Last night I went to Moe's Books in Berkeley, on a spontaneous browsing and picked up this copy of "Mayakovsky," which I believe is the best translation of his work -- only recently superceded in places by the "Night Wraps at the Sky," edited by Michael Almereyda (Farrar, Sraus and Giroux; 2008). Marshall's Mayakovsky weighs in at 432 full pages of poems, prose, his commentary and others on Mayakovsky.
I first read Marshall's Mayakovsky's back in 1977. This is the third copy I've bought, all of the others I have given away, or unawares have been permanently borrowed by visitors, along the way. You shouldn't have to read any Mayakovsky yet he is indispensable if you are to understand all the contradictory relations that exist between poets, lovers, foes, critics, political movements and their leaders and organizations, art and pure poetry, that is, poetry for poets. As Marshall's edition points out: both Boris Pasternak (the lyrical poet and writer who was awarded the Nobel in the 1950s but had to reject it due to all the complications of the Cold War on human culture), and the hated dictator of the Soviet proletariat, Stalin, Mayakovsky for completely opposite and opposing reasons. Pasternak for Mayakovsky's intimate poetry; Stalin for his loud, top of the lungs, poems praising the October revolution and socialism. In the end, this contradiction lives on, beautifully in spite of Mayakovsky's demise at his own hand. Now, how could you argue with a poet who re-wrote his poem-suicide at least five times -- or maybe Mayakovsky changed his mind five times thinking he could write a better version and then finally despair got the better of him and he pulled the triggger?
Mayakovsky is at least good as an example of how to balance or not balance the private and intimate with the political and the public. Mayakovsky proved that you can do and be both in your words and deeds.