MAYAKOVSKY - THE CLOUD IN TROUSERS Part 1 by pcamjf

The Bright Yellow Futurism Hip Hop Summer 2009 T-Shirt

Here is the link to the Shop

What you should know:

1 Yellow will be the fresh calm down color for Summer 2009

2 The nice little drawing beneath the letters was made by famous Russian Futurist Vladimir Mayakowsky to describe how to make contemporary right poetry for his book "How to make poetry" from 1926

3 Mayakovsky to us is one of the true fathers of Hip Hop. He was famous in 1912 to be a Hip Hop poet dressed in a bright yellow blouse.

4 The Art Club Caucasus gives you the connection between Mayakovsky, enjoy life and the Bailout

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Not a man, but a cloud in trousers

It has been in the year 1913, when I came back from Saratov to Moscow and - to proof my harmlessness to my companion- said that I was "not a man, but a cloud in trousers". No sooner had I said it, I understood that this phrase was great for a poem. But what, if it would spread now into public by word of mouth and would be wasted and pointless? Taken by a terrible restlessness I interrogated the girl for about half an hour, with the help of suggestive questions and I calmed down only when I had convinced myself, that my words had been gone already through the other of her ears. Two years later, I used "cloud in trousers" as a title for an entire new poem.

Vladimir Mayakovsky in " How to Make Poetry"

"Cloud in Trousers" here

From Art Club Caucasus works by various artists

Guten Morgen, Маяковский !

See old film material with Vladimir Mayakovsky and a beautiful song: (via Google Video)

and here the famous Duel of the poets: Mayakovsky vs. Yesenin



from a serial of the 1st Russian TV Channel, more info in Russian here: http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Есенин_(телесериал)

Mayakovsky playing in the movie Барышня и Хулиган ("Baryshnya i khuligan") 1918

ROSTA Posters by Mayakovsky and others at

full PDF catalog of 318 pages at

http://www.contentmine.de/cmi_dt/rosta/rosta_offer.pdf

via http://www.united-archives.de/rosta/de/offer/rosta_offer.htm

From Drop Box

Source of this image is: http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Файл:Plakat_mayakowski_gross.jpg

and here Vladimir Mayakovsky at MySpace (here his voice + images)

http://www.myspace.com/mayakovski

From Drop Box

Source: Wikipedia

«Мистерия-буфф»

From Drop Box

futurism11

futurism11, originally uploaded by grijsz.

the little drawing under the letters is made by Vladimir Mayakovsky, original here: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mayakovsky-kak-delat-stixi.png

Russian Futurists from the GLM Collection (1920-1959)

at UBUWEB SOUND

22 mp3's for download, best to listen while sliding along the Black Sea Beaches

http://www.ubu.com/sound/russian_futurists.html

Thank you UBU for this gift !

Minimal drawing by V. Mayakovsky

he uses this drawing to describe his method of composition, see the original context here:

Как делать стихи (Маяковский) (russian)

There is a nice Radio Mayakovsky to listen here

http://mayak.live-radio.ru/

Buffo Bandit after Mayakovsky

From Drop Box

Found on the street: Mayakovsky's poems in 11 of 13 volumes

Parking my car today near a waste container on Brosse Street, I was wondering about the nicely stacked works of Vladimir Mayakovsky in 11 of 13 volumes next to the Garbage. It must had been a gift from god, as this is my famous author at all since the age of 20 (I didn't like Mayakovsky much at school..;-) Sadly are missing the volumes 5 and 10 from the edition of 1955 Academy of Science, Moscow, so if you find them...

Here I post for you:

"To all and everything" 

No.
It can’t be.
No!
You too, beloved?
Why? What for?
Darling, look -
I came,
I brought flowers,
but, but... I never took
silver spoons from your drawer!

Ashen-faced,
I staggered down five flights of stairs.
The street eddied round me. Blasts. Blares.
Tires screeched.
It was gusty.
The wind stung my cheeks.
Horn mounted horn lustfully.

Above the capital’s madness
I raised my face,
stern as the faces of ancient icons.
Sorrow-rent,
on your body as on a death-bed, its days
my heart ended.

You did not sully your hands with brute murder.
Instead,
you let drop calmly:
“He’s in bed.
There’s fruit and wine
On the bedstand’s palm.”

Love!
You only existed in my inflamed brain.
Enough!
Stop this foolish comedy
and take notice:
I’m ripping off
my toy armour,
I,
the greatest of all Don Quixotes!

Remember?
Weighed down by the cross,
Christ stopped for a moment,
weary.
Watching him, the mob
yelled, jeering:
“Get movin’, you clod!”

That’s right!
Be spiteful.
Spit upon him who begs for a rest
on his day of days,
harry and curse him.
To the army of zealots, doomed to do good,
man shows no mercy!

That does it!

I swear by my pagan strength -
gimme a girl,
young,
eye-filling,
and I won’t waste my feelings on her.
I'll rape her
and spear her heart with a gibe
willingly.

An eye for an eye!

A thousand times over reap of revenge the crops'
Never stop!
Petrify, stun,
howl into every ear:
“The earth is a convict, hear,
his head half shaved by the sun!”

An eye for an eye!

Kill me,
bury me -
I’ll dig myself out,
the knives of my teeth by stone — no wonder!-
made sharper,
A snarling dog, under
the plank-beds of barracks I’ll crawl,
sneaking out to bite feet that smell
of sweat and of market stalls!

You'll leap from bed in the night’s early hours.
“Moo!” I’ll roar.
Over my neck,
a yoke-savaged sore,
tornados of flies
will rise.
I'm a white bull over the earth towering!

Into an elk I’ll turn,
my horns-branches entangled in wires,
my eyes red with blood.
Above the world,
a beast brought to bay,
I'll stand tirelessly.

Man can’t escape!
Filthy and humble,
a prayer mumbling,
on cold stone he lies.
What I’ll do is paint
on the royal gates,
over God’s own
the face of Razin.

Dry up, rivers, stop him from quenching his thirst! Scorn him!
Don’t waste your rays, sun! Glare!
Let thousands of my disciples be born
to trumpet anathemas on the squares!
And when at last there comes,
stepping onto the peaks of the ages,
chillingly,
the last of their days,
in the black souls of anarchists and killers
I, a gory vision, will blaze!

It’s dawning,
The sky’s mouth stretches out more and more,
it drinks up the night
sip by sip, thirstily.
The windows send off a glow.
Through the panes heat pours.
The sun, viscous, streams down onto the sleeping city.

O sacred vengeance!
Lead me again
above the dust without
and up the steps of my poetic lines.
This heart of mine,
full to the brim,
in a confession
I will pour out.

Men of the future!
Who are you?
I must know. Please!
Here am I,
all bruises and aches,
pain-scorched...
To you of my great soul I bequeath
the orchard.

Source: 

http://www.marxists.org/subject/art/literature/mayakovsky/1916/to-all-and-everything.htm

Mayakovsky, Rosta Window

Mayakovsky, Rosta Window, Source Wikipedia Commons

more info here

http://www.v-mayakovsky.narod.ru/okna_rosta.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_Telegraph_Agency

http://visualrian.com/images?text=Mayakovsky+rosta&section=photo

and here

http://www.davno.ru/posters/1921/poster-1921d.html

and last but not least I found here a great archive of photos with Mayakovsky

http://www.v-mayakovsky.narod.ru/photo.html

and Mayakovsky on Futurism