Joseph Brodsky (tr. Glyn Maxwell) Christmas Ballad for Evgeny Rein, with love There floats in an abiding gloom, among immensities of brick, a little boat of night: it seems to sail through Alexander Park. Its just a lonely streetlamp, though, a yellow rose against the night, for lovers strolling down below the busy street. There floats in an abiding gloom a drone of bees: men drunk, asleep. In the dark capital a lone tourist takes another snap. Now out onto Ordynka turns a taxicab, with sticky faces; dead men lean into the arms of the low houses. There floats in an abiding gloom a poet in sorrow; over here a round-faced man sells kerosene, the sad custodian of his store. Along a dull deserted street an old Lothario hurries. Soon the midnight-riding newlyweds sail through the gloom. There floats in outer Moscow one who swims at random to his loss, and Jewish accents wander down a dismal yellow flight of stairs. From love toward unhappiness, to New Years Eve, to Sunday, floats a good-time girl: she cant express whats lost inside. Cold evening floats within your eyes and snow is fluttering on the panes of carriages; the wind is ice and pale, it seals your reddened palms. Evening lights like honey seep; the scent of halvahs everywhere, as Christmas Eve lifts up its sweet- meats in the air. Now drifting on a dark-blue wave across the citys gloomy sea, there floating by, your New Years Eve-- as if life could restart, could be a thing of light with each day lived successfully, and food to eat, -- as if, life having rolled to left, it could roll right.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Sep 2014 20:35:10 +0000
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