Hot Best Seller

Backbone Flute: Selected Poetry

Availability: Ready to download

Vladimir Mayakovsky (July 19, 1893 - April 14, 1930) is one of the most recognized and celebrated poets of the Russian canon. One of the leaders of the Russian Futurism movement, which sought to capture the wonder of the fast-paced modern world and renounced the static art of the past, Mayakovsky completely bent the boundaries of language and introduced an entirely differe Vladimir Mayakovsky (July 19, 1893 - April 14, 1930) is one of the most recognized and celebrated poets of the Russian canon. One of the leaders of the Russian Futurism movement, which sought to capture the wonder of the fast-paced modern world and renounced the static art of the past, Mayakovsky completely bent the boundaries of language and introduced an entirely different style of poetry. His irregular line-breaks, his use of internal rhyme, his control of meter and his sense of rhythm combined together to form his unique style. His imagery is overflowing with allusions, metaphors and hyperboles. His major works, "A Cloud in Trousers," "Backbone Flute," and "I Love," sparkle with wit, wisdom and originality. This quality of his work is what also makes it incredibly difficult to translate. In this dual-language selection of Mayakovsky's poetry, Andrey Kneller attempts to capture not only the general meaning, but also the lyrical quality of the poetry that makes Mayakovsky a truly unique writer.


Compare

Vladimir Mayakovsky (July 19, 1893 - April 14, 1930) is one of the most recognized and celebrated poets of the Russian canon. One of the leaders of the Russian Futurism movement, which sought to capture the wonder of the fast-paced modern world and renounced the static art of the past, Mayakovsky completely bent the boundaries of language and introduced an entirely differe Vladimir Mayakovsky (July 19, 1893 - April 14, 1930) is one of the most recognized and celebrated poets of the Russian canon. One of the leaders of the Russian Futurism movement, which sought to capture the wonder of the fast-paced modern world and renounced the static art of the past, Mayakovsky completely bent the boundaries of language and introduced an entirely different style of poetry. His irregular line-breaks, his use of internal rhyme, his control of meter and his sense of rhythm combined together to form his unique style. His imagery is overflowing with allusions, metaphors and hyperboles. His major works, "A Cloud in Trousers," "Backbone Flute," and "I Love," sparkle with wit, wisdom and originality. This quality of his work is what also makes it incredibly difficult to translate. In this dual-language selection of Mayakovsky's poetry, Andrey Kneller attempts to capture not only the general meaning, but also the lyrical quality of the poetry that makes Mayakovsky a truly unique writer.

30 review for Backbone Flute: Selected Poetry

  1. 5 out of 5

    Eadweard

    I won’t drink poison or jump to demise or pull the trigger to take my own life. Except for your eyes, no blade can control me, no sharpened knife. Tomorrow you’ll forget that it was I who crowned you, who burned out the blossoming soul with love and the days will form a whirling carnival that will ruffle my manuscripts and lift them above… Will the dry autumn leaves of my sentences cause you to pause, breathing hard?   Let me pave a path with the final tenderness for your footsteps as you depart. I won’t drink poison or jump to demise or pull the trigger to take my own life. Except for your eyes, no blade can control me, no sharpened knife. Tomorrow you’ll forget that it was I who crowned you, who burned out the blossoming soul with love and the days will form a whirling carnival that will ruffle my manuscripts and lift them above… Will the dry autumn leaves of my sentences cause you to pause, breathing hard?   Let me pave a path with the final tenderness for your footsteps as you depart. ---- This evening was to decide were we to fall in love passionately? - it’s dark, no one would see us. I leaned over her actually and actually, while I was leaning, I said to her like a kind father: “Emotions are steep like cliffs, please, step away farther. Farther step away, please." ---- And I feel- “I” is too small to fit me. Someone inside of me is getting smothered. ---- Fleets! Even fleets rush to the port. The train - even the train speeds to the station. But I’m being pulled to you all the more since I love you! - without reservations. Pushkin’s knight goes down into his vault to marvel and joyfully gape at it all. It is thus, I return to you, my beloved. To stare at my heart, for I know that you’ll have it. When people come home, they feel happy and free to wash the dirt off their hands and shave. Don’t you know it’s exactly the same with me - when returning to you, I come home, all the same! The earthy man is laid into earth. In the end, we have to return to our ends. Thus I reach back for you with all of my verve, just as soon as we part, separating our hands. ---- Again in love, I shall start gambling, with fire illuminating the arch of my eyebrows. And why not! Sometimes, the homeless ramblers will seek to find shelter in a burnt down house! ---- I would gnaw the nights with the rays of eyes, - if I were as dim as the sun, I'd shine!

