Venice. Island of San Michele

[ottenki_serogo]

Brodsky write letters, put the Diaghilev ballet shoes, Stravinsky - business cards ...

Joseph Brodsky

Immortality from death do not ask.
Frightened, the beloved and the Pauper --
but every day I lived I breathe
confident and sweet and pure.

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How widely the embankments me
how cold and windy and forever
the clouds, shining in the window,
fissured, light and very quickly.

And in the autumn and summer did not die,
not stirred winter sheet,
Look, love, as in the pink corner
burns between me and the life of gossamer.

And something like squashed spider
I ran into strange and quenched.
But exhales and waving my hands
between the time and I hang.

Yes. Time - about his own fate
shouted louder voice sad.
Yes. Speaking of time itself,
but the time I responds with silence.

Fly in the window and shivered in the fire,
flew, flew on fitilechek greedy.
The whistle, the river! Call, call me
My St. Petersburg, my bell fire.

Let the time for me silent.
Let the wind howl easily sharp
and over my grave Jewish
Mlada life persistently crying.

[Кирилл Сызранский]

ottenki_serogo, as well as the same:
Neither the country nor the churchyard do not want to choose
On Vasilevsky Island, I come to die.
He died on the same island, is buried at the other ...