Slow Joe
Have a heaven, the order, to sulk?
With the ought, a handsome moment
Considered an angel's heed, will we ever fall?

Why?
Avid as salt is, we are owed...
A pace of might, the times are real, to sigh's
Stirring a house for a flower, sincerity is our force?

Our salvation of promises, still a world
We made, with an overt harmony
Two of unity, one of vanity, and none blessing courage
With the muse we made, simplicity with legend, only?

Tired eyes, that came with life...
Saying if not saving, a chance meeting
With bared integrity, a fire striving
To be, the coming choice, of a worth's meaning?

The world owed, the world loved
Cares of omnipotence, fate to understate purpose
Passion is but a wish away, from a covenant's some
Promises found to be, a climate for what heaven knows...

When the paintbrush of the day
is tucked away
and the sunset dipped
in the forest of the night
the moon wanes and waxes
down the hills of stars  
atop that shady wrap.

Who peeps in
where the sleeping beauty wakes
is any one guess
nor it's a amateur's business.

Far from the half lit astral canopy
any bucket lowered  
deep down on the ground
into a barrowed well of colours
comes up with a Joseph of Cannon
the firesome story goes on.
The same fire burner
is also the same fire extinguisher
Alexander the Great intrigued life water
cool serene cup of Ab-e Hayat elixir!

I'm sending you an indigofera tinctora
plant it, water it, grow it
when it blooms
pluck a petal and hold it to your eye
look at me
through its vulnerable corolla
for when you need to see beyond the tangible
the little girl you created
Aubrey -
A not so ordinary girl or name
But who's to blame?

I'm sending you a stained glass dreamcatcher
careful it doesn't break
hang it over your bed
when you wake, hold it to your eyes
look at me
for when you need to see my truth
Joseph's coat of many colors
Aubrey -
A not so ordinary girl or name
But who's to blame?

I'm sending you the promise of a flood-free future
take a step closer
study it
place the promise between us
illuminate
for when you seed to my truth
hate-proof, judge-proof, water-proof
Aubrey -
A not so ordinary girl or name
But who's to blame?

I’m not a son or a grandson. I’ll say
Politely: I have not memories’ ton!
Only my soul is sad night and day
That our beloved poet is gone!

In New York he left at the dawn of years—
In January it was snowing hard.
I read his books of poetry and prose
From cover to cover for the mind.

I know even his number of phone
And his home address for writing.
But I’m afraid very much of bad form,
There’ll be no one letters reading.

His memory’ll be memorized, I believe,
So that the text in bronze runs
On home: “Never be sad, people, time treats grief,
Joseph Brodsky lived here, this memorize!”
{2020}

К 80-ЛЕТИЮ ИОСИФА БРОДСКОГО

Я не сын, не внук. Скажу учтиво:
У меня воспоминаний нет!
Только где-то на душе тоскливо,
Что ушёл любимый наш поэт!
На рассвете лет ушёл в Нью-Йорке -
Снег тогда январский сильно мёл.
Книги все его от корки к корке
Я стихов и прозы перечёл.
Знаю даже номер телефона,
Адрес дома – чтобы написать.
Но боюсь я очень моветона –
Будет письма некому читать.
Память – верю я – увековечат.
В бронзе текст на доме чтоб гласил:
«Не грустите, люди! Время лечит!
Здесь Иосиф Бродский раньше жил!»
{14.05.2020}

Translator - I. Toporov

I tell ya.
Angels
are not as much of a flight risk
as you first may think.
The cherubim however
are flighty
and way more likely to fly off
at the baby's first cry
Like they've got somewhere else to be.
Just try. You'll see.
Not even a bye-bye.

But angels, oh man.
Angels -
I'm a fan.

You can set your Sat Nav
on an Angel.
Dreamtime or lunchtime,
they'll be your guide.
- Sublime.

Me and Mary
were fans.

- Jesus!
Put those nails down.
If your mum catches you with those, she'll go spare.

There i(s)
a certa(i)n
place for you
(s)ustained
in my heart
by
bro(t)herly lov(e)
that you keep
(r)eplenishing