"We will live with you on the shore ..."

We will live with you on the shore,
fenced off tall dam
on the continent, in a small circle,
erected a makeshift lamp.
We will fight with the cards you
and listen to the mad surf,
coughing, sighing imperceptibly,
if too strong breeze.

I am old, and you - you're young.
But it will as taught pioneers,
that the bill will go to the day - not years - left us to a new era.
In the Netherlands, its contrary,
we dissolve the garden with you
and will oyster fry the threshold
and sunny eat octopus.

Let the noise of the rain cucumbers,
we Zagora with you on Eskimo,
and tenderly you spend your finger
of virgin, untouched strip.
I have to take a look in the mirror collarbone
and found behind a wave
and an old tin box Geiger
on a faded and sweaty strap.

Winter comes, cruelly twisting
sedge our wooden roof.
And if we carry a child,
then we call Andrew and Anna.
That, to the wrinkled face is grafted,
had not forgotten the Russian alphabet,
whose first sound of exhalation last
and, therefore, in the future be established.

We will fight cards, and here
We will carry with trumps
on the winding banks of the tide.
And our child will be tacitly
look, not understanding anything,
like a moth beating of the lamp,
when the time comes for him
back to cross the dam.



Joseph Brodsky, 1965



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