Lyrics Иосиф Бродский - Письма римскому другу

Today windy and waves with overlap.
Soon autumn, everything will change in the neighborhood.
Change of colors of these touching, Postum,
than the dress change from a friend.

Virgo teaches to a certain limit -
beyond the elbow you will not go or the knee.
How much more joyful is the beautiful outside of the body:
no embrace is impossible, no betrayal!

___

I am sending you, Postum, these books.
What's in the capital? Softly stew? Is not it hard to sleep?
How is Caesar? What is he doing? All intrigues?
All intrigues, probably, yes gluttony.

I'm sitting in my garden, the lamp is on.
No friends, no servants, no friends.
Instead of the weak world of this and the strong -
only the consenting buzzing of insects.

___

Here lies a merchant from Asia. Explanatory
he was a merchant - business, but invisible.
He died quickly - a fever. By trade
he sailed here, not behind it.

Next to him - a legionary, under rough quartz.
He glorified the empire in battles.
How many times could they kill! but died as an old man.
Even here does not exist, Postum, rules.

___

Let it really be, Postum, the chicken is not a bird,
but with chicken brains enough grief.
If you fell in the Empire,
it is better to live in a remote province by the sea.

And from Caesar far away, and from blizzard.
You do not need to crawl, to be afraid, to hurry.
You say that all the governors are thieves?
But the thief is dearer to me than the bloodsucker.

___

This downpour to wait with you, hetaera,
I agree, but come on without trade:
take sestertius from the covering body -
it's like a drachma to demand from the roof.

Flowing around, you say? But where is the puddle?
To leave a puddle I did not happen.
Here you will find yourself some kind of husband,
he will proceed to the veil.

___

So we lived more than half.
As the old slave told me before the tavern:
We, looking back, see only the ruins & quot ;.
The view, of course, is very barbarous, but true.

I was in the mountains. Now I'm wrestling with a big bouquet.
I'll find a big jug, pour water on them ...
How is it there in Libya, my Postum - or where there?
Are we still fighting?

___

Do you remember, Postum, the vicar's sister?
Thin, but with full legs.
You slept with her ... Recently, the priestess.
Priestess, Postum, and communicates with the gods.

Come, have a drink of wine, eat bread.
Or plums. Tell me the news.
I'll put you in the garden under the clear sky
and I will tell you how the constellations are called.

___

Soon, Postum, your friend, loving compound,
the debt of his long-standing deduction will pay.
Take away from under the pillow of saving,
there is little, but enough for the funeral.

Go on a black mare
in the house of the heather under the city wall.
Give them the price they loved,
that for the same and mourned the price.

___

The greens of the laurel, reaching to a shiver.
The door is wide, dusty,
stool left, left bed.
The fabric that soaked up the midday sun.

Ponte is making a noise behind the black hedge of pines.
Someone's ship with the wind is fighting at the headland.
On the withered bench is Senior Pliny.
Thrush chirps in the hair of the cypress.