Сумасшедше красивое прочтение стихотворения Маяковского:
Я знаю силу слов, я знаю слов набат.
Они не те, которым рукоплещут ложи.
От слов таких срываются гроба
шагать четверкою своих дубовых ножек.
Бывает, выбросят, не напечатав, не издав,
но слово мчится, подтянув подпруги,
звенит века, и подползают поезда
лизать поэзии мозолистые руки.
Я знаю силу слов. Глядится пустяком,
опавшим лепестком под каблуками танца,
но человек душой губами костяком
. . . . . . .
(неоконченное)
© Владимир Маяковский
I know the power of words,
I know the tocsin of words.
They are not those that make theater boxes applaud.
Words like that make coffins break out
make them pace with their four oak legs.
It happens they are thrown out,
not printed, not published.
But the word gallops, its saddle girth tightened,
it rings through the ages and trains creep nearer
to lick... poetry's toil-hardened hands.
(с) Mecano
Я знаю силу слов, я знаю слов набат.
Они не те, которым рукоплещут ложи.
От слов таких срываются гроба
шагать четверкою своих дубовых ножек.
Бывает, выбросят, не напечатав, не издав,
но слово мчится, подтянув подпруги,
звенит века, и подползают поезда
лизать поэзии мозолистые руки.
Я знаю силу слов. Глядится пустяком,
опавшим лепестком под каблуками танца,
но человек душой губами костяком
. . . . . . .
(неоконченное)
© Владимир Маяковский
I know the power of words,
I know the tocsin of words.
They are not those that make theater boxes applaud.
Words like that make coffins break out
make them pace with their four oak legs.
It happens they are thrown out,
not printed, not published.
But the word gallops, its saddle girth tightened,
it rings through the ages and trains creep nearer
to lick... poetry's toil-hardened hands.
(с) Mecano
Crazy beautiful reading of Mayakovsky’s poem:
I know the power of words, I know the words of the alarm.
They are not the ones to applaud the lodges.
From the words of such a tomb
walk with the four of your oak legs.
Sometimes they’ll throw it out without printing, without publishing,
but the word rushes, pulling up the cinch
rings centuries and trains creep
lick poetry corpus callosum.
I know the power of words. It looks like a trifle
a fallen petal under the heels of the dance
but a man’s soul is skeletal lips
. . . . . . .
(unfinished)
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
I know the power of words,
I know the tocsin of words.
They are not those that make theater boxes applaud.
Words like that make coffins break out
make them pace with their four oak legs.
It happens they are thrown out,
not printed, not published.
But the word gallops, its saddle girth tightened,
it rings through the ages and trains creep nearer
to lick ... poetry's toil-hardened hands.
(c) Mecano
I know the power of words, I know the words of the alarm.
They are not the ones to applaud the lodges.
From the words of such a tomb
walk with the four of your oak legs.
Sometimes they’ll throw it out without printing, without publishing,
but the word rushes, pulling up the cinch
rings centuries and trains creep
lick poetry corpus callosum.
I know the power of words. It looks like a trifle
a fallen petal under the heels of the dance
but a man’s soul is skeletal lips
. . . . . . .
(unfinished)
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
I know the power of words,
I know the tocsin of words.
They are not those that make theater boxes applaud.
Words like that make coffins break out
make them pace with their four oak legs.
It happens they are thrown out,
not printed, not published.
But the word gallops, its saddle girth tightened,
it rings through the ages and trains creep nearer
to lick ... poetry's toil-hardened hands.
(c) Mecano
У записи 47 лайков,
3 репостов.
3 репостов.
Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Ольга Зыкова
