Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, KELOMYAKKI, by JOSEPH BRODSKY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

KELOMYAKKI, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Dumped in the dunes snatched from the witless finns


I


Lost in the dunes, taken from Chukhnov,
plywood town, whose walls barely sneeze -
telegram flying from Sweden: "Be healthy".
And no ax not nakolesh firewood
heat indoors. conversely, other
House was trying to warm his back
most winter and plant flowers
blue glass veranda in the evening; and you,
How to prepare for escape and finding the azimuth,
I fell asleep there in woolen socks.


II
small, flat waves of the sea with the letter "b",
highly similar from a distance with thoughts about yourself,
assailed by convolutions on a deserted beach
and regedit into wrinkles. dry jitters
bare twigs of hawthorn sometimes forced
retina covered with speckled bark.
And then there were the gulls from the snowy haze,
how to draw greasy hand corners
white, as an empty paper, of the day;
and for a long time no one lit a fire.


III


In small towns people know
not in person, but on the backs of the long queues;
and the public on Saturday been built up in single file,
as the caravan in the desert, for chess. sand
or net Baltic herring, punched a hole in the budget.
In a small town usually eat
also, the rest. And to distinguish themselves
could from them only with copying a ruble
Kremlin spire, tapers to a star,
or - seeing your things everywhere.


IV


For all that, they were strong,
These discarded matchboxes
lumbered with them two or three dishes
raw heads. AND, sparrow feeding,
it there with all the family looked out the window,
where trees too then merged into one
ebony, trying to develop
sky - and that happened to six hours,
when the book slammed shut and when
of you were only lip, both of cat.


V


This external generosity, this, for that matter,
gift - turning cold inside, exude warmth
outside - guests brought together housing,
and winter on a bedsheet rope considered her underwear.
It paralyzed talk; laugh
loudly crunching, leaving traces, snow,
opushavshy frost, exactly needles, end
pronouns and turns into "I"
in crystal, otlyvavshyy solid byryuzoy,
but tayavshy after your tears.


VI


Was it really all that? and if so, of which
excite Now these former things calm,
remembering details, adjusting pine to pine,
imitating - often successfully - the light in a dream?
rise, who believe: in Angelov, to the roots (the forest);
and that were in charge of Kellomyaki, except rail
Schedule and iron objects, whistling
arose from obscurity, five minutes later
and dissolved the, gulp tin,
the idea of love and had time to sit down?


VII


Nothing. Quicklime winter spaces, their food
picking up from the deserted suburban platforms,
I leave them under the weight of coniferous paw
Currently, in a black coat, whose drape,
stronger, than cheviot,
He protected the there from the future and from
past best, than smoky glass - buffet.
Nothing is permanent, than black;
so there are letters, or - the motif of "Carmen",
so fall asleep clad opponents of change.


VIII


Longer the door does not unlock the key
with intricate beard, and do not include the shoulder
Electricity in the kitchen to the delight of cucumber.
This skvoreshnya experienced starling,
cumulus and cirrus herds.
In terms of time, no "then":
there is only "there". And there", straining eyes,
memory wanders from room to room in the evening, like a thief,
rummaging in the cupboards, crumble sex novel,
running his hand in his pocket.


IX


In the middle of life, in a dense forest,
human nature to look back - as a fugitive
or criminal: the branch hrustnet, the jet splash.
But the elapsed time does not and puma
not hound, to jump on his back and, knocking
sacrifice on earth, You stifle in their
tender embrace: for - wrong side,
Narcissus and disdain river
covered with ice (a fish, thought
its canning silver,


X


departures in advance). You could say, reluctantly
a heart, just trying to protect themselves
from large transformations, how so plotva;
that every point in space is a point ·ëa·
Normal and Express, ignoring the ·ëb· and ·ëc·,
releases, stalling, in the end
alphabet pairs of commas nostrils;
that the water from the pool flows much faster,
what is poured into the aforesaid through one
or more pipes: submitting to the bottom.


XI


You can nod and acknowledge, that simple lesson
Lobachevsky runners landscape did not go in store,
Finland asleep, bated in the chest
dislike of ski poles - now, go,
aluminum: better, see, for hands.
But it does not already know, the burning of bamboo,
not imagine a palm tree, This is a fly, foxtrot,
monologue parrot - or rather, the
kind of parallels, where naked - as the edge
light - walking, like a savage, Maclay.


XII


In small towns, stored in the cellars of belongings,
like other people's photos, do not hold the cards -
even playing - as if putting a limit
Attempted fate of defenseless bodies.
there are wallpapers; and settlement
rid of them usually put outside
so successfully, smoke strives ago
Gateway to the pipe, not let the facade;
what's left, merged into a single,
white spot behind.


XIII


optionally remember, What was the name you, me;
you enough blouses and me - belt,
to be seen in the trellis (that is, submit a blind man),
that our anonymity is just right, to face,
as a result, in all living things, from the earth
erases all silent "Fire" cells.
Things have limits. Especially - their length,
inability to budge. And our right to
Here is not extended further, than on a clear day
wedge falls in the shadow drifts


XIV


woodshed. Looking in another landscape,
we assume, wedge that this island - our
overall elbow, extended outward,
which neither you, neither me
do not bite, us, all the more, kiss.
In this sense, we merged, although bed
not even creak. For it is now
the whole world, which also has a side door.
But it is - just heard somewhere ringing -
good only, To exit out.






Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net