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Μουσική - Κινηματογράφος - Τηλεόραση - Πολιτισμός
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<blockquote data-quote="economides" data-source="post: 1258917" data-attributes="member: 13217"><p><strong>Vladimir Mayakovsky </strong></p><p></p><p>[ATTACH]55857[/ATTACH]</p><p></p><p></p><p>Six.</p><p>Ponderous. The chimes of a clock.</p><p>“Render unto Caesar ... render unto God...”</p><p>But where's</p><p>someone like me to dock?</p><p>Where'11 I find a lair?</p><p></p><p>Were I</p><p>like the ocean of oceans little,</p><p>on the tiptoes of waves I'd rise,</p><p>I'd strain, a tide, to caress the moon.</p><p>Where to find someone to love</p><p>of my size,</p><p>the sky too small for her to fit in?</p><p></p><p>Were I poor</p><p>as a multimillionaire,</p><p>it'd still be tough.</p><p>What's money for the soul? – </p><p>thief insatiable.</p><p>The gold</p><p>of all the Californias isn't enough</p><p>for my desires' riotous horde.</p><p></p><p>I wish I were tongue-tied,</p><p>like Dante or Petrarch,</p><p>able to fire a woman's heart,</p><p>reduce it to ashes with verse-filled pages!</p><p>My words</p><p>and my love</p><p>form a triumphal arch:</p><p>through it, in all their splendour,</p><p>leaving no trace, will pass</p><p>the inamoratas of all the ages!</p><p></p><p>Were I</p><p>as quiet as thunder,</p><p>how I'd wail and whine!</p><p>One groan of mine</p><p>would start the world's crumbling cloister shivering.</p><p>And if</p><p>I'd end up by roaring</p><p>with all of its power of lungs and more – </p><p>the comets, distressed, would wring their hands</p><p>and from the sky's roof</p><p>leap in a fever.</p><p></p><p>If I were dim as the sun,</p><p>night I'd drill</p><p>with the rays of my eyes,</p><p>and also</p><p>all by my lonesome,</p><p>radiant self</p><p>build up the earth's shriveled bosom.</p><p></p><p>On I'll pass,</p><p>dragging my huge love behind me.</p><p>On what</p><p>feverish night, deliria-ridden,</p><p>by what Goliaths was I begot – </p><p>I, so big</p><p>and by no one needed?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="economides, post: 1258917, member: 13217"] [B]Vladimir Mayakovsky [/B] [ATTACH]55857._xfImport[/ATTACH] Six. Ponderous. The chimes of a clock. “Render unto Caesar ... render unto God...” But where's someone like me to dock? Where'11 I find a lair? Were I like the ocean of oceans little, on the tiptoes of waves I'd rise, I'd strain, a tide, to caress the moon. Where to find someone to love of my size, the sky too small for her to fit in? Were I poor as a multimillionaire, it'd still be tough. What's money for the soul? – thief insatiable. The gold of all the Californias isn't enough for my desires' riotous horde. I wish I were tongue-tied, like Dante or Petrarch, able to fire a woman's heart, reduce it to ashes with verse-filled pages! My words and my love form a triumphal arch: through it, in all their splendour, leaving no trace, will pass the inamoratas of all the ages! Were I as quiet as thunder, how I'd wail and whine! One groan of mine would start the world's crumbling cloister shivering. And if I'd end up by roaring with all of its power of lungs and more – the comets, distressed, would wring their hands and from the sky's roof leap in a fever. If I were dim as the sun, night I'd drill with the rays of my eyes, and also all by my lonesome, radiant self build up the earth's shriveled bosom. On I'll pass, dragging my huge love behind me. On what feverish night, deliria-ridden, by what Goliaths was I begot – I, so big and by no one needed? [/QUOTE]
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