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Poem By: Joseph Brodsky | Views: 111 | Word Count: 103 | View PDF | Print View |
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The perilous yellow sun follows with its slant eyes
masts of the shuddered grove steaming up to capsize
in the frozen straits of Epiphany. February has fewer
days than the other months; therefore, it's more cruel
than the rest. Dearest, it's more sound
to wrap up our sailing round
the globe with habitual naval grace,
moving your cot to the fireplace
where our dreadnought is going under
in great smoke. Only fire can grasp a winter!
Golder unharnessed stallions in the chimney
dye their manes to more corvine shades as they near the finish, and the dark room fills with the plaintive, incessant chirring of a naked, lounging grasshopper one cannot cup in fingers.
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About the Author Joseph Brodsky (1940 - 1996) was born in 1940, in Leningrad, and began writing poetry when he was eighteen. Anna Akhmatova soon recognized in the young poet the most gifted lyric voice of his generation. From March 1964 until November 1965, Brodsky lived in exile... Read Joseph Brodsky's Full Biography
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