  2. 5 out of 5

    Atri

    But where is someone like me to go? What refuge or shelter is there? If only I were shallow, like the Pacific Ocean, - I'd rise on the tiptoes of waves to caress the moon with the tide. Where shall I find a love of my own proportions? She'd never fit beneath the miniature sky! ... Tomorrow you'll forget that it was I who crowned you, who burned out the blossoming soul with love and the days will form a whirling carnival that will ruffle my manuscripts and lift them above... Will the dry autumn leaves of my sente But where is someone like me to go? What refuge or shelter is there? If only I were shallow, like the Pacific Ocean, - I'd rise on the tiptoes of waves to caress the moon with the tide. Where shall I find a love of my own proportions? She'd never fit beneath the miniature sky! ... Tomorrow you'll forget that it was I who crowned you, who burned out the blossoming soul with love and the days will form a whirling carnival that will ruffle my manuscripts and lift them above... Will the dry autumn leaves of my sentences cause you to pause, breathing hard? Let me pave a path with the final tenderness for your footsteps as you depart. ... The earthy man is laid into earth. In the end, we have to return to our ends. Thus I reach back for you with all of my verve, just as soon as we part, separating our hands.

  3. 5 out of 5

    amapola

    ”Amavo profondamente le prime poesie di Majakovskij. Sullo sfondo delle pagliacciate dell’epoca la sua serietà grave, severa, dolente, era così insolita! Era una poesia magistralmente scolpita, demoniaca e al tempo stesso terribilmente condannata, agonizzante, quasi implorante soccorso…” (Boris Pasternak) All’amato se stesso dedica queste righe l’autore Le quattro. Pesanti come un colpo. “A Cesare quel ch’è di Cesare, a Dio quel ch’è di Dio”. Ma uno come me dove potrà cacciarsi? Dove mi è stata preparata ”Amavo profondamente le prime poesie di Majakovskij. Sullo sfondo delle pagliacciate dell’epoca la sua serietà grave, severa, dolente, era così insolita! Era una poesia magistralmente scolpita, demoniaca e al tempo stesso terribilmente condannata, agonizzante, quasi implorante soccorso…” (Boris Pasternak) All’amato se stesso dedica queste righe l’autore Le quattro. Pesanti come un colpo. “A Cesare quel ch’è di Cesare, a Dio quel ch’è di Dio”. Ma uno come me dove potrà cacciarsi? Dove mi è stata preparata una tana? Se fossi piccolo, come il grande oceano, sulle punte delle onde m’alzerei, con l’alta marea accarezzando la luna. Dove trovare un’amata, che sia uguale a me? Potrebbe trovar posto nel minuscolo cielo? Oh, se povero fossi, come un miliardario! Che cos’è il denaro per l’anima? E’ un ladro insaziabile dentro di lei. All’orda sfrenata dei miei desideri non basta l’oro di tutte le Californie. Se balbettare potessi, come Dante o Petrarca! Per una sola accendere l’anima! Comandarle coi versi di bruciare! Le parole e il mio amore sarebbero un arco di trionfo: pomposamente, senza lasciar traccia, vi passerebbero le amanti di tutti i secoli. Oh! s’io fossi sommesso, come il tuono; gemerei, abbracciando in un tremito il decrepito eremo terrestre. Se io urlerò con la mia voce immensa, le comete torceranno le braccia fiammeggianti, e giù si getteranno per la tristezza. Coi raggi degli occhi rosicchierei le notti, s’io fossi offuscato come il sole! Che brama provo d’abbracciare col mio splendore il seno dimagrato della terra! Passerò, trascinando il mio grande amore. In quale notte delirante, inferma, da quali Golia fui concepito, così enorme e così inutile?

