When philosophers are powerless, they turn to poets, believed Martin Heidegger.
Vladimir Mayakovsky is my favorite--or my Beloved--to be more precise. I even dedicated a considerable portion of my PhD thesis (History) to this capital-M Man. Today is his birthday.
It's been 120 years.
Only.
Source: RIA News.
Moonlit Night.
There will be a Moon.
There already is
A little.
And now a full one hangs in the air.
This must be God
Digging into the starry fish soup
With His marvelous
Silver spoon.
(Vladimir Mayakovsky, 1916)
Будет луна.
Есть уже
немножко.
А вот и полная повисла в воздухе.
Это бог, должно быть,
дивной
серебряной ложкой
роется в звезд ухе́.
Tonight's Moon for Mayakovsky looked like this: