May 24 Joseph Brodsky would have turned 70 years

[Самвел]

Brodsky Address on spilled milk "

I generally reacted with disbelief to the neighbor
Offensive to the stomach over the kitchen
Worst of all, annoying personal view on the role of man in life
They consider me a bandit
Taunted my appetite
I do not use their credit
"Pour it thinner"
. . . . .
I'm sitting on a chair in a large apartment
Niagara gurgling in empty sartire
I feel myself the target of a shooting range
Started at the slightest knock.
I closed the front door bolted, but
night in my celite horns of Aries,
like Cupid with a bow, like
Stalin in the XVII Congress of the "toolkit"

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. . . . .
I love the native fields, ravines
Rivers, lakes, hills, wrinkles,
all is well: but shit man
in the body, and spirit of the weak
That's me right law naknokal:
everything depends Bright Falcon
Lord, break even a couple of glasses!
Once tolerate women?
. . . . .
Green summer, eh, greens of summer!
What I whispered bush euonymus
Good to walk without a vest!
Green summer return.
He walks a little girl, oh, a kerchief,
He walks around the field, tearing flowers
Get to a daughter, uh, get to a daughter.
In the sky swallow winds.
. . . .
I sit by the window, clasping his knees,
in the society's own dirty shadow.

Added after 8 minutes
Brodsky
  
Farewell, mademoiselle VERONICA
I

If you finish the day under the wing of a dove,
that is realistic, since grinder
becoming a luxury small nations -
after a number of combinations
Mars moves closer to the palm trees;
and I myself flies will not lay a finger
even at its apogee, in July -
word, if I did not die from a bullet
if I die in bed in pajamas
because the belong to the great power,

II

some twenty years later, when my scion,
failing otovarit bay glow,
able to earn himself, I dare
leave his family - through
20 years old, surrounded by care
by reason of insanity in the house with pharmacy
when I come on foot, if enough force
for the only thing about you in Russia
I recall. Though against the rules
back at what the other left.

III

It is in morals deem progress.
Twenty years later, I'll be behind a chair,
where are you in front of me sat
a day when the body of Christ
ended crucifixes flour -
the fifth day of the Passion you were sitting, hands
crossed, as Bonaparte on Elba.
And at all intersections were white willow.
You put her hands on the green dress
no risk to disclose them in his arms.

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IV

This position, with all affection,
gemma is the best for our lives.
And she - is not inert. This -
apotheosis in ourselves subject:
replacement of simple humility peace.
That is a new kind of Christianity, to whom
duty to cherish and uphold the
those who must be able, even
When Gabriel comes to the trumpet,
dead object to continue to him!

V

The prophets is not accepted to be healthy.
Oracles in the mass of injured people. Short,
I have not sighted more than Nazonov Calchas.
Therefore prophesy - is like a cactus
or snapdragons hold to the visor.
Anyway, that teach the alphabet Braille.
Hopeless. Objects, at least,
just like you to touch the world
that is, damn little.
What is your victim, this is the oracle.

VI

You surely will forgive me this
gaersky tone. This is the best method
strong feelings of the mass rescue
weak. Greek principle mask
again in the course. For in our time
strong perish. While the tribe
weak - fruits and apart and wholesale.
Take the same today as my postscript
Darwin's theory, so withered,
this new truth jungle.

VII

Twenty years later, for easier recall
what is missing, than to fill
this is something different from the outside;
For lack of the right worse
What is your absence - the new Gogol
I can see a lot, no doubt, plenty of
without looking back, without that strong fear, -
a magic lantern Easter
revives the sounds of water from the tap
the chair empty as canvas screen.

VIII

In our past - greatness. In days to come - prose.
For with empty seats is not more demand
than you, it sat La Garde quieter
hands folded, as I wrote above.
However, the amount of his, nowadays embrace
much less than the outstretched hands of the crucifixion.
So this discovery singer lame
now, on the Passion and sixty-seven,
before me, the likeness of a veto looms
to jump in the nineties century.

IX

If I could save that bird
that is, if it is not swept away the eggs,
and in this and the maze without Ariadne
(For a death there are options
foresee that - too valor)
I stay alone, and, alas, spodoblyus
cholera, denunciation, sent to the camp,
then - unless you lie, that Lazarus
been raised, I'll rise again.
But soon, you know, approaching the chair.

