The history of Mayakovsky is the history of love, says Adolf Aksionkin, chief curator at the Vladimir Mayakovsky museum.


Aksionkin's views may differ from many Russians who were spoon-fed Mayakovsky slogans from their first days in pioneer camp. But those who think of Mayakovsky as just another mouthpiece of the revolution -- a disillusioned poet who sold out to the Bolsheviks and then took his own life -- are cheating themselves out of one of Moscow's finest cultural experiences.


Ironically, you don't have to like Mayakovsky's poetry, or even read it, to love the museum. The purpose here is not to acquaint visitors with the merits of "A Cloud in Trousers," but with the poet himself and the dramatic period in which he lived.


No shrinking violet, Mayakovsky was a man who loved to talk about himself. His first book, "Ya," or "I," and subsequent works, such as his play, "The Tragedy of Vladimir Mayakovsky," are testimony to the poet's fascination with himself.


"Mayakovsky wanted to open himself up to people," says Aksionkin, passing through the exhibit's entry gate, which is shaped in the form of a human ribcage. "It is as if he himself is talking to us, and we can only guess at the secrets of his life."


Here there are no showcases, no captions, no taped walking tours. Like the man himself, the form of the museum is revolutionary -- a poem in itself. Relying on symbols to represent periods of the poet's life, the museum -- nestled across the street from the KGB, in the very building where Mayakovsky lived at the time of his death -- is a riddle for the viewer to untangle.


"The display is not literal, but metaphysical," says Aksionkin, leading an interactive tour.


If God is in the details, then this is one heavenly place. It helps to ask for a tour by which to navigate this constructivist maze, but as Aksionkin is quick to point out, there are no right or wrong answers. "It all depends on the intellect of the viewer," he says. For instance, Aksionkin sees the image of the Mona Lisa as representing Mayakovsky's quest for ideal love, "but for you it can mean something else altogether," he adds.


Beginning with his childhood in Georgia, the first floor is dedicated to Mayakovsky's life before 1917, from his arrest for revolutionary activity and sentence at Moscow's Butyrskaya Prison to the first of many tragic love affairs and his disillusionment with society.


But climb the stairs to the apartment where Mayakovsky lived and died and welcome to the new world order. Here the exhibit bursts forth with symbols of society's changing concepts of power, religion, art and love. Here Lily Brik, the married woman whom Mayakovsky loved until he drove a bullet through his heart in 1930, enters the scene.


The domestic scene symbolizing Mayakovsky's life with Lily Brik and her husband, Osip, comes to an abrupt end on the top floor of the exhibit, where the poet's hat and coat signify his departure. After Brik ended their relationship, Mayakovsky. sought solace in travel.


He set sail for America, where he met Elly Jones -- the mother of his only child. As romances go, the affair with Jones, Mayakovsky's translator, was less than earth-shattering. "They were young, attractive and together for three months," says Aksionkin.


The exhibit continues to spiral downward to Mayakovsky's death mask, where the poet's last work -- his pencil-written suicide note -- is on display. According to Aksionkin, the museum has 90 percent of Mayakovsky's original manuscripts, many of which are liberally scattered throughout the exhibit. The museum also recently acquired the pistol that killed Mayakovsky and the records documenting the investigation into his death. To this day many theories that Mayakovsky was actually murdered still circulate, but, according to Aksionkin, ovewhelming evidence and the poet's own disillusionment point to suicide.


"Mayakovsky said that love is life -- and without love, life has no meaning," says Aksionkin, reciting a series of disappointments that may have led to the poet's decision to take his own life. "He felt he was no longer necessary."