Translate to:

I walked through a grove, thinking,
pine that remain behind,
must be, So, the leaves under a bush:
rot and dissolve nights.
That there is, what lies ahead;
such as concrete, who filled
in the sand, with the car on the chest,
where waiting for me, but something is not honk.

I quickly walked among the evening haze,
my step rustled, but all fell asleep around.
I touched his hand over the barrels,
and a couple of times between them flashed highway.
I'm a half-hour trail unwinds,
then the soldiers move agile
I ran up the hill and saw:
Desert Highway was uneven.
but the sky, bending the wires,
not merged with it, not concerned.
I silently looked, and then
completely different to me seemed Grove.

20 October 1962

Most visited Brodsky's poetry


All poetry (content alphabetically)

Leave a Reply