28.03.2022

It's better to live in a province by the sea. Ancient literature in translations into Russian and other languages

Several guys wrote comments not according to the proposed structure, but using their own options:
1) Katya Rakitskaya (katergonnakate)
Letters to a Roman Friend (from Martial (=imitation of Martial's epigrams))
It's windy today and the waves are overlapping.

The change of colors of these touching, Postumus, (The addressee of Brodsky’s “Letters” is Postumus, the provincial friend of the lyrical hero. The addressee’s name refers us to Horace’s ode “To Postumus” (“Oh, Postumus, Postumus, fast-flowing years pass ...”)
than changing a friend’s outfit. (antithesis: the outfit in which nature dresses is similar to a woman’s dress. The very process of changing seasons is similar to women’s dressing up)
Virgo amuses to a certain limit (I can’t understand what kind of “limit” this is, if not excitement) -
You can’t go further than your elbow or knee. (allusion to Martial, epigram LIII “Chloe”, translated by A. Fet: “I could do without your face And without your neck and arms and legs too, And without your chest, waist and hips; And not to work to count everything separately, Chloe, I could do without you all...")
How much more joyful is the beautiful outside the body (Plato’s love?):
No hugs are possible, no betrayal!
Brodsky wrote this poem in March 1972, even before he left the Soviet Union. (Source: Natalya Borisovna Ivanova, literary scholar, literary critic, first deputy editor-in-chief of the magazine “Znamya”; radio broadcast “Echo of Moscow” dated December 27, 2009, program OUR ALL: JOSEPH BRODSKY). Based on this, I dare to conclude that the change of season, the change in weather mean something more for Brodsky - emigration. Also, the maiden amusing the lyrical hero means the American dream, which is destined to come true.
___
I am sending you, Posthumus, these books. (Are we talking about the epigrams of Mark Valery Martial in general? If not, then this line can be considered an allusion to the IV epigram of Mark Valery “The Book” also translated by A. Fet: “Book, be my companion Flava Beyond the sea into the distance, but on a favorable wave, And easily on the move with a fair wind Aspire to the Tarraconian heights of Spain..")
What's in the capital? Are they laying softly? Isn't it hard to sleep? (Rome - Moscow; allusion to the work of V.I. Lenin “They lay softly, but sleep hard”)
How's Caesar doing? What is he doing? All the intrigue? (the title of the rulers, but not Gaius Julius Caesar; an allusion to William Shakespeare’s tragedy “Julius Caesar”; Brezhnev?)
All the intrigues are probably just gluttony. (crude irony that evokes associations with the apparatus of power)
I’m sitting in my garden, a lamp is burning. (I really want to say that this is a reference either to Chekhov himself, or to his work “The Cherry Orchard”)
No girlfriend, no servant, no acquaintances.
Instead of the weak of this world and the strong -
only the harmonious hum of insects. (personification; hard-working communists)
Developing further the idea of the close connection of the poem with Brodsky’s personal experiences, I believe that this epigram was written in America, hence the interest in news from the capital (the projection of Rome onto Moscow), expressed in interrogative sentences.
The poet's loneliness is felt, but it does not kill him. The poem takes on a philosophical tone here, removing the lyrical hero from the noise and bustle.
In the first line, an associative series of political problems arises (“intrigue” and “gluttony” of officials = bureaucracy).
The first antithesis: the metropolitan “intrigues” from which the lyrical hero freed himself are contrasted with the “harmonious hum of insects” - a symbol of calm and silence away from the metropolis; the second antithesis “the weak of this world and the strong” speaks of the division of society into those who command (acquaintances, girlfriend) and those who obey (servants). Here lies a merchant from Asia.
He was a smart merchant - businesslike, but unnoticeable.
Died quickly - fever.
He came here on trade business, not for this. (Reference to the “Epitaph for a Cretan Merchant” by Simonides of Keos (556-468 BC): “Born a Cretan, Brotach from Gortyn, I lie in the ground here, I came here not for that, but for trade matters...” (source: Translated by L. Blumenau in the book: Ancient Lyrics. M.: Fiction, 1968. P. 181). And also a reference to his own poem “In front of the monument to A.S. Pushkin in Odessa / to Yakov Gordin” (1969): “Not traveling on trade business, scattering my pathetic trash in other people’s corners, one morning with a heavy taste in my mouth I went ashore in a foreign port...")
Next to him is a legionnaire, under rough quartz. (can be read as “here lies a legionnaire under rough quartz” - the inscription on the gravestone)
He glorified the empire in battles.
How many times could they have killed? and died an old man.
Even here, Postumus, there are no rules. (Death is the natural course of life, fate is not explained by any rules)
The philosophical tone set in the previous epigram here flows into Brodsky’s reasoning about the eternal question - about life and death.
___
Let it be true, Postumus, that a chicken is not a bird (a reference to the Russian proverb “A chicken is not a bird, a woman is not a person”, given in Dahl’s explanatory dictionary)
nose chicken brains enough grief. (metaphor; a stupid person cannot live in a metropolis)
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea. (Completion of a series of oppositions: capital - province, public - private, people - loneliness, sublime - everyday, eagle - chicken)
And far from Caesar, and from the blizzard. (I have a thought about an allusion to Blok’s poem “The Twelve”, but there could also be an oxymoron here (what kind of blizzards are there in northern Italy?!), as well as the symbolic meaning of the blizzard, which determines the relationship of the text not so much to the ancient world as to the modern one Russia)
There is no need to fawn (=serve, grovel), there is no need to be cowardly, or to rush.
Are you saying that all governors (in the first half of the 16th century, an official who exercised state power and administration on behalf of the head of state in a separate and defined territory (vicerarism) rushist.ru/) are thieves?
But a thief is dearer to me than a bloodsucker. (A bloodsucker is capable of destroying another, hence this comparison, also a reference to the “insects” about which the lyrical hero wrote to a friend earlier)

