Here I am again visited
this place of love, the Peninsula refineries,
paradise workshops and factories Arcadia,
paradise river steamers,
I again whispered:
here I am again in the infant larah.
Here again I ran Minor Okhta through one thousand arches.
before me a river
flattened under a rock and coal smoke,
behind the back of the tram
thundered on the bridge unscathed,
and brick fences
brightened suddenly sullen.
Good afternoon, here we met, poor adolescence.
Jazz suburbs welcomes us,
hear pipes suburbs,
gold Dixieland
in black caps a wonderful, wonderful,
no soul and no body -
a shadow over the family gramophone,
like your dress suddenly planted up the saxophone.
in a bright red scarf
and a cloak in the doorways, in the state
you're standing in plain sight on the bridge near
years irrecoverable,
pressed to face unfinished glass of lemonade,
and roars behind expensive pipe mill.
Good day. Come and meet us.
Until then you're incorporeal:
near the new Sunset
driving away fire paintings.
Until then you're poor. So many years,
and sped in vain.
Good afternoon, my youth. My God, how beautiful you are.
on frozen hills
silently rushing greyhounds,
of red swamp
arise hooters train,
on an empty highway,
disappearing in the smoke of woodlands,
fly taxi, and aspen look to the heavens.
This is our winter.
modern lantern looks lifeless eye,
before me burn
dazzling thousands of windows.
raised his cry,
so that the houses he did not face:
is our winter all can not go back.
to death if no,
we did not find, can not find.
From birth to light
daily somewhere to leave,
like someone away
in new plays perfectly.
scattered all. Only death we have one collects.
Hence, no separations.
There is a huge meeting.
So, someone we were suddenly in the dark
hugs shoulders,
and total darkness,
and total darkness and quiet,
we all stand on the cold shiny river.
How easily we breathe,
because like the plant
in someone's life stranger
we become light and shadow
or more than that -
because we all lose,
running back ever, we are death and heaven.
Here I again pass
in the same light paradise - with a stop to the left,
before me runs,
closing his hands, the new Eve,
bright red Adam
far appears in the arches,
Nevsky wind ringing mournfully hung a harp.
as a rapidly
life in black and white paradise buildings.
entwined serpents,
and silent Sky heroic,
berg
still glitters at the fountain,
winds morning snow, and cars flying relentlessly.
Did not I,
lighted by three lamps,
so many years in the dark
in fragments escaped wasteland,
and radiance of heaven
a crane clubs?
Can not I? Something is forever changed.
someone new reigns,
untitled, perfect, omnipotent,
over homeland burns,
light parted, dark blue,
in front of greyhounds
rustle lights - For flowers,
someone ever goes near the new houses alone.
Hence, no separations.
So, nothing we apologize
have their dead.
Hence, there is no for winters return.
Only one thing:
on land held bestrevozhno.
not keep up. Overtake - just possible.
is where we hurry,
this Hell or paradise,
or simply dark,
darkness, it's all unknown,
expensive country,
constant subject of chanting,
not love she? No, it does not has no name.
this - eternal life:
striking the bridge, the word incessantly,
proplyvane barges,
revival of love, a slew of yore,
steamers lights
and shining storefronts, the distant sound of trams,
splash of cold water near your pants vechnoshirokih.
congratulate themselves
with this early finding, with thee,
congratulate a
with surprisingly bitter fate,
with this eternal river,
with this sky in the beautiful aspens,
describing the loss of the silent crowd shops.
not tenant of these places,
not dead, but some intermediary,
completely alone,
you screaming about yourself at last:
nobody knew,
oboznalsya forgotten, deceived,
Thank God winter. Hence, I did not come back.
Thank God someone else.
anyone I do not blame here.
I do not know.
I go in a hurry, overtake.
is easy me now,
because no one had passed.
Thank God that I'm on the ground with no homeland left.
congratulate yourself!
How long live anything I do not need.
How many years will live,
how to give a glass of lemonade.
How many times have I come back -
but have not come back - like lock the house,
how much I'll give a sadness from the brick pipe and a dog barking.
(Brodsky, 1962)
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