MAYAKOVSKY
a voice that cannot be silenced.
1893
1930
ABOUT
He fought with words sharper than any weapon. Against hypocrisy, against indifference, against a world afraid of change. His poetry was his battlefield.
Her feelings were complex, ambiguous, and partly unrequited. This unresolved, constant wound burned within him — and many believe it played a decisive role in his inner collapse.
He shouted for truth, for revolution, for the right to be heard. But in the end, a shadow fell over him — the weight of expectations, of his public role, of personal loss, and the feeling that his voice was losing its power. In 1930, he left this world. Many link his death to despair: the sense of uselessness, alienation, the torment of unrequited love, and the pressure of his time. The exact reason remains debated — but it feels like the tragedy of a man whose once thunderous voice no longer found an echo.
In 1930, Mayakovsky left this world too early, but his echo remained. His words still march through time, reminding us to live loudly, to feel deeply, to never remain silent.
Vladimir Mayakovsky was born in 1893 in Georgia, growing up at the crossroads of cultures and revolutions. From the start, he carried the restless energy of a new century.
He did not write for comfort — he poured the world out of himself. His words were not neat stanzas but sharp fragments: an image, an accusation, a confession in a single breath. His poetry was like a shattered mirror: in every shard — truth, but truth that cuts. Sometimes mysterious, sometimes merciless to himself — his writing never explained, but instead asked questions.
His great passion was Lilya Brik. A love that both inspired and tore him apart. Lilya became his muse and his mirror: in her image Mayakovsky searched for meaning — and found both inspiration and pain.
VISUAL POETRY
Mayakovsky & ROSTA Windows artists
today
MAYKOVSKY
REVOLUTION
LOVE
ART
FREEDOM
Mayakovsky was the voice of revolution. He gave words the power to rival weapons. His poetry inspired the masses, shaped the image of the “new man,” and lifted the spirit of an era. Yet revolution for him was not only political — it was a way of rethinking everything: love, art, society. He turned the poet from a mere observer into an active participant in history. His influence resonated in Soviet politics and culture — he helped create the language of a new age, where words themselves became a force.
Mayakovsky broke the idea of “proper” love of his time. His feelings were too loud for private letters — they became a public phenomenon. For the first time, personal experience turned into something social: to love meant to fight, to suffer, to burn in front of everyone. His poetry showed that love was not only tenderness but also pain, jealousy, despair. Thanks to him, the generation of the 1920s saw love not as quiet romance, but as a force capable of transforming both the individual and society.
Mayakovsky changed the very notion of art. He fused poetry with graphics, theater with street propaganda, advertising with creativity. His “ROSTA Windows” posters turned artistic language into a tool of mass influence: short, bold, and clear to everyone. Because of him, art was no longer only for the “elite” — it belonged to the streets, to the crowd. He proved that art could be political, daring, and still popular. Today, much of street art and visual culture — from graffiti to advertising design — carries his trace.
For Mayakovsky, freedom was both political and deeply personal. He was the poet who brought freedom out into the streets, not just into philosophical texts. His performances and poems taught people not to fear being inconvenient, to speak loudly, to break old forms. Even when serving the system, his freedom was expressed in rebellion against boredom, lies, and conformity. He left behind the idea that real freedom is not a slogan, but the courage to live and create without compromise.
There is no design without discipline. There is no discipline without intelligence.
Curiosity about life in all its aspects, I think, is still the secret of great creative people.
you spoke as if every word was a strike of iron on stone. You believed that poetry is not for silence, but for action — a hammer, not a lullaby. Today, in a world drowned in noise yet empty of true voice, your shout still matters.
You taught us that art must tear down indifference. But indifference is thicker now — glowing screens, endless scrolling, people too tired to feel. Still, I think you would crash through it, the way you once broke the stage with your voice.
We need your courage: not to decorate life, but to disturb it. Not to write for applause, but to shake, to push, to demand.
Maybe the revolution you wanted never came. Maybe the world betrayed you. But your words, Vladimir, are still alive — they still burn. They remind us that a poet is not an observer, but a fighter.
So here is my letter: we hear you. We need that fire again. Not to copy you, but to dare as you dared — to be loud, to risk, to live with teeth bared against despair.
Vladimir,
MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY MAYAKOVSKY
letter about
4.01
Your Voice
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Break the silence.”
Shout. Create.
“Don’t let the voice fade.
