Joseph Brodsky Poems
|1.||1 January 1965||12/11/2015|
|4.||On The 100th Anniversary Of Anna Akhmatova||4/19/2010|
|7.||From A School Anthology||4/19/2010|
|8.||Daedalus In Sicily||4/19/2010|
|16.||I Threw My Arms About Those Shoulders||1/1/2004|
|18.||Letter To An Archaeologist||1/1/2004|
|19.||May 24, 1980||1/1/2004|
|21.||A Polar Explorer||1/1/2004|
|23.||Part Of Speech||1/13/2003|
|24.||A List Of Some Observation...||1/1/2004|
|25.||Letters To The Roman Friend||4/19/2010|
|28.||Odysseus To Telemachus||1/20/2003|
|30.||I Sit By The Window||1/13/2003|
Comments about Joseph Brodsky
I Sit By The Window
I said fate plays a game without a score,
and who needs fish if you've got caviar?
The triumph of the Gothic style would come to pass
and turn you on--no need for coke, or grass.
I sit by the window. Outside, an aspen.
When I loved, I loved deeply. It wasn't often.
I said the forest's only part of a tree.
Who needs the whole girl if you've got her knee?
Sick of the dust raised by the modern era,
the Russian eye would rest on an Estonian spire.
I sit by the window. The dishes are done.
I was happy here. But I won't be again.
I wrote: The bulb looks at...
There is a meadow in Sweden
where I lie smitten,
eyes stained with clouds'
white ins and outs.
And about that meadow
roams my widow
plaiting a clover
wreath for her lover.