Текст песни Иосиф Бродский - Жизнь в рассеянном свете

The roar of a zinc urn, tilted by a rush
     wind. Cars roll on a cobblestone
     roadway, like water on fish
     Hudson. Hardly audible
     a voice belonging to the Museum,
     sounding like twins in the twilight, but
     Equal, like the singing of a wintering fly,
     whispers words that have no meaning.

     Indistinctness of letters. Collapsible cabbage
     cloudy. Shone, punished for being rude
     touch. Whose art -
     is not tenderness, but short-sightedness.
     Life in a diffused light! and by week
     nothing in the mouth, except the bull and the beer.
     In winter, only the eye keeps the greens,
     burning a naked mirror like nettles.

     Oh, in this light you do not need anything!
     No triumph of justice, no girlfriend.
     The outlines of things, like the grenade,
     explode, falling into the hands.
     And limbs stiff. it
     because in the diffused light the cold
     demonstrates the quality of the silhouette -
     especially if the subject is not young.

     Shall I sing a song about what's around the corner?
     about the similarity of the whole with half
     about the feeling that you were sunbathing
     on the contrary: in full moon, with a fin.
     But no one, strangling his vein around his neck,
     your motive will not pick up. Neither the connoisseur,
     nor the normal public: the more audible
     verse, the more sterile the performer.

             & lt; 1987 & gt;