Сочинения Иосифа Бродского. Том IV

«What is this place? It looks kind of raw.
The trees stand as if they are about to draw,
their rustle is so menacing. They, no doubt,
have seen too many movies — but were they dubbed?»

«I don’t mind the place, but who are these guys?

Is this their true appearance, or disguise?
They all sell shoelaces but wear no shoes.
Can we explain to them that we are not Jews?»

«I never knew that history is so much

inhabited and curious, and prone to touch.
Oh, do they have a leader? A shah? A khan?
Frankly, I regret I don’t have my gun».

«But I’ve read many people can’t wish the same

wish. Unless, of course, they are insane.
I think we are quite safe; they don’t want to kill,
though frankly I regret I am off the pill».

«Ah, this is the past, and it’s rather vast,

and in the land of the cause its effects go bust
or else get outnumbered in more ways than one:
we’ve brought them all the future, and we are left with none».

«One shouldn’t speak for others when things get tight.

You might not have the future, but I just might.
The future is derivative; they may crack skulls,
but because they’ve been so primitive, we’ve had Pascals».

«So it’s goodbye, dear Mary. Hope all goes well.

We’ll meet not in the future but, say, in hell».
«Oh, that would be nice, dear Johnny, that would be great.
But the afterlife in history occurs quite late».

III. Chorus

Here they are, for all to see,
the fruits of complacency.
Beware of love, of A. D., B. C.,
and the travel agency.

A train may move fast, but time is slow.

History’s closer
to the Big Bang than to Roman law,
and you are the loser.

So, our advice to you is, Stay put

if you can help it.
Always be ready to say Kaput,
but wear a helmet.

1992

BLUES

Eighteen years I’ve spent in Manhattan.
The landlord was good, but he turned bad.
A scumbag, actually. Man, I hate him.
Money is green, but it flows like blood.

I guess I’ve got to move across the river.

New Jersey beckons with its sulphur glow.
Say, numbered years are a lesser evil.
Money is green, but it doesn’t grow.

I’ll take away my furniture, my old sofa.

But what should I do with my windows’ view?
I feel like I’ve been married to it, or something.
Money is green, but it makes you blue.

A body on the whole knows where it’s going.

I guess it’s one’s soul that makes one pray,
even though above it’s just a Boeing.
Money is green, and I am gray.

1992

SONG OF WELCOME