Sergei Yesenin – Vladimir Mayakovsky

You've gone,
as they say,
to another world.
Emptiness…
You fly,
crashing into the stars.
Not even an advance,
no beer.
Sobriety.
No, Yesenin,
this
no mockery.
In the throat
woe is lumpy -
not a smile.
I see -
with a cut hand stirring,
own
bones
swing the bag.
"Stop it."!
Throw!
Are you out of your mind?
To give,
so cheeks
flooded
death chalk?!
Do you
this
knew how to bend,
what other
на свете
could not.
Why?
What for?
Perplexity crumpled.
Critics mutter:
- This fault
then ...
to…
and most importantly,
that the bow is not enough,
as a result
lots of beer and wine.-
Say,
would you replace
bohemian
class,
the class influenced you,
and there would be no time for fights.
Well, but class
thirst
pours kvass?
Class - he too
drink no fool.
Say,
to attach to you
which of the posts -
steel b
content
very gifted.
You would
in a day
wrote
lines of one hundred,
tiresome
and long,
like Doronin.
And in my opinion,
come true
such nonsense,
on myself would
laid hands before.
It's better
to die of vodka,
than out of boredom!
Will not open
нам
reasons for loss
no loop,
no penknife.
Can,
find yourself
ink in Angleterre,
veins
cut
there would be no reason.
The imitators were delighted:
bis!
Over yourself
almost a platoon
discussion did.
why is
increase
number of suicides?
Better
increase
ink making!
Forever and ever
Now
tongue
will shut in the teeth.
Heavy
and inappropriate
breed mysteries.
In the people,
at the language maker,
died
voiced
rogue journeyman.
And carry
poems for the dead scrap,
from the past
from the funeral
without altering almost.
Into the hill
stupid rhymes
drive a stake -
isn't that so
poet
should be honored?
You
and the monument has not yet been merged,-
где он,
bronze chime,
or granite edge?-
and to the lattices of memory
уже
incurred
dedications
and memories of rubbish.
Your name
dissolved in handkerchiefs,
your word
slobbering Sobinov
and outputs
under a dead birch -
"Not a word,
oh my friend,
no bang-oh-oh-oh-ha "
Source,
talk differently
with this
with Leonid Lohengrinich!
Stand up here
thundering brawler:
- I will not let it
mumble a verse
and crush!-
Stun would
them
three-fingered whistle
to grandma
and into god's soul mother!
To spread
talentless trash,
inflating
darkness
jacket sails,
that
scattered
Kogan ran away,
met
in the evening
mustache peaks.
Rubbish
for now
a little compared.
A lot to do -
just keep up.
must
a life
redo first,
remaking -
you can chant.
This time -
hard for a pen,
but tell
you,
cripples and cripples,
Where,
when,
which great one chose
way,
to trample
and easier?
Word -
general
human strength.
March!
So that the time
behind
cores exploded.
To the old days
so that the wind
attributed
only
tangle of hair.

For fun
our planet
little equipped.
must
snatch
joy
the days to come.
In this life
to move
not difficult.
Make life
much more difficult.

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Mikhail Lermontov