X

However, haste is stupid and sinful. Vale!
That is nowhere so hurry. Hardly
may sturdy chair to threaten destruction.
For us, in the East, furniture
serves three generations in succession.
And I rule the fire and theft.
It's frightening that it can be mixed with a bunch
other at harvest. In that case,
I was even willing to make notches,
depicting doves doves.

XI

Suppose now circling like bees hives
general orbits of tables and chairs
chair yours for the night dining.
Tattoo - no disgrace, but the foundation of a new
astronomy that - go to a whisper -
confirms the military-prison experiences:
branded items - the source of solid
views of the world from living and dead.
So I do not look like a similar person
Similar to the chair with anguish Ulysses.

XII

I - not a collector of relics. Just think, if
This speech is longish, that we are on the chair
only a pretext to penetrate into other areas.
For out of every great faith
remain, as a rule, only power.
That same judge about the power of love, if things
those to whom you touched today,
turn - when your life - in the sanctuary.
Show: proof such manners
not the grandeur of the singer, but his powers.

XIII

Russian eagle, having lost the crown,
now resembles a crow.
Him, proud recently, scream
now a guttural rumble.
It is - or old eagles - the voice of passion,
turned into a consequence, echo power.
And the love song - a little quieter.
Love - imperial feeling. You
is that Russia to its success,
can not speak to you differently.

XIV

The chair is warm and absorbs
air hallway. In the riser after drop
falls drop from the tap. Modestly
chatters clock under the lamp. Exactly
light falls on the empty walls
and the flowers in the window, whose shade
seek the frame to extend the apartment.
And at all creates a picture
that at this moment - and far and near -
as it was before us. And as will be later.

XV

Good night to you, and me - not watching.
Good night to my country, for the information
personal accounts with me Wish there,
where, through the miles or just a miracle,
you turn into a postal address.
The trees rustling outside the window and outline
Roof is the border days ...
In a stationary body sometimes insane
opens in hand, as in a furnace, the damper.
And the pen behind you running after him.

XVI

No catch! .. Forasmuch as you - as a cloud.
That is, look virgins, of course, look
soul for men. Do not you, Muse?
This causes death and Union.
For the soul - of disembodiment. Well, the farther
from me. Do not overtake! .. Give
goodbye hand. Thanks for that.
Stately our separation, because
parting. Falls silent zither.
Forever - not a word, and really figure
whose zeros, when we were overgrown with grass,
block the era and century with a vengeance.
1967
Works Joseph Brodsky.
Pushkin Fund.
St. Petersburg, 1992.

[Кирилл Сызранский]

I entered instead of a wild beast in a cage,
burned out his term and klikuhu nail in the barracks,
lived by the sea, played roulette
dined with the devil knows whom in a tailcoat.
From the top of the glacier, I surveyed half the world,
three drowned, twice been ripped.
He threw the country, that I nursed.
From forgotten me can make a city.
I wandered in the steppes, who remembered screams Hun,
put on a de novo that is in vogue
sown rye, black curtains tolyu barn
and drank only water, dry.
I let in my dreams blued pupil escort
eating the bread of exile, leaving crusts.
Allowed his ligaments all sounds, in addition to whine;
switched to a whisper. Now I'm forty.
What to say to me about life? That was long.
Only with the sorrow I feel the solidarity.
But as long as my mouth did not score clay
from it will be heard only gratitude.

[Игорь Гурьев]

Originally Posted by Eugene

Anatoly, thanks, interesting .. You are probably the only one on the forum who talked with the great poet ..

Well, surely someone else to eat, I think.

I have written in "Continent" in 1983 (the room at about 39-m) "Notes on the sixth book of Joseph Brodsky."

According to Vladimir Maximov, editor of the Continent, "Brodsky himself told him that he really liked (I will not give an exact phrase, so as not to seem immodest).

And not what I asked him. In such cases, he answered them all: "You know, absolutely brilliant."

Just been very good.

[Самвел]

Originally Posted by Guriev, Igor

Just been very good.

