Life in the scattered light - Brodsky

The roar of zinc urns, tilting impulse
of wind. Cars rolling on cobblestone
bridge, like water for fish
Hudson. barely audible
vote, owned by Muse,
sounding in the twilight like nobody, but
Exactly like singing wintered flies,
whispering words, of no importance.

promiscuity letters. disheveled cabbage
the clouds. Light, punished for being rude
The touch. whose art
not tender, but short-sightedness.
Life in the scattered light! and by week
nothing in the mouth, except bull and beer.
In winter, only the eye retains greens,
burning mirror naked, like nettles.

Brother, in this light you do not need anything!
Neither justice, no girlfriend.
The outlines of things, how so grenade,
explode, falling into the hands.
And limbs numb. it
that's why, that the scattered light cold
It demonstrates the quality of the silhouette
special, if the subject is not young.

Sing, whether, a song about, that is not far off?
the similarity of the whole with half
the feeling of, if you were sunbathing
conversely: the full moon, with Fink.
but no one, vein cheated on shee,
do not pick up your tune. no connoisseur,
no normal public: louder than
couplet, the disembodied artist.

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Vladimir Mayakovsky
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