In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

68 ✦ vladimir mayakovsky Being Good to Horses Hooves were pounding. As if singing: “Grip. Grab. Grope. Group.” Wind-drunk, ice-shod, the street slipped and slid. Onto its croup the horse fell with a crash, and straightaway gawker after gawker— come to Kuznetsky to bell-bottom along— crowded round. Laughter jingled and jangled: “The horse fell!” “A horse fell!” Kuznetsky laughed. I alone withheld my voice from the general howl. I approached and saw the horse’s eyes . . . The street tipped over, kept flowing along . . . I approached and saw drop after drop, enormous drops, roll down the snout, disappear in the fur . . . And some sort of universal animal yearning splashed out of me and spread in a rustle. “Horse, please don’t. Horse, listen to me— you think this means you’re somehow worse? Kiddo, we’re all horses a little bit, each of us is in his own way a horse.” Perhaps, being old, she had no need for a nanny, or perhaps my idea struck her as coarse, only the horse jerked herself up, found her footing, gave a neigh and was off. Wagging her tail. A chestnut child. She arrived cheerful, took her place in the stall. And all the while it seemed to her— she was a young foal, and it was worthwhile to live and worthwhile to work. 1918 the years of upheaval ✦ 69 ...

Share