By Joseph A.Brodsky The English Poetic Translations, by Anna Polibina-Polansky (the Equity-Rhythmic Renditions) *** You are the wind, my friend. I am your woods, out sent To you, in bows of leaves that are sipped And eaten up by caterpillars os scripts. The more furious is the Northern wind, The whiter are the leaflets out winned. The deity of wintry seasons does borrow A lot, from their incessible sorrow. So the frost is coming to-morrow. 1962/tr. 2020 *** What ...

By Joseph Brodsky The English Poetic Rendition, by Anna Polibina-Polansky December in Florence (Version 2) 1 Doors inhale and exhale the vapor. You won't be back here, sometime in April. The Arnoe's shoals meet pairs of neighbors. They remind the beasts whose paws are four. The population is clapping with many a-door. The atmosphere keeps the air of woods, at its core. It is a lovely, elated city where At a definite age, you take eyes unawared, From folks, and yo...

An Excerpt by Joseph A. Brodsky The English Poetic Rendition by Anna A. Polibina-Polansky A Polar Explorer All dogs are eaten up. So the diary keeps Not a single white page. The beads of words Covers up a picture of his wife. Her cheeks Keep moles of dates. So the snapshot hurts. Further follows a picture of his younger sister. He takes no pity at her, the latitude and the width Of joy, contain a meaningful answer. So the rotten black leg quits its aching existence. The thigh reminds ...

By Joseph A.Brodsky The English Poetic Rendition by Anna Polibina-Polansky In August   Small towns don't tell the entire truth into your ear. It all is yesterday, so there is no caring, nor threating, nor fear. Elm-trees rustle about, and the andscape agrees. The train explores it, as well as the buzzing bees.   The lord keeps His thrift from crossroads and traffic lights. The mirror of river reminds your juvenile acquaintances' sights. So the shatters are shut up on...