Awhirl with events , packed with jobs one too many , the day slowly sinks as the night shadows fall .
There are two in the room : I and Lenina photograph on the whiteness of wall .
The stubble slides upward above his lip as his mouth jerks open in speech .
The tense creases of brow hold thought in their grip , immense brow matched by thought immense .
A forest of flags , raised-up hands thick as grass …
Thousands are marching beneath him …
Transported , alight with joy , I rise from my place , eager to see him , hail him , report to him ! “ Comrade Lenin ,
I report to you – ( not a dictate of office , the heart ’ s prompting alone ) This hellish work that we ’ re out to do will be done and is already being done . We feed and we clothe and give light to the needy , the quotas for coal and for iron fulfill , but there is any amount of bleeding muck and rubbish around us still . Without you , there ’ s many have got out of hand , all the sparring
March - 2024
- Vladmir Mayakovsky and squabbling does one in .
There ’ s scum in plenty hounding our land , outside the borders and also within .
Try to count ’ em and tab ’ em – it ’ s no go , there ’ s all kinds , and they ’ re thick as nettles : kulaks , red tapists , and , down the row , drunkards , sectarians , lickspittles . They strut around proudly as peacocks , badges and fountain pens studding their chests .
We ’ ll lick the lot of ’ embut to lick ’ em is no easy job at the very best .
On snow-covered lands and on stubbly fields , in smoky plants and on factory sites , with you in our hearts , Comrade Lenin , we build , we think , we breathe , we live , and we fight !”
Awhirl with events , packed with jobs one too many , the day slowly sinks as the night shadows fall .
There are two in the room : I and Lenin – a photograph on the whiteness of wall . ( 1929 )
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