  4. 5 out of 5

    Cristina

    En realidad leí una edición en pdf que encontré por la red de El Aleph Editores. Basta con googlear. De leer a Maiakovski no te arrepientes. Un regalito no incluido en la edición citada: POEMA INCONCLUSO Vladimir Maiakovski Preludio inacabado de un poema, probablemente escrito poco antes del suicidio de Maiakovski en 1930. Una parte de la estrofa III se repite en la nota de suicidio I ¿Me quiere? ¿No me quiere? Retuerzo las manos y los dedos destrozados desperdigo. Así deshojan al adivinar y esparcen por m En realidad leí una edición en pdf que encontré por la red de El Aleph Editores. Basta con googlear. De leer a Maiakovski no te arrepientes. Un regalito no incluido en la edición citada: POEMA INCONCLUSO Vladimir Maiakovski Preludio inacabado de un poema, probablemente escrito poco antes del suicidio de Maiakovski en 1930. Una parte de la estrofa III se repite en la nota de suicidio I ¿Me quiere? ¿No me quiere? Retuerzo las manos y los dedos destrozados desperdigo. Así deshojan al adivinar y esparcen por mayo corolas de margaritas del camino. Aunque las canas descubran el peinado y la barba; aunque abundantes suenen en plata los años espero, confío; que jamás llegue a mí el vergonzoso buen juicio. II Son las dos estarás en la cama O tal vez tú también andes mal. No hay prisa, y con urgencias de telegrama no tengo por qué despertarte y molestar III El mar se aleja de mí. El mar se aleja a dormir. Como dicen, incidente zanjado, la barca querida varó en lo diario. Estamos en paz, y no viene a cuenta un listado de mutuos dolores, penas y agravios. IV Son las dos estarás en la cama. La Vía Láctea es una Osa de plata estelar. No hay prisa y con urgencias de telegrama no tengo porqué despertarte y molestar. Como dicen, incidente zanjado, la barca querida embarrancó en lo diario. Estamos en paz y no viene a cuenta un listado de mutuos dolores penas y agravios. Mira en el mundo qué paz; la noche orló de un tributo de estrellas el cielo. A estas mismas horas te levantas a hablar a los siglos, la historia y el universo. V Sé de la fuerza de las palabras, sé de las palabras el arrebato. No son a las que aplauden los palcos. De palabras tales se desprenden los ataúdes y sus cuatro patitas de roble sacuden. A veces la suprimen, no se publica ni imprime, pero la palabra vuela con las cinchas ceñidas, tañe los siglos y llegan a rastras los trenes a lamer las manos encallecidas de la poesía. Sé de la fuerza de las palabras: parece de memos, pétalos caídos bajo los tacones de un baile. Pero el hombre con el alma los labios los huesos…

  5. 5 out of 5

    yağmur

    "Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me and become just two lips entirely?" I really loved this short collection; the poems read like someone's not so well-hidden diary. There's a certain cry, but for what, the reader never learns and with each poem or stanza one other option is eliminated until you are left with only the cry. I don't speak Russian so I don't know how accurate the translation "Gentle souls! You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the drums violently. But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me and become just two lips entirely?" I really loved this short collection; the poems read like someone's not so well-hidden diary. There's a certain cry, but for what, the reader never learns and with each poem or stanza one other option is eliminated until you are left with only the cry. I don't speak Russian so I don't know how accurate the translation was, but it was alive and raw, and I'd like to think Mayakovsky's poetry is just the same in Russian as well, alive and raw.

  6. 4 out of 5

    Danılo Horă

    The Backbone Flute is my favorite Mayakovsky poem, and Kneller's english rendering is now my favorite translation of it. In any language. I like it even better than my own translation.

  7. 5 out of 5

    Armin

    Im Vergleich zu dieser lyrischen Urgewalt ist der deutsche Expressionismus Gänseblümchenlyrik.

  8. 4 out of 5

    Bastián Olea Herrera

    Su energía, las referencias que enlaza entre poemas, la forma en que expresa amores desesperados bañados en el ego del poeta, sus exclamaciones. Accesible y emocionante. Política para las masas. “¡Escuchen! ¿Si las estrellas se encienden, quiere decir que a alguien les hacen falta? Por lo tanto es indispensable que al menos una estrella se encienda sobre los techos cada noche?!”