In this epigram the life of a Roman literary hero gives way to Brodsky’s own assessment of modern life. Here his civic position is clearly visible, as well as his opinion about the political structure of the country.
___
Wait out this downpour with you, hetaera (I found out who hetaeras are from here http://marinni.livejournal.com/612832.html; allusion to my own work Post aetatem nostram, 1970)
I agree, but let’s not trade (moral: it’s absurd to take money from a man’s shoulder that gives protection and comfort)
taking a sestertius (ancient Roman silver coin, http://linemoney.ru/termin/chto-takoe-sestercij.html) from the covering body (highlighting the main common task of a man and a roof in a house - “to cover” = to cover, to protect) - all the same what should shingles (material for making wooden tiles) be required from a roof? (comparison of body and roof)
I’m leaking (transferring the properties of the roof to the image of the lyrical hero), you say? But where is the puddle?
It never happened that I left a puddle. Now you will find yourself some kind of husband (covers what is leaking - leaky, like a roof, = the unreliable body of a husband),
it will leak onto the bedspread. (exalting oneself in the form of a lover over any other, endowing oneself with an important quality - reliability)

In this epigram, the topic of philosophical reasoning changes - now the poet talks about love. It is worth noting that he distinguishes himself from all male representatives.
So we have lived more than half of it.
As the old slave told me in front of the tavern:
“We, looking around, see only ruins.” (allusion to the letters of Pliny the Younger (on behalf of whom the lyrical hero himself writes, a speech about the state of the Roman Empire before its collapse, a projection on the state of the USSR before the collapse)
The view, of course, is very barbaric (the barbarian’s view of what he himself destroyed is ironic), but true.

I was in the mountains. Now I'm busy with a large bouquet.
I'll find a big jug and pour water for them...
How is it in Libya (alliteration with the process of pouring water into a jug of flowers), my Posthumus, - or where there? (the lyrical hero has been away from his homeland for a long time and continues to be interested in what is happening in the country, only now the questions are not narrow (about the little things of everyday life), but broader, and the country already appears blurry in the hero’s memory)
Are we still fighting? (contrasting two different worlds - prosperity and war)

This epigram shows us a person who is happy to be away from vanity and cruelty; they seem hardly real to him.
Do you remember, Postumus, the governor has a sister?
Thin, but with full legs. (allusion to Catullus)

The priestess, Posthumus, communicates with the gods. (Iphigenia, heroine of ancient Greek mythology)
Come, let's drink wine and eat bread.
Or plums. Tell me the news.
I’ll make your bed in the garden under the clear sky (reference to the second epigram)
and I’ll tell you what the constellations are called. (for the lyrical hero these two processes are equivalent; he distinguishes between the interests of a city person and a person who has left the city)
___

will pay off his long-standing debt. (approaching death, imminent departure from life)
Take your savings from under your pillow,
there is not much there, but enough for a funeral. (reference to Soviet life)
Ride your black mare
to the house of hetaeras under our city wall.
Give them the price for which you loved,
so that they mourn for the same price. (reference to the discussion about love presented in epigram 5)

In the penultimate epigram, the conversation about death again arises, only we are talking about its imminent approach.
Here the lyrical hero’s idea of love, which can be bought with money, changes.
___
The greenness (=color of melancholy) of the laurel, almost to the point of trembling.
The door is open, the window is dusty,
an abandoned chair, an abandoned bed.
Fabric that has absorbed the midday sun.

