Текст песни Иосиф Бродский - Авторский вечер 09 ноября 1990 года в Манхэттене

That is not the Muse of the water in your mouth.
That must take a good sleep from a young man.
And waving after a blue scarf
rides on the chest steam roller.

And do not get up neither cancer nor the words
like back in aspen wood.
And eyes on a pillowcase face
spreads like an egg in a pan.

Are you hot six?
blankets in the cage where - Lord forgive -
just fish - air, wet lip
I grabbed what was you then?

I would have hare ears stitched to my face,
I swallow lead in the woods for you,
but also in the black pond of bad bruises
I would have surfaced before you, as Varyag could not.

But, you see, not destiny, and not those years.
And already gray hair ashamed to say where.
More long lived than blood for them
Yes, and the thoughts of dead bushes curves.

Forever parting with you, my friend.
Draw on paper a simple circle.
It will be me: nothing inside.
Look at him, and then erase it.

1980

Mb

I was just what
you touched your palm
over a deaf, crow
night inclined brow.

I was just what you
there, below, distinguished:
vague appearance first,
much later - features.

It's you, hot
oshuyu
ear conch
I worked, whispering.

It's you, fiddling
curtain into the wet cavity
mouth put a voice to me
who called you.

I was just blind.
You, appearing, hiding,
granted me to see.
So leave a mark.

So the worlds are created.
So, having made them, often
leave to rotate
lavishing gifts.

So, throwing it into a fever,
now in the cold, then in the light, then in the dark,
lost in the universe,
spinning ball.

The thought of you is removed, like a demoted servant,

not! as a platform with a sign "Vyritsa" or "Tartu".

But there are people coming who don't know each other,

terrain, put exactly on the map yesterday,

and fill the vacuum. Apparently, none of

we do not become a monument. Apparently in our veins

not enough lime. "In our family, - worrying

you would put in - there was no military

no great thinkers. "That's right: Neva jets

the reflection of one more thing is intolerable.

Where is the mother and her pans

survive in perspective, extended life of the son!

That's the same snow, this marble is for the poor, for lack of body

melts, citing cell failure -

that is, convolutions! - remember how you wanted

powder cheek, look last.

Remains, the nape of the sight with his hands covered,

mumble on the go "died, died" as long as

cities tear raw coarse retina,

rattling like disposable dishes.

1985

Father's Memory: Australia

     You came to life, I dreamed, and left
     to Australia. Triple echo voice
     hailed and complained about the climate
     and what about the apartment that will be removed soon
     sorry, not in the center, but near the ocean,
     third floor without elevator, but there is a bath,
     feet swell, "And I left the slippers" -
     sounded distinctly and efficiently.
     And suddenly, in the tube, "Adelaide! Adelaide!"
     thundered, clapped like a shutter
     fought against the wall, ready to break off its hinges.

     Still, it's better than soft ash
     crematorium in the bank, its collateral -
     these scraps of voice, monologue
     and attempts to pretend to be unsociable

     for the first time since you turned into smoke.

1989

Fern notes

                                  Gedenke meiner
                                  fluestert der Staub.
                                       Peter Huchel *

     The position of the pawn guesses the king.
     On a strip of land in the distance - that you are on a ship.
     By the well-fed notes in the tender girlfriend's voice
     - what did the successor show up: a student? surgeon?
     engineer? By station name - Odinburg -
     that it is time to go that the egg does not demolish the shell.

     In each