one poet

I infected normal classicism.
And you, my friend, infected with sarcasm.
Of course, just make moody,
serving in the Department of Excise.
K same, you called this age of iron.
But I did not think, talking about different,
what, infected sober classicism,
I walked alone on a knife edge.

Now the end of my and your friendship.
But - the beginning of many years of litigation.
Now you get a promotion
meşaet Bacchus, but no one else.
I leave it in the same cornfield,
how I went on it. But also
I zatverdel, both in Herculaneum pumice.
And I for you do not shake my hand.

leave scores. I have been in captivity.
Potatoes eat and sleep in the hayloft.
I can add, now on the thief
no longer hat - bald spot lights.
I imitator and parrot. Did you not
life parrot on my own hide?
When I came out of the law "forks",
I was warmed by your divination.

Ministry Moose something there does not tolerate.
But by itself it is usually in such a hurry,
awe that runs from hand to hand,
and doubtless the proximity of the Godhead.
One singer is preparing a report,
the other produces a muffled murmur,
and a third knows, that he himself - a shout,
and he rips all the colors of kinship.

And he says death, that does not keep up with sarcasm
for the life force. Pronitsaya prism,
he is able only to increase the plasma.
Him, Alas, not illuminate the core.
And so, such a duty under the muses,
I prefer the classicism,
though I could, how old Syracuse,
look at the world from the bottom of the bucket.

leave scores. probably, weakness.
I, anticipating your sarcasm and joy,
in his wilderness I bless difference:
this dazzling jwjjane
in a simple daisy causes shyness.
I am aware, that abyss before me.
And spinning consciousness, as the blade
around its axis stiff.

Shoemaker builds boots. Pieman
builds a pretzel. Warlock
leafing through a thick tome. A sinner
compounding, that every day, the sins.
Attract dolphins on the waves of the tripod,
Apollo and overlooks the neighbors –
in the end, infinitely external.
forest rustle, and Heavens deaf.

It will soon fall. school notebooks
lie in portfolios. Charovnitsы, like
you, in the morning laid strands
a large beam, preparing for the cold.
I recall an episode in Tauris,
our mutual interest in nature,
always in its wild-growing form,
and wonder, and sad, madam.

Aug. Sept 1965, Norenskaya

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Joseph Brodsky
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