Pontus rustles behind a black hedge of pine trees.
Someone's ship is struggling with the wind off the cape.
On a dry bench - the Elder Pliny. (allusion to the letters of Pliny the Younger; Pliny the Elder visited his son after his death)
A blackbird chirps in the cypress hair. (contrasting the end of human life and the endless life of nature)
In the last epigram the lyrical hero is no longer heard; Brodsky himself paints the picture, describing the simplicity and loneliness of human death.
It’s amazing how Brodsky fit the main stages of human life into nine epigram letters.
2) Tanya Klenova(petitgarcon)
Before starting a detailed analysis of I. Brodsky’s poem “Letters to a Roman Friend,” it is necessary to highlight and explain words that we, modern readers, for some reason (updating the language, “author’s words”) do not understand (and can also only be partially understood or incorrect). However, I hope you will not judge me if I try not to divide the analysis into subtopics proposed in the assignment, but to consider any that seem unusual to me and simply interesting moments through several prisms at once (as if turning a curious find at different angles).
The first thing that catches our eye, as soon as we glance at the title, is a kind of subtitle - “from Martial”. And this is a kind of first allusion that we have encountered: Brodsky writes as if (precisely “as if”, this is in no way a translation!) on behalf of the ancient Roman poet Martial, famous for his epigrams, constrained by the narrow framework of life in the provinces. Martial, represented by Brodsky, turns to his friend and patron Pliny the Elder. It is curious that in the English translation Brodsky removes the subtitle previously indicated in the drafts (since it is philologically invalid and incorrect).
Brodsky’s relations with Russia, with his homeland, developed and were not easy. Perhaps the work of the Roman poet Martial is close to Brodsky for this very reason, because Martial himself at the end of his life left Rome for his homeland, Spain.
“Letters to a Roman Friend” traces images and themes found in the poets of antiquity: Ovid, Horace, and Martial, among others. However, the closest thing to Joseph Brodsky is not Ovid, who was exiled to Toms, and Horace, who did not voluntarily and even, I dare say, retire with official honors, but rather the “emigrant Martial.”
“If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea.” - in the 60s, Brodsky lived in St. Petersburg, which became a “province of Russia,” just as Athens became a “province” of Rome, and Rome became a “province” of Constantinople.
Strictly speaking, I was wrong to skip over the word “letters.” It would seem to be a simple, ordinary word, the meaning of which we know very well, but in order to understand Brodsky and his poem, it is necessary to remember the genesis of the epistolary genre. Before us is the Bible (the Christian “source” of letters, since the New Testament included letters, including those of the Apostle Paul, which are considered the most significant). Another source is antiquity, which gave us the works of such a poet as Horace Flaccus and his “Epistle” in two books, incl. and “To the Pisons,” “To Augustus” (I would also like to mention “To the Servant,” which I discussed earlier.) I also found it extremely funny and charming that in 1986 (I discovered this completely by accident) a collection of Brodsky’s poems was published entitled "The Poetics of Brodsky". In addition, the name “Postum” (translated as “that which comes after”, “posthumous”) is no coincidence: having become acquainted with the work of Horace, I recognized, among other things, the reference here to Horace’s ode “To Postumus”. Returning to the topic “provinces”, I consider it necessary to note that the theme of the province and the Empire appears in Brodsky, probably largely thanks to the work of Ovid. In Ovid, we have previously studied and analyzed in detail some of the “Letters from Pontus,” which are also messages and addresses. I think we have every right to believe that it was they who “pushed” Brodsky.
Brodsky has a different kind of “letters”, although in some places they are extremely close to Martial and his epigrams, but at the same time they are different. And here lies the main, fundamental allusion: readers who are unaccustomed to the genre of messages meet them again in his poem, with a genre recreated from the past, resurrected, into which Brodsky breathed something new: he writes about the beauty of complete loneliness. Dwelling in more detail on the lines of the poems where the so-called “finds” are found, I would like to paraphrase the words of M. Segal: in the lines
“Soon, Postumus, your friend who loves the addition
he will pay off his old debt by subtracting it.”
"subtraction" means death. In general, life and death are the key themes of Brodsky’s poem, eternal themes.
“On a dry bench - the Elder Pliny.”
Here, some critics unfairly, in my opinion, notice a refutation of the name of the “sender of the letters”: after all, what is meant is not the fact that Pliny the Elder is sitting on the bench in person, but only his book!
3)Ira Ermolaeva(amely_am)
While reading this work by Brodsky, I came across several words whose meaning was unclear to me.
legionnaire - in ancient Rome, a warrior of the legion,
fawn - please (synonym to flatter),
Caesar - in this work we do not mean Gaius Julius Caesar, but the title of the rulers of the Roman Republic, who after the consulate of Gaius Julius began to be called Caesars.
And I would also like to add to these words an explanation of the word “epigram” - in the era of classicism, a short satirical work. In ancient poetry - a poem of arbitrary content. In addition, it is worth noting that the epigram differed from the elegy in its brevity and narrow subject matter.
Brodsky's poem was written in imitation of Martial's epigrams. It is divided into separate epigrams (in the ancient sense of the word) of two stanzas, each of which is aimed at one aspect of life.
The poem is written in trochaic hexameter.
The work uses conversational intonation (addresses, questions, etc.).
It is worth saying a few words about the lyrical hero of the work. It is he who writes short letters - epigrams to his friend Postumus in Rome from the province where he left. Fully conveying the thematic features of the ancient epigram, Brodsky makes his lyrical hero touch on a variety of topics. For example, the theme of death is touched upon, through which the idea of the materiality of the world and relationships is expressed: every feeling has a price (“Give them the price for which they loved, so that they mourn the price for the same price”).
Each of the epigrams is built on an antithesis. For example, in the first stanza, the natural beauty of autumn is contrasted with the colorful outfits of her friend. In the second, Rome is contrasted with the province, intrigue with the “harmonious hum of insects.”
In addition, the poem uses allusion - a projection from the past to the present. It seems to me that it is with the help of allusion that the poet reflects modernity through the prism of antiquity.
Also, in the poem there is a reminiscence of Pushkin, of his fate through the theme of exile and loneliness.
