
Along the long front
coupe
and cabins
official
suave moves.
Handing over passports
and I
I rent
mine
purple book.
To one passport -
smile at the mouth.
To others -
careless attitude.
With respect
take, for example,
passports
with double
English left.
With my eyes
after eating out the good uncle,
without ceasing
bow,
they take
as if they take tips,
passport
American.
In Polish -
they look
like a goat in a poster.
In Polish -
stick out their eyes
in tight
police elephantiasis -
where, they say,
and what is this
geographic news?
And without turning
heads of cabbage
and feelings
no
without having experienced
they take
without blinking,
Danish passports
and different
others
Swedes
And suddenly,
as if
burn,
mouth
grimaced
Mr.
This
Mr. official
beret
mine
red-skinned passport.
Beret -
like a bomb
takes -
like a hedgehog
like a razor
double-edged
beret,
like a rattlesnake
at 20 stings
snake
two meters tall.
Blinked
meaningfully
porter's eye
at least things
will give you away for nothing.
Gendarme
questioningly
looks at the detective
detective
to the gendarme.
With what pleasure
gendarmerie caste
I would be
whipped and crucified
for
what's in my hands
hammer-fingered,
sickle
Soviet passport.
I would be a wolf
gnawed it out
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
I
I get it
from wide legs
duplicate
priceless cargo.
Read,
envy
I -
citizen
Soviet Union.

Mayakovsky was an ardent supporter of the revolution and the established communist regime. In his works, he tirelessly praised the greatness of the Soviet system. Thanks to the poet’s original way of thinking, these works did not merge with the general flow of enthusiastic reviews from Soviet poets and writers. An example of this is the poem "Poems about the Soviet Passport" (1929).

The installation and strengthening of the “Iron Curtain” began in the first years of the existence of the young Soviet state. The opportunity to travel abroad was only available to senior government officials, or to people carefully checked by state security agencies who were going on a work trip. Mayakovsky often traveled around the world as a correspondent. He liked the impression that Soviet people made on foreigners.

Mayakovsky dedicated a poem to a simple Soviet passport. Describing the passport check on the train, he immediately states that he hates the bureaucracy that he associates with bourgeois society. The creative soul of the poet cannot stand life “according to a piece of paper.” But he notes with interest the changes in the inspector when he sees passports from different countries. A person’s personality fades into the background; his citizenship becomes the main thing. The range of displayed emotions of the controller is enormous, from complete indifference to humiliating submission. But the most striking moment was the presentation of a Soviet passport. It evokes horror, curiosity and confusion in foreigners at the same time. Citizens of the USSR were perceived as people from the other world. It is not only Soviet ideology that is to blame; Western propaganda also worked a lot to create the image of a communist enemy, a subhuman who strives only for chaos and destruction.

Mayakovsky revels in the effect produced. With rude affection, he endows his nondescript passport with various epithets: “purple little book,” “red-skinned passport,” “hammer-faced,” “sickle-faced,” etc. Comparisons of a passport with a “bomb,” “hedgehog,” “razor” are very expressive and characteristic of the poet. " Mayakovsky is glad of the hatred in the eyes of the police. He is ready to go through the suffering of Jesus Christ (“he would be whipped and crucified”) for possessing a nondescript piece of paper of such incredible power.

The phrase “I take it out of wide trousers” has become a catchphrase. It has been criticized and parodied countless times. But it sounds like the sincere pride of a man who is confident in the greatness and power of his state. This pride allows Mayakovsky to firmly declare to the whole world: “I am a citizen of the Soviet Union.”

I would be a wolf
Vygraz
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
Along the long front
coupe
and cabins
official
suave moves.
Handing over passports
and I
I rent
mine
purple book.
To one passport -
smile at the mouth.
To others -
careless attitude.
With respect
take, for example,
passports
with double
English left.
With my eyes
after eating out the good uncle,
without ceasing
bow,
they take
as if they take tips,
passport
American.
In Polish -
they look
like a goat in a poster.
In Polish -
stick out their eyes
in tight
police elephantiasis -
where, they say,
and what is this
geographic news?
And without turning
heads of cabbage
and feelings
no
without having experienced
they take
without blinking,
Danish passports
and different
others
Swedes
And suddenly,
as if
burn,
mouth
grimaced
Mr.
This
Mr. official
beret
mine
red-skinned passport.
Beret -
like a bomb
takes -
like a hedgehog
like a razor
double-edged
beret,
like a rattlesnake
at 20 stings
snake
two meters tall.
Blinked
meaningfully
porter's eye
at least things
will give you away for nothing.
Gendarme
questioningly
looks at the detective
detective
to the gendarme.
With what pleasure
gendarmerie caste
I would be
whipped and crucified
for
what's in my hands
hammer-fingered,
sickle
Soviet passport.
I would be a wolf
gnawed it out
bureaucracy.
To the mandates
there is no respect.
To any
to hell with their mothers
roll
any piece of paper.
But this...
I
I get it
from wide legs
duplicate
priceless cargo.
Read,
envy
I -
citizen
Soviet Union.
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“Poems about the Soviet passport” Vladimir Mayakovsky

I would fight bureaucracy like a wolf. There is no respect for mandates. Any piece of paper can go to hell with its mothers. But this... A courteous official moves along the long front of compartments and cabins. They hand over my passports, and I hand over my purple book. Some passports bring a smile to your mouth. To others - a careless attitude. They respectfully take, for example, passports with a double English left. With the eyes of a kind uncle, without ceasing to bow, they take, as if taking a tip, an American’s passport. In Polish they look like a goat on a poster. In Polish - they bulge their eyes in tight police elephantiasis - where, they say, and what kind of geographical news is this? And without turning their heads and without experiencing any feelings, they take, without blinking, the passports of the Danes and various other Swedes. And suddenly, as if by a burn, the gentleman’s mouth twisted. This is Mr. Official taking my red passport. He takes it like a bomb, he takes it like a hedgehog, like a double-edged razor, he takes it like a two-meter-tall rattlesnake at 20. The porter's eye blinked meaningfully, even though he would take your things away for nothing. The gendarme looks questioningly at the detective, the detective at the gendarme. With what pleasure would I be whipped and crucified by the gendarmerie caste for holding a hammer-like, sickle-shaped Soviet passport in my hands. I would eat bureaucracy like a wolf. There is no respect for mandates. Any piece of paper can go to hell with its mothers. But this one... I take it out of my wide trousers with a duplicate of the priceless cargo. Read, envy, I am a citizen of the Soviet Union.

It is known that in the last years of his life, Vladimir Mayakovsky traveled a lot, visiting, among other things, abroad. Thanks to his revolutionary and patriotic poems, this poet was one of the few who, under Soviet rule, was allowed to travel to both Europe and the USA as a staff correspondent for various publications. Mayakovsky never wrote travel notes, but he could convey the feelings of a particular trip in short and succinct phrases of poetry. One of these sketches includes “Poems about the Soviet Passport,” which were written in 1929, but were published after the tragic death of the author.

In this work, the poet discusses how border services treat passports and their holders. Mayakovsky himself cannot stand bureaucracy, and therefore any documents that he contemptuously calls “pieces of paper” cause him disgust, bordering on disgust. But he treats the Soviet passport with special respect, since this “purple book” causes real disgust among customs officials in various countries. He takes her in his hands “like a bomb, he takes her like a hedgehog, like a double-sided razor.” The poet projects his attitude towards the Soviet passport onto himself, realizing that his opponent experiences such feelings not because of the identity document, but because of the person to whom it belongs. And this is not surprising, because in the second half of the 20th century, citizens of the USSR crossing openly the state border were something exotic. Well, the general attitude towards representatives of this country, isolated from the whole world, is wary. Simply put, the Soviet people are feared both in Paris and in New York, since no one knows what to expect from him. And this fear gives Mayakovsky true pleasure.

Possessing naturally excellent powers of observation, the poet notes that border guards treat British passports with respect, American passports with ingratiating behavior, and Danish and Norwegian passports with indifference and casualness. Polish passports evoke disgust in them, and only Soviet passports evoke a certain mixture of horror and respect. Therefore, Mayakovsky calls the passport “a duplicate of an invaluable cargo,” openly declaring: “Envy, I am a citizen of the Soviet Union!” He is truly proud that he lives in a great and invincible country that inspires fear throughout the world and makes even an ordinary border guard tremble at the sight of a red Soviet passport.