Joseph Brodsky
- Falling snow leaves the world outnumbered..., by Andrey Kneller
Joseph Brodsky (français)
- La neige tombe..., André Markowicz
«I have not heard the tales of Ossian, / I have not tasted age-old wine — / why then do I seem to see a field / and Scotland's murderous moon? And in the sinister silence I seem to hear / the roll-call of the raven and the harp, / and, streaming in the wind, the scarves of men-at-arms / ...»
«Io non ho udito i racconti di Ossian, / non ho gustato quell’antico vino; / e la luna sanguigna della Scozia / perché mai vedo, e perché una radura? Il richiamarsi di un corvo e di un’arpa / io mi fingo nel lugubre silenzio; / e dei guerrieri ondeggiano le sciarpe / al chiar di lu...»
«For joy’s sake, from my hands, / take some honey and some sun, / as Persephone’s bees told us. Not to be freed, the unmoored boat. / Not to be heard, fur-booted shadows. / Not to be silenced, life’s dark terrors. Now we only have kisses, / dry and bristling like bees, / that die ...»
«Take — for the sake of joy — out of my palms / a little sunlight and a little honey, / as we were told to by Persephone’s bees. You can’t untie a boat that isn’t moored, / nor can you hear a shadow shod in fur, / nor — in this dense life — overpower fear. The only thing thatâ...»