If we talk about the poem as a whole, then it seems to me that it is talking about the bliss of absolute loneliness, away from intrigue, in peace and quiet. the main idea The poem is expressed in the lines: “If you happen to be born in an empire, it is better to live in a remote province by the sea.”
4)Ira Dolinina (ira_shady)
Brodsky's poem "Letters to a Roman Friend" is addressed to Posthumus, the Roman commander who organized the Gallic Empire. Horace's ode (II, 14) had the same addressee. The subtitle “From Martial” is also an allusion to antiquity, and more specifically to Ovid. Martial - Roman poet-epigrammatist. The mention of Martial may be an allusion to the fact that this poem is also a satirical epigram. In the first two stanzas, the poet, addressing Posthumus, tells him that the inner is much more beautiful than the outer. As you know, in antiquity there was a cult of a beautiful body; few people thought about inner beauty. It is precisely this cultural reality of antiquity that Brodsky alludes to. “How is Caesar? What is he doing? All the intrigue? The intrigues of the imperial court in ancient times can easily be compared with the game of the “powers that be” in Soviet time. But Brodsky, like Ovid, is in exile and only nature listens to him, which does not care about political intrigues. In principle, the entire poem is built on an allegorical comparison of the Roman Empire and the Soviet Empire (as many historians call the Soviet Union). Caesar is the image of a ruler - a tyrant, a bloodsucker, before whom they “coward”, “fawn”, which connects Roman realities and contemporary Brodsky.
Next, the sweat turns to a certain hetaera (in antiquity - an educated unmarried woman leading a free lifestyle, or another meaning - a prostitute, which, it seems to me, is closer to Brodsky’s poem), who demands a sestertia (silver coin) from the poet with whom she is taking refuge from the rain. Perhaps this “conversation” with the heterosexual woman is the poet’s attempt to figuratively say that his roof has not yet “leaked” - his life has not yet come to an end.
“When we look around, we see only ruins.” This phrase seems to me to be key to understanding this poem. It also contains the nostalgia of a person who has gone through a difficult life path. It also contains an allusion to the Roman and Soviet empires, built on violence, which destroyed many things and ruined many lives. It is not for nothing that in the poem the poet quotes an old slave in front of a tavern (eatery) - an unfree man who lived a long life under the yoke of power from above. It is through his “barbaric” lips that the truth speaks in such cruel totalitarian realities.
The poet contrasts the peaceful life in the mountains with the tough life in the country he left. He asks, “How is it in Libya, my Postumus, or where?” Are we still fighting?” This dismissive “or where there” refers us to the poet’s alienated attitude towards all wars and the politics of a large state, an empire that is constantly at war, and sometimes it is not even clear with whom.
The poet tells Posthumus about the governor's sister, who became a priestess. And her porter is not very pleasant (“thin, but with full legs”) and her behavior, which the poet points out (“You slept with her yet...”), but she became a priestess. Perhaps this is how the poet is trying to explain through the realities of antiquity what happened in the Soviet empire, when “Every cook must learn to govern the state” or at least communicate with the so-called “gods.”
The poet warns his friend Posthumus, to whom he is writing a letter, that death will soon await him. He asks him to find his savings for the funeral. Hetaeras appear again, who this time must mourn his departure - this increases the poet’s feeling of loneliness.
“The greenery of the laurel,” “the door is wide open,” “the abandoned chair” is a description of the “abandoned bed.”
The mention of Pontus again takes us to Ovid, with whose life the poet draws a parallel in this poem. Another Roman writer, the Elder Pliny, sits on a “withered bench.”
5) Anya Simonaeva(la_guignard)
Who is this Posthumus?
“Postum is the fictitious addressee of Joseph Brodsky’s poem “Letters to a Roman Friend,” Wikipedia will answer us. The word "postum" in Ancient Rome was attached to the names of people born after the death of their fathers.
This poem is dated March 1979. Brodsky has been in America for a long time. He wrote this letter not to Rome at all, but to the reality around him.
How's Caesar doing? What is he doing? All intrigue?
All intrigue, probably, and gluttony.
What kind of Caesar is this? Caesar is everything senior officials THE USSR. Their intrigues, conspiracies, inhumane actions. Actions only for one’s own benefit, “gluttony,” while the whole country is looking in the corners for crumbs of bread.
Instead of the weak of this world and the strong -
only the harmonious hum of insects.
While in the USA, Brodsky taught at the university and did what he loved - he talked about poetry. After life in the USSR, with eternal interrogations, psychiatric examinations, calls to offices, life in the USA is calm and measured. Contrasting difference. If you remember a warm evening in the garden, imagine these insects, from which there is a quiet hum around, you immediately remember that feeling of relaxation and that calmness that is inherent in such evenings, and you understand what the poet felt.
Why is there a reference to a merchant from Asia? Simonides of Keos, an ancient Greek poet, “introduced the fashion” of writing epitaphs to living people. Here Brodsky quotes his epitaph to a Cretan merchant: “Cretan by birth, Brotach from Gortyn, I lie in the ground here, // I came here not then, but on trade business.” Such “comic” epitaphs were always written for the edification of living people.
And if at first the poet talks about an inconspicuous merchant who died early from a fever, then in the next stanza he contrasts him with a real hero, who fought tooth and nail, glorified the empire, and, despite everything, did not die in bloody battles, and in old age.
If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It is better to live in a remote province by the sea.
I immediately remember Horace's satire, in which he praises rural life, contrasting it with the noisy and dirty city life. In addition, Brodsky may have called America a province, because he felt much calmer there than in the USSR:
And far from Caesar, and from the blizzard.
There is no need to fawn, be cowardly, or hurry up.
Are you saying that all governors are thieves?
But a thief is dearer to me than a bloodsucker.
In the USSR, Brodsky would have had to “fawn over” in order to live well, so as not to be a coward. Don't write poetry.
Having left the country, the poet was left with a grudge against those “bloodsuckers” who contributed to this. After all, he was offered two options: either he leaves, or a “fun” time awaits him here - psychiatric hospitals, interrogations. And he left, despite the fact that he loved Russia very much.
6) Alina Tavlueva (alinatavlueva)
LETTERS TO A ROMAN FRIEND
(From Martial
Analysis.
*linguistic level of analysis
**literary level of analysis
***historical and cultural level of analysis

