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To His Beloved Self the Author Dedicates These Lines Six words. Heavy as hammer blows. “Caesar’s unto Caesar, God’s unto God.” But where is someone like me to go? Where has a lair been prepared for me? If only I were small, like the Pacific Ocean— I’d stand on the waves’ tiptoes, snuggle up to the moon on the tide. Where am I to find a beloved, one who’s like me? She wouldn’t fit in the tiny sky! If only I were poor! Like a billionaire! What’s money to the soul? She’s got an insatiable thief inside. For the unbridled horde of my desires all the gold of all the Californias wouldn’t suffice. Oh, to be tongue-tied like Dante or Petrarch! To light my soul ablaze for one woman! To order it to smolder away in verse! My words the early years ✦ 63 64 ✦ vladimir mayakovsky and my love would be a triumphal arch: through it the mistresses of all the ages would pass, pass with great pomp—and without a trace. Oh, if only I were quiet, like thunder, I’d whimper and wrack the earth’s decrepit cloister with tremors. If with all my might I howled out in full voice— comets would wring their burning hands and hurl themselves down in anguish. I’d devour nights with the rays of my eyes— oh, if only I were dim like the sun! That’s the last thing I need— to slake with my shining the earth’s emaciated little bosom! I’ll move on, dragging my enormous love. In what night, what delirious, ailing night, and by what Goliaths was I conceived— so big and so useless? 1916 ...

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