vladimir vladimirovic mayakovski #2464980
 

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A CLOUD in trousers



--



"your thought,



musing on a sodden brain



like a bloated lackey on a greasy couch.



i'll taunt with a bloody morsel of heart



and satiate my insolent, caustic contempt.







no grey hairs streak my soul,



no grandfatherly fondness there!



i shake the world with the might of my voice,



and walk -- handsome,



twentytwoyearold.







tender souls!



you play your love on a fiddle,



and the crude club their love on a drum.



but you cannot turn yourself inside out,



like me, and be just bare lips!







come and be lessoned --



prim officiates of the angelic league,



lisping in drawing-room cambric.







you, too, who leaf your lips like a cook



turns the pages of a cookery book.







if you wish,



i shall rage on raw meat



or, as the sky changes its hue,



if you wish,



i shall grow irreproachably tender:



not a man, but a cloud in trousers!







i deny the existence of blossoming Nice!



again in song I glorify



men as crumpled as hospital beds,



and women as battered as proverbs"