  9. 4 out of 5

    Stefan White

    I don't read Mayakovsky to find myself. I read to watch him struggle hugely around his universe, spotlit and alone, erupting his lines and roaring. His poetry is a one-man theatre—grandiose, melodramatic, and hysterically romantic in the best possible way. She loves me? not? I twist my arms like I’m crazy and breaking my fingers I fling them away More importantly, the phrases punch and the images glow. Mayakovsky had an almost mythically powerful poetic line, gripping and forceful, with the visu I don't read Mayakovsky to find myself. I read to watch him struggle hugely around his universe, spotlit and alone, erupting his lines and roaring. His poetry is a one-man theatre—grandiose, melodramatic, and hysterically romantic in the best possible way. She loves me? not? I twist my arms like I’m crazy and breaking my fingers I fling them away More importantly, the phrases punch and the images glow. Mayakovsky had an almost mythically powerful poetic line, gripping and forceful, with the visual immediacy of a painting. In particular, "Cloud in Trousers" is crammed with fire: Look- the stars were beheaded all night long and the sky is again bloody with slaughter. Hey you, Heaven! take your hat off, when you see me near! Silence. The universe sleeps. Placing its paw under the black, star-infested ear. Kneller's translation sounds way better than any other. Had I found the others first, I may not have loved Mayakovsky. Whether Kneller is more accurate—I can't say and don't care. He is obviously himself a poet with a honed ear. Kneller's translation: In our pride, we work all day with goodwill and the towers of Babel are again restored, but God grinds these cites into empty fields, stirring the word. Perelman & Lewis: We're proud We lift up Towers of Babel, but God scatters all speech, grinds cities into the fields

  10. 5 out of 5

    B.

    I am familiar with neither Mayakovsky nor Russian poetry or the language, but I felt this was a well done translation of the work of a great poet. The short bio of the author at the back of this book explains that his use of rhyme and control of meter and rhythm back Mayakovsky's work hard to translate. But since these translations do rhyme while still making sense and without feeling contrived or stretched, I think the translator must have done an excellent job. The imagery is mostly very dark, I am familiar with neither Mayakovsky nor Russian poetry or the language, but I felt this was a well done translation of the work of a great poet. The short bio of the author at the back of this book explains that his use of rhyme and control of meter and rhythm back Mayakovsky's work hard to translate. But since these translations do rhyme while still making sense and without feeling contrived or stretched, I think the translator must have done an excellent job. The imagery is mostly very dark, which is fine although I prefer otherwise. But many of the poems arr very original. My favorites are Moonlit Night, Listen!, About St. Petersburg, Lilichka!, Cloud with Trousers part 1 and Kindness to Horses.

  11. 4 out of 5

    Anna Konovalova

    Recently I have understood that even though I am madly in love with Mayakovsky, I haven't read almost any of his big poems. Trouble. So I've felt an extreme need to change the situation. ...And I fell in love for the second (third, hundredth, thousandth) time. (Picked up the random edition of his poems, because I'm not even sure if his big poems were eveer published as a standalone book)

  12. 5 out of 5

    Hind

    "I’ll forget the year, the day, the date. With a sheet of paper, I’ll lock myself up in isolation. O inhuman magic, create! through the suffering words, perform your creation!" - Backbone Flute Mayakovsky is yet another poet I haven't known about until recently. A poet I allowed to unhurriedly yet so powerfully deflower me and I was in a state of utter intoxication followed by a peculiar state of comfortable languor and passive sadness coalesced. Every singles poem I've read, crowned with A Cloud in Tro "I’ll forget the year, the day, the date. With a sheet of paper, I’ll lock myself up in isolation. O inhuman magic, create! through the suffering words, perform your creation!" - Backbone Flute Mayakovsky is yet another poet I haven't known about until recently. A poet I allowed to unhurriedly yet so powerfully deflower me and I was in a state of utter intoxication followed by a peculiar state of comfortable languor and passive sadness coalesced. Every singles poem I've read, crowned with A Cloud in Trousers and Backbone Flute burst to the seams and beyond with emotions. They all were portrayals of a nudity dressed in dark imagery, a sensitivity ablaze. He was a man of so many words and he brought them: the words, letters, sentences and split seas with them. Split minds and souls and I often felt so battered by his words that I wanted to reach the nearest chair and sit for few seconds. I believe there is something about him, something that I wish to wrap my fingers around, something within to unearth and when I open the doors, the pages, I hear a cry of some sort that wants to scream and make itself present. I see blood pooling between hearts, souls, bodies, and a I scent beer and rusty metal. I smell gunpowder, a fresh shot, an open wound and I just stand, at the furthest corner watching... Inundated with sounds, sights, smells, and tumultuous states of being. If I look out I see that it rains acid yet it feels like spring and the flowers are blooming insanely, lovers are embracing... Things flourish and die constantly and I think I am somewhere in his mind between those lines and it is far more complex to grasp. Eventually, I just watch, both enthralled and disturbed and my body quivers for a reason I cannot tell. Ah, what have you done to me, Vladimir. "My heart’s blood paves the roam I roam, flowers cling to my jacket, making it dusty. The sun will dance a thousand times round the earth, like Salome danced around the head of the Baptist." - A Cloud in Trousers