Autumn is coming, everything will change in the area.
The change of colors is so touching, Postumus
...
*The name of the addressee appears in the poem - Postum. Postum-
(lat. postumus - “posthumous”), a nickname attached in the ancient Roman naming system to the names of people born after the death of their father, in the exact same way it means “that which is after.” In Brodsky’s poem, Postumus is a fictitious addressee.
***
Also, in the USA in 1894, Charles Post, the “king of grain mixtures,” created a recipe for a “coffee” drink made from cereals, which he called “Postum.” Today, the marvelous “Postum” would be called a healthy energy drink, which is essentially an oxymoron. It was produced until 2007. As you know, it was in 1972 that Brodsky moved to the USA... you never know.)
*
What's in the capital? Are they laying softly? Isn't it hard to sleep?
How's Caesar doing? What is he doing? All the intrigue?
**Caesar is the image of those in power. In the case of Brodsky, the USSR government.
*
Here lies a merchant from Asia. Tolkovym
He was a merchant - businesslike, but inconspicuous.
Died quickly: fever. By trade
he came here for business, not for this.
**
Perhaps this quatrain is the only place in “Letters to a Roman Friend” that can be considered a direct quotation. Its original is a Greek text (not Roman, although initially the poem was marked “From Martial”, and Martial was a Roman poet), namely “ Epitaph to a Cretan merchant" by Simonides of Keos (556-468 BC):
I am a Cretan by birth, Brotach from Gortyn, I lie in the ground here, I came here not for this reason, but for trade matters.”
Next to him is a legionnaire, under rough quartz.
He glorified the Empire in battles.
*+**
"...Granite is a durable and ceremonial stone used for making monuments. This stone has practically no weaknesses, and over time, tombstones made from it do not lose their characteristics. Granite is a rock consisting of several minerals, such as quartz, mica, spar...."
This refers to a granite tombstone.
If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea.
**In June 1972, Brodsky was forced to leave the country, in fact, the poet was expelled, and later settled in the USA in the status of “guest poet”, where he began teaching at universities, giving lectures and, having achieved financial independence, was able to intensively engage in poetry and in general, literary creativity.
The lines “If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea” acquired the status of a popular expression.
"To the village, to my aunt, to the wilderness, to Saratov..." A.S. Griboyedov "Woe from Wit"
Distance from the center, from power, is the best destiny for a poet, be it a non-party poet, a sage poet, or a Decembrist poet.
In Brodsky’s words, the picture of the surrounding world evokes only, albeit not without some bitterness, irony. Exile, seclusion, escape to a quiet refuge. Those who immediately came to mind were those who liked to “hide from the crowd of people” - Horace, and after him, having finally taken refuge from the storms" and Alexander Sergeevich.
A.S. Pushkin "Eugene Onegin":
(Zaretsky)
...
Finally sheltered from the storms,
Lives like a true sage
Plants cabbage like Horace
Breeds ducks and geese
....
Wait out this downpour with you, hetaera,
I agree, but let's not trade:
take sestertius from the covering body
it’s like asking for shingles from the roof.
*Hetera.In Other In Greece, there were women “functionally” similar to the geishas of Japan. Their task was not only to relieve a man’s sexual tension, but also to entertain him intellectually. A heterosexual woman with an excellent education. These women were worthy friends greatest minds and artists. Do not equate Hetaera with prostitutes. Social. the status of hetaeras was quite high.
Sestertius (lat. sestertius) is an ancient Roman silver coin.
SHINGLES
shingles, f.1.. Thin, narrow planks, used. for covering roofs and for lathing walls under plaster.
You also slept with her... You recently became a priestess.
The priestess, Posthumus, communicates with the gods.
*priestess is a female servant of the cult of a deity.
The game of meaning in.priestess vs priestess of love.priestess of love-prostitute.
Soon, Postumus, your friend who loves the addition,
will pay off his long-standing debt...
** Yesenin’s poem “Goodbye, my friend, goodbye!” immediately came to mind:
**There is no farewell in Brodsky’s poem; rather, these words can be considered a kind of testament, the last wish of a dying person, or, to be very crude, an “instruction.”
On the dry bench is the Elder Pliny.
*Pont-Black Sea
**There are two versions of the interpretation of the words “On a dry bench - the Elder Pliny.
1) The poet imagines that the outstanding encyclopedist writer Pliny the Elder is actually sitting on the bench next to him, in person.
.2) Lev Losev, in his recently published biography of the poet, suggests that on the bench is not Pliny himself, but his work “Naturalis Historia”, also known as “Natural History”.

From Martial

It's windy today and the waves are overlapping.
Autumn is coming, everything will change in the area.
The change of colors is more touching, Postumus,
than changing a friend’s outfit.

Virgo amuses to a certain extent -
You can’t go further than your elbow or knee.
How much more joyful is the beautiful outside the body:
No hugs are possible, no betrayal!
___

I am sending you, Posthumus, these books.
What's in the capital? Are they laying softly? Isn't it hard to sleep?
How's Caesar doing? What is he doing? All the intrigue?
All the intrigue is probably just gluttony.

I am sitting in my garden, the lamp is burning.
No girlfriend, no servant, no acquaintances.
Instead of the weak of this world and the strong -
only the harmonious hum of insects.
___

Here lies a merchant from Asia. Tolkovym
He was a merchant - businesslike, but inconspicuous.
Died quickly - fever. By trade
he came here for business, not for this.

Next to him is a legionnaire, under rough quartz.
He glorified the empire in battles.
How many times could they have killed? and died an old man.
Even here, Posthumus, there are no rules.
___

Let it be true, Posthumus, that a chicken is not a bird,
but with chicken brains you'll have enough grief.
If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea.

And far from Caesar, and from the blizzard.
There is no need to fawn, be cowardly, or rush.
Are you saying that all governors are thieves?
But a thief is dearer to me than a bloodsucker.
___

Wait out this downpour with you, hetaera,
I agree, but let's not trade:
take sestertius from the covering body -
it’s like demanding shingles from a roof.

Leaking, you say? But where is the puddle?
It never happened that I left a puddle.
You'll find yourself some husband,
it will leak onto the bedspread.
___

So we have lived more than half of it.
As the old slave told me in front of the tavern:
"When we look around, we see only ruins."
The view, of course, is very barbaric, but true.

I was in the mountains. Now I'm busy with a large bouquet.
I'll find a big jug and pour water for them...
How is it in Libya, my Postumus, or where there?
Are we still fighting?
___

Do you remember, Postumus, the governor has a sister?
Thin, but with full legs.
You also slept with her... You recently became a priestess.
The priestess, Posthumus, communicates with the gods.

Come, let's drink wine and eat bread.
Or plums. Tell me the news.
I'll make your bed in the garden under the clear sky
and I’ll tell you what the constellations are called.
___

Soon, Postumus, your friend who loves the addition,
will pay off his long-standing debt.
Take your savings from under your pillow,
there is not much there, but enough for the funeral.

Ride your black mare
to the house of hetaeras under our city wall.
Give them the price for which you loved,
so that they pay for the same price.
___

The greenery of the laurel, almost to the point of trembling.
The door is open, the window is dusty,
an abandoned chair, an abandoned bed.
Fabric that has absorbed the midday sun.

Pontus rustles behind a black hedge of pine trees.
Someone's ship is struggling with the wind off the cape.
On the dry bench is the Elder Pliny.
A blackbird chirps in the cypress hair.

March 1972

Honey, I left the house late this evening.
take a breath of fresh air blowing from the ocean.
The sunset burned down in the stalls like a Chinese fan,
and the cloud swirled like the lid of a concert piano.

A quarter of a century ago you had a passion for lula and dates,
I drew with ink in a notebook, sang a little,
had fun with me; but then I met a chemical engineer
and, judging by the letters, she has become monstrously stupid.

Now you are seen in churches in the provinces and in the metropolis
at memorial services for mutual friends, which are now continuous
in succession; and I'm glad that there are more distances in the world
unthinkable than between you and me.

You're lucky too: where else, except perhaps photography,
will you always remain without wrinkles, young, cheerful, mocking?
For time, when confronted with memory, learns of its lack of rights.
I smoke in the dark and inhale the rot of the tide.

Holland is a flat country
eventually passing into the sea,
which is, ultimately,
Holland. Uncaught fish
talking to each other in Dutch,
convinced that their freedom is a mixture
engravings with lace. Not allowed in Holland
climb the mountains, die of thirst;
it’s even more difficult to leave a clear trace,
leaving home on a bicycle,
sailed away - even more so. Memories -
Holland. And no dam
you can't hold them back. In this sense I
I've been living in Holland for much longer,
than local waves rolling into the distance
no address. Like these lines.

Christmas romance

Evgeniy Reina, with love

Floating in inexplicable melancholy
among the brick overhang
night boat inextinguishable
from the Alexander Garden,
unsociable night flashlight,
looks like a yellow rose,
over the heads of your loved ones,
at the feet of passers-by.

Floating in inexplicable melancholy
a bee choir of somnambulists and drunkards.
Photograph in the night capital
the foreigner did sadly,
and leaves for Ordynka
taxis with sick passengers,
and the dead stand in an embrace
with mansions.

Floating in inexplicable melancholy
sad singer in the capital,
standing at the kerosene shop
sad chubby janitor,
hurries along a nondescript street
lover is old and handsome.
Midnight Train Newlywed
floating in inexplicable melancholy.

Floating in the darkness of Zamoskvoretskaya,
an accidental swimmer in misfortune,
wanders Jewish reprimand
on the sad yellow stairs,
and from love to sadness
under New Year, on Sunday,
the beauty is floating,
without explaining my melancholy.

A cold evening floats in my eyes,
snowflakes tremble on the carriage,
frosty wind, pale wind
will cover red palms,
and the honey of the evening lights flows,
and smells of sweet halva;
night pie brings christmas eve
over your head.

Your New Year in dark blue
wave in the middle of the urban sea
floating in inexplicable melancholy,
as if life would start again,
as if there would be light and glory,
have a good day and plenty of bread,
as if life will swing to the right,
swinging to the left.

From the point of view of the air, the edge of the earth
everywhere. What, mowing down the clouds,
coincides - no matter what you cover up
traces - with a feeling of a heel.
And the eye that looks around,
mows the fields like your sickle;
sum of small terms when changing places
unrecognizable beyond zero.
And a smile will slide like the shadow of a rook
along a jagged hedge, a lush bush
holding back the rosehip, but shouting
honeysuckle, without opening your lips.

Candlemas

Anna Akhmatova

When she first brought into the church
child were inside from among
people who were there all the time
Saint Simeon and the prophetess Anna.

And the old man took the baby from his arms
Maria; and three people around
babies stood like an unsteady frame,
that morning, lost in the darkness of the temple.

That temple surrounded them like a frozen forest.
From the eyes of people and from the eyes of heaven
the peaks were hidden, having managed to spread out,
that morning Mary, the prophetess, the elder.

And only on the crown of the head with a random ray
the light fell on the baby; but he doesn't mean anything
I still didn’t know and was snoring sleepily,
resting in Simeon's strong arms.

And it was told to this old man,
that he will see mortal darkness
not before the Lord sees his son.
It's finished. And the elder said: “Today,

Keeping the once spoken word,
You are in peace, Lord, letting me go,
then my eyes saw it
child: he is your continuation and light

Source for idols of honoring tribes,
and the glory of Israel is in him." - Simeon
fell silent. Silence surrounded them all.
Only the echo of those words, touching the rafters,

It was spinning for a while
above their heads, rustling slightly
under the arches of the temple, like some kind of bird,
that is able to fly up, but not able to come down.

And it was strange for them. There was silence
no less strange than speech. Confused
Maria was silent. "What words..."
And the elder said, turning to Mary:

"Lying now on your shoulders
the fall of some, the rise of others,
a subject of controversy and a cause for discord.
And with the same weapon, Maria, with which

His flesh will be tormented, yours
the soul will be wounded. This wound
will let you see what is hidden deeply
in the hearts of men, like a kind of eye."

He finished and moved towards the exit. Following
Maria, stooping, and with the weight of years
the bent Anna looked on silently.
He walked, decreasing in importance and in body

For these two women in the shadow of the columns.
Almost urging them on with their glances, he
walked silently through this empty temple
to the vaguely white doorway.

And the gait was as firm as an old man’s.
Only the voice of the prophetess from behind when
rang out, he paused his step a little:
but there they were not calling out to him, but to God

The prophetess has already begun to praise.
And the door was approaching. Clothes and forehead
the wind has already touched, and stubbornly in the ears
the noise of life burst in outside the temple walls.

He was going to die. And not in the street noise
He opened the door with his hands and stepped out,
but into the deaf and dumb domains of death.
He walked through a space devoid of firmament,

He heard that time had lost its sound.
And the image of the Child with radiance around
fluffy crown of the death path
Simeon's soul carried before it

Like some kind of lamp into that black darkness,
in which no one has hitherto
I didn’t have a chance to light my way.
The lamp shone and the path widened.

* Dated from translations in SP and PS. Note in SP: date of writing
poems - Anna Akhmatova's birthday. NIB dating: March 1972

E. Leonskaya

In the air - severe frost and needles.
Let's put on cotton and fur.
To toil in our snowdrifts with a bag -
A deer is better than a two-humped camel.

