"'I told you, Innokentii. It's not my fault that you don't listen. Well, all right, I'll say it again. I've always liked Mayakovsky. He is a sort of continuation of Dostoyevsky. Or, rather, he's a Dostoyevsky character writing lyrical poems- one of his young rebels, the 'Raw Youth' or Hippolyte or Raskolnikov. What an all-devouring poetic energy! And his was of saying a thing once and for all, uncompromisingly, straight from the shoulder! And above all, with what daring he flings all this in the face of society and beyond, into space!'"

I wonder if Pasternak thought this of Mayakovsky, or if it was what was said, by intellectuals, of the poet at the time? It's a description that rings true, certainly. "All-devouring poetic energy", "uncompromisingly", flinging his thoughts in the face of society and what not... I don't look at Mayakovsky from the standpoint of his poetry, but of his purpose. Of what I know, he was a ultra-passionate supporter of the Bolshevik Revolution, and an outstanding eccentric in the early nineteen-teens. What I mean specifically is that he was known to paint his face white and wear earrings- which, at that time, was extremely ODD. Dramatic. No doubt he had the expected admirers, those who always seem to flock to something outrageous and whiffing of "mystery". Allure.
     He wrote as if he was plagued with the need to express his emotions, which he may not even have understood himself. He worked both as a poet and as an artist, painting hundreds and hundreds of propaganda posters for the revolutionary movement. After a time, the Bolsheviks removed the white veil and the lies became more evident, less subtle. Blatant hypocrisy pounded in Mayakovsky's brain. He couldn't bear to think that the movement he had lauded again and again, in poem after poem, had decieved him, and most of Russia. I don't think that, like many other supporters, he really knew what was coming. Perhaps he believed in positive change through violent means. He committed suicide by shooting himself in the thirties. Maykovsky's purpose is the spellbinding tale for me. His poetry is only a sideshow for the drama that took place within his own brain.