Not always, sometimes he was very sharp. Of course, I dreamed of, to meet myself and just to remember what I asked him, and of course, would be analyzed later that he told me.

[Игорь Гурьев]

Originally Posted by Samvel

Of course, I dreamed of, to meet himself, and just to remember what I asked him, and of course, would be analyzed later that he told me.

You see, when you are in the flow of conversation, grabs his association resulting from a phrase his companion, when fully absorbed the conversation, it is difficult at this time for something to analyze, and even less to memorize.

This was done by a friend of mine, who sat by and watched Brodsky, and listened to what he said.

He said he then wrote a more or less this conversation and that said Brodsky, but I'm away from him and had not made the recording.

Several times I angrily looked at my friend (who is perfectly capable of talking): "Why, you say, leave me alone with the Brodsky?" But he was all attention, Brodsky admired and listened to him.

So I was like Alexander Matrosov.

True, it was a very exciting and not burdensome feat, except that one had to be very attention, but not limited to: after all, one must own something interesnenkoe say that the poet is not bored ...

[Самвел]

Originally Posted by Igor Gurjev

must be the same since and most anything interesnenkoe say that a poet is not bored ...

do not intend that he was, would be boring to one and then he was very undemanding in respect of itself, if it did not affect his thinking. It must be the same today, I answered a man who spoke with I.Brodskim.Dlya me this whole event.

[Игорь Гурьев]

Originally Posted by Samvel

do not intend that he was, one would be boring

This is understandable.

However, in Gorbanevskaya were about 7-8.

And intimidated.

Well, except me, of course.

I've even before some local moderators are not timid, what could they Brodsky ...

[Самвел]

Part Nobelevseoy lectures and Brodsky about iskusstvo.A I think where I got these thoughts, sometimes I do not remember who prochital.okazyvaetsya Brodsky. If art was something, and teaches (the artist and - in the first place), it is the particular human existence. Being the most ancient - and more - literally a form of private enterprise, it is consciously or unconsciously encourage a man it is his sense of individuality, uniqueness, individually - transforming it from a public animal's personality. Much can be divided: bread box, beliefs, beloved - but not a poem, say, Rainer Maria Rilke. Works of art, literature and especially the poem in particular are turning to the person face-to-face by engaging with him in straight, without intermediaries, relationships. For it is this and do not like art, literature, especially poetry and especially the zealots of the common good, lord of masses, heralds of historical necessity. For where art was held where the poem was read, they find on the site of the expected agreement and consensus - indifference and discordant, on-site commitment to action - negligence and disgust. In other words, in the toe, which the zealots of the common good and the rulers of the masses strive to operate, art enters the dot-dot-comma-minus ", turning every toe in if not always attractive, but the man's mug.

[Кирилл Сызранский]

Originally Posted by Eugene

Two days later, we Losev, Aleshkovskii and Baryshnikov arrived at the San Michele in his grave. Once again alluded to, drank ... Misha took a broom and carefully swept the floor all around. Such a picture: Baryshnikov with a broom at the grave of Brodsky ...

It was for Culture Don Quixote Baryshnikov in his own statement on the basis of the choreography by Marius Petipa and Alexander Gorsky. American Ballet Theatre, 1983 year, when Brodsky was not allowed to attend the funeral of his mother, as, indeed, and two years was not allowed to come and bury your father.
Who's there remembers with nostalgia the USSR and tamoshnem zhituhu? A?

[Peter]

• In the village of God does not live in the corners,
  is thought to scoffers, but everywhere.
  He sanctifies the roof and the dishes
  and fairly divides the door in half.
  In the village he izbytke.V iron
  He cooks on Saturdays lentils,
  sleepily was dancing on the fire,
  winks at me as an eyewitness.
  He puts the fence, issues
  girl for the forester and a joke
  satisfied eternal undershoot
  obezchiku, shooting at a duck.
  The possibility of it all is to observe,
  listening to the whistling of the autumn,
  only, in general, grace
  available in the village atheist.

1964

Added after 2 minutes 19 minutes
"... In the Pen-Club, the day after the reading of his poetry, the question ... why he was a Christian, Brodsky:" Because I am not a barbarian ..."( 1973) Prot.Aleksandr Schmemann "Blogs" page .10, izd.Russky put.2005g