Hence all rhymes – A tribute to Joseph Brodsky
Edited by Specimen
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I was born and grew up in the Baltic marshland
by zinc-gray breakers that always marched on
in twos. Hence all rhymes, hence that wan flat voice
that ripples between them like hair still moist,
if it ripples at all. Propped on a pallid elbow,
the helix picks out of them no sea rumble
but a clap of canvas, of shutters, of hands, a kettle
on the burner, boiling—lastly, the seagull’s metal
cry. What keeps hearts from falseness in this flat region
is that there is nowhere to hide and plenty of room for vision.
Only sound needs echo and dreads its lack.
A glance is accustomed to no glance back.
Published May 19, 2026
© Joseph Brodsky
© FSG, 1977
Я родился и вырос в балтийских болотах, подле
серых цинковых волн, всегда набегавших по две,
и отсюда — все рифмы, отсюда тот блеклый голос,
вьющийся между ними, как мокрый волос;
если вьется вообще. Облокотясь на локоть,
раковина ушная в них различит не рокот,
но хлопки полотна, ставень, ладоней, чайник,
кипящий на керосинке, максимум — крики чаек.
В этих плоских краях то и хранит от фальши
сердце, что скрыться негде и видно дальше.
Это только для звука пространство всегда помеха:
глаз не посетует на недостаток эха.
Published May 19, 2026
© Joseph Brodsky
© Ardis, 1977
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Few poets lived by language in such a thorough and relentless way as Joseph Brodsky. Almost fanatically, frantically so. Ethically, insofar as ethics itself is mothered by aesthetics. Insofar as “language that is intolerant, and indifferent in a week to a beautiful physique, worships language and forgives anyone by whom it lives” Brodsky is still present, physically and linguistically so, thirty years after he disappeared in the dead of winter, on January 28th 1996, for all those who met him, textually or in person. Talking, standing next to a fridge or walking fast through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Hence, few poets are so alive in other poets’ verse, are addressed so often as if present, because of their presence, in other poets’ poems. On the day of his birth, May 24th, Specimen publishes and translates some of these, conjuring Joseph’s presence through the verse, and the absence, of this most unique family of good poets, good friends, Seamus, Derek, Adam and Mark among them.
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