Zofia

Father repaired his camera,
among the magazines smiled brother, –
Christmas miracle story;
glittered behind the glasses in the watch,
swaying, bronze oval.
At the mirror I put on a tie.

Mother darned socks purple,
shone calendar sheets,
a lamp burned in a pink corner,
her spot lay on the floor,
from under the table the cat's gleamed.
At the mirror my tie rustled.

Silence reigned, and the cat rumbled,
I, staring at the mirror, silent,
the wind was blowing, howling pipe.
And carefully in the mirror,
gliding up and down,
I silently admired, like daffodil.

I was lit only from the back,
facial features were not visible to me,
white lighted hand.
From the shoes to the collar
eyes of movement began to increase,
it's time for me to stop it.

I lingered in the mirror yet:
glistened lighted shoulder,
I rustled with a silk shirt,
my polished shoe shone,
left in the shade, another flickered a little,
my tie was beautiful dear.

Was quiet and gloom.
In some world, the needle was moving,
God knows what brother read in the magazine,
father God knows where thoughts soared,
holding screwdrivers in a pink hand.
I stood at the mirror in the distance.

I think, what's in my mirror
someday we will be threesome
in the darkness, amid oppressive silence,
from somewhere barely lit,
I myself and reflection and longing –
the only one here without a double.

The arrow ran through the dial,
among the magazines smiled brother,
from far away to my boot
streaming light, turning into darkness,
father's face loomed in the shade,
dark photos related.

I, removing the curtain, looked out the window:
the snow was swirling, but it was not dark,
lantern circling over snowdrifts,
pristine loomed calendar,
the headless Spas loomed in the distance,
the clock below showed the hour.

The lamp in the pink corner burned,
and the chairs retreated into a half haze,
in front of me my double was getting dark,
he dressed, head bowed.
I looked up and was suddenly dumbfounded:
all four were looking at me.

Father repaired his camera,
the dial flickered in obscurity,
brother, lying on your back, looked into the darkness,
his magazine was lying on the floor,
confusion was going on outside the windows,
trembling in a shade of fringe.

There was twilight and silence,
was heard from a distance
through the wool of a sock running needle,
rustling came from a corner,
I'm tired of repeating one thing,
it was time for me to go away.

I lingered on the calendar,
so, I ended up in January,
behind the curtains a silent lamp,
silent before me calendar.
Afraid, that year will be difficult,
I went to the exit of the room.

Suddenly, something began to grow,
clamshell brother tried to get up,
mother quickly rose from the table,
and soared up, falling out of hand, needle,
father grabbed his camera,
a cat's gaze flashed from under the table.

Rate:
( No ratings yet )
Share with your friends:
Joseph Brodsky
Add a comment