  13. 4 out of 5

    Anna Astafyeva

    Ever since I've met several lines from this poem in Mayakovsky's museum in Moscow (written randomly on the way as a part of an installation) I couldn't stop constantly rolling them inside my head until I read the entire poem. What I felt after was something like "Jesus!!!". His poetics and huge painful but so appealing drama made me learning huge pieces of the poem by heart. Real masterpiece.

  14. 4 out of 5

    Aditya Narayan

    Delight Delightful, passionate and at times the spirit of a true jealous lover peeps from these verses. An honest and off break collection of poetry.

  15. 5 out of 5

    Wawan Kurn

    Belajar menulis puisi dari Mayakovsky.

  16. 4 out of 5

    Natalia

    (La edición es de elaleph.com) Este año empecé a leer a los rusos, y esta es mi primera vez leyendo a alguno de sus poetas. Todos los poemas reunidos en esta selección son impecables. Maiacovski es uno de esos poetas que se deben releer varias veces, tan rica y vívida se siente su voz. Yo quiero beber un veneno, Beber y beber versos. - "La flauta espinazo" "Si alguien me tocara el pecho, Bajo la lana de mi chaleco, Palpita un puño extraordinario. - " El hombre"

  17. 5 out of 5

    Mohammed Yusuf

    I noticed that many poems has its own structure and strength , including words and metaphor , like when talking about love and using light words filled with beauty , that getting more intense and less poetic when talk about other subjects He is hesitated by certain words as i see , you can see them repeatedly : lips , clouds , stars , sky , Reading maykovsky is not that easy , his poetry getting crossed with history of him and of his time , i have seen before some interpretations in elsa triolet I noticed that many poems has its own structure and strength , including words and metaphor , like when talking about love and using light words filled with beauty , that getting more intense and less poetic when talk about other subjects He is hesitated by certain words as i see , you can see them repeatedly : lips , clouds , stars , sky , Reading maykovsky is not that easy , his poetry getting crossed with history of him and of his time , i have seen before some interpretations in elsa triolet book about mayakovsky , you can't get it clearly by your own

  18. 4 out of 5

    Μαρία

    "..μα πώς να ξεφύγω, που η κόλαση μέσα μου μένει;"

  19. 5 out of 5

    Mycala

    I was introduced to Mayakovsky in an Art History class. I knew a little bit about him -- that he had a commanding presence when he read his poetry and that he was a tortured soul involved with a married woman, among others. When I had the opportunity to find a book of poems lovingly translated from the Russian (which I am disappointed I don't speak or read because I understand the original work is more brilliant than I am able to comprehend in the English version), I jumped. My goodness, what a I was introduced to Mayakovsky in an Art History class. I knew a little bit about him -- that he had a commanding presence when he read his poetry and that he was a tortured soul involved with a married woman, among others. When I had the opportunity to find a book of poems lovingly translated from the Russian (which I am disappointed I don't speak or read because I understand the original work is more brilliant than I am able to comprehend in the English version), I jumped. My goodness, what a swoon-worthy fellow on so many levels. It is possible to ache while reading. The one about the violin that annoyed the other instruments captured my imagination and I love that he ran out to the orchestra to comfort the violin and tell it that they were the same. It's a shame he removed himself from the world so soon. I mourn for the work that would have come with age and further experience. I have chosen this book for the category of "written between 1900 and 1950", for the original poems.

  20. 4 out of 5

    Rodrigo Domínguez

    Although Mayakovsky won't seem too groundbreaking now, he was definitely a pioneer for his time and place. The translation, good as it may be, also doesn't help his case. More than the actual prose, I'm impressed by the character and energy that seems to pour through it. A combination of masculine and feminine, of toughness and sensitivity, and a love for Lilya matched only by his love for a better future, Mayakovsky must have been a man worthy of his name.

  21. 5 out of 5

    Antonio Delgado

    These poems fall into the category of world literature. One can not ignore reading traces of Flaubert, Goethe or even Dostoyevsky.

  22. 5 out of 5

    Scherzo

    Orden nº2 al Ejército del arte: A vosotros-/ místicos tapados con hojitas,/ hendiendo las frentes con arrugas-/ akmeistillos,/ imaginistillos,/ futuristillos, enredados en las telarañas de las rimas. [...]/ ¿A quién interesa/ que "Ay, pobrecito,/ cómo amaba/ y qué desdichado fue..."?/ Ahora necesitamos/ artesanos,/ no predicadores melenudos.//El buen trato a los caballos: la risa estalló y sonó/ -Un caballo caído/ -Cayó un caballo/ Me acerco y veo/ una gota tras otra/ resbala por el morro/ y se Orden nº2 al Ejército del arte: A vosotros-/ místicos tapados con hojitas,/ hendiendo las frentes con arrugas-/ akmeistillos,/ imaginistillos,/ futuristillos, enredados en las telarañas de las rimas. [...]/ ¿A quién interesa/ que "Ay, pobrecito,/ cómo amaba/ y qué desdichado fue..."?/ Ahora necesitamos/ artesanos,/ no predicadores melenudos.//El buen trato a los caballos: la risa estalló y sonó/ -Un caballo caído/ -Cayó un caballo/ Me acerco y veo/ una gota tras otra/ resbala por el morro/ y se oculta en el pelo./ "Deje, caballo/ caballo, escuche-/ ¿se cree peor que ellos?/ Amigo, todos tenemos algo de caballo,/ cada uno es caballo a su manera"/ Tal vez/ por ser viejo/ no necesitaba consejos,/ o tal vez mi idea le pareció banal,/ el caso es/ que el caballo/ dio un tirón,/ se levantó,/ relinchó/ y echó a andar./ Meneaba el rabo,/ rapaz pelirrojo./ Llegó alegre/ y se arrimó al pesebre./ Se imaginaba/ que era potrillo;/ y valía la pena vivir/ y trabajar también. //¿Cómo cabemos/ en él/ en un metro/ yo,/ el río/ y las rocas empinadas?// Cogen la tierra/ la pelan,/ la mondan/ y estudian./ Y toda ella es un globo chiquito./ Yo aprendí la geografía/ con los costados,/ ¡como que en la tierra/ me tumbo a dormir!/ Yo/ desde niño/ aprendí a odiar a los gordos,/ siempre vendiéndome por una comida./ Estudian, se sientan-/ para gustar a una dama,/ topetean las ideítas en las frentecitas de bronce./ Yo/ hablaba / sólo con las casas./ Desde hoy no domino el corazón. /Los demás tienen el corazón/ en el pecho: ya se sabe./ Conmigo/ se volvió loca la anatomía.//

  23. 4 out of 5

    Paul

    I struggle with poetry in translation, as it is hard to know if you are really hearing the original voice. Here at least the Russian versions are printed alongside, which I can just about manage to read phonetically, but I felt that I was missing something reading these poems in English.

  24. 5 out of 5

    Bahman Bahman

    http://www.aghalliat.com/%D8%B5%D8%A8... http://www.aghalliat.com/%D8%B5%D8%A8...

  25. 4 out of 5

    Ashley

    A few weird inconsistencies in translations, but overall it's pretty good! Of course, much of my rating is that I really like Mayakovsky (and for Mayakovsky himself, I would give five stars).

  26. 4 out of 5

    Kat Sparling

  27. 4 out of 5

    Maria Gustafsson

  28. 5 out of 5

    Olga

  29. 4 out of 5

    Miguel Afonso

  30. 5 out of 5

    Vic

Add a review

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Loading...
We use cookies to give you the best online experience. By using our website you agree to our use of cookies in accordance with our cookie policy.