In the north, even if they believe in God,
then like the commandant of that prison,
where we all seem to have a sore side,
but all you can hear is that they didn’t give much.

In the south, where white precipitation is rare,
believe in Christ, since he himself is a fugitive:
born in the desert, sand and straw,
and he also died, I hear, not at home.

Let us remember today with wine and bread
a life lived in the open air,
so that in it and then avoid arrest
land - because there is more space there.

It's windy today and the waves are overlapping.
Autumn is coming, everything will change in the area.
The change of colors is more touching, Postumus,
than changing a friend’s outfit.

I am sitting in my garden, the lamp is burning.
No girlfriend, no servant, no acquaintances.
Instead of the weak of this world and the strong -
only the harmonious hum of insects.

Here lies a merchant from Asia. Tolkovym
He was a merchant - businesslike, but inconspicuous.
Died quickly - fever. By trade
he came here for business, not for this.

Next to him is a legionnaire, under rough quartz.
He glorified the empire in battles.
How many times could they have killed? and died an old man.
Even here, Posthumus, there are no rules.

Let it be true, Posthumus, that a chicken is not a bird,
but with chicken brains you'll have enough grief.
If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea.

And far from Caesar, and from the blizzard.
There is no need to fawn, be cowardly, or rush.
Are you saying that all governors are thieves?
But a thief is dearer to me than a bloodsucker.

Wait out this downpour with you, hetaera,
I agree, but let's not trade:
take sestertius from the covering body -
it’s like demanding shingles from a roof.

Leaking, you say? But where is the puddle?
It never happened that I left a puddle.
You'll find yourself some husband,
it will leak onto the bedspread.

So we have lived more than half of it.
As the old slave told me in front of the tavern:
“When we look around, we see only ruins.”
The view, of course, is very barbaric, but true.

I was in the mountains. Now I'm busy with a large bouquet.
I’ll find a big jug and pour water for them...
How is it in Libya, my Postumus, or where there?
Are we still fighting?

Do you remember, Postumus, the governor has a sister?
Thin, but with full legs.
You slept with her again... You recently became a priestess.
The priestess, Posthumus, communicates with the gods.

Come, let's drink wine and eat bread.
Or plums. Tell me the news.
I'll make your bed in the garden under the clear sky
and I’ll tell you what the constellations are called.

Soon, Postumus, your friend who loves the addition,
will pay off his long-standing debt.
Take your savings from under your pillow,
there is not much there, but enough for the funeral.

Ride your black mare
to the house of hetaeras under our city wall.
Give them the price for which you loved,
so that they pay for the same price.

The greenery of the laurel, almost to the point of trembling.
The door is open, the window is dusty,
an abandoned chair, an abandoned bed.
Fabric that has absorbed the midday sun.

Pontus rustles behind a black hedge of pine trees.
Someone's ship is struggling with the wind off the cape.
On the dry bench is the Elder Pliny.
A blackbird chirps in the cypress hair.

“Letters to a Roman Friend (from Martial)” Joseph Brodsky

It's windy today and the waves are overlapping.
Autumn is coming, everything will change in the area.
The change of colors is more touching, Postumus,
than changing a friend’s outfit.

I am sending you, Posthumus, these books.
What's in the capital? Are they laying softly? Isn't it hard to sleep?
How's Caesar doing? What is he doing? All the intrigue?
All the intrigue is probably just gluttony.

I am sitting in my garden, the lamp is burning.
No girlfriend, no servant, no acquaintances.
Instead of the weak of this world and the strong -
only the harmonious hum of insects.

Here lies a merchant from Asia. Tolkovym
He was a merchant - businesslike, but inconspicuous.
Died quickly - fever. By trade

Next to him is a legionnaire, under rough quartz.
He glorified the empire in battles.
How many times could they have killed? and died an old man.
Even here, Posthumus, there are no rules.

Let it be true, Posthumus, that a chicken is not a bird,

If you happen to be born in the Empire,
It’s better to live in a remote province by the sea.

And far from Caesar, and from the blizzard.
There is no need to fawn, be cowardly, or rush.

Wait out this downpour with you, hetaera,
I agree, but let's not trade:
take sestertius from the covering body -
it’s like demanding shingles from a roof.

Leaking, you say? But where is the puddle?
It never happened that I left a puddle.
You'll find yourself some husband,

So we have lived more than half of it.
As the old slave told me in front of the tavern:
“When we look around, we see only ruins.”
The view, of course, is very barbaric, but true.

I was in the mountains. Now I'm busy with a large bouquet.
I’ll find a big jug and pour water for them...
How is it in Libya, my Postumus, or where there?
Are we still fighting?

Do you remember, Postumus, the governor has a sister?
Thin, but with full legs.
You slept with her again... You recently became a priestess.
The priestess, Posthumus, communicates with the gods.

Come, let's drink wine and eat bread.
Or plums. Tell me the news.
I'll make your bed in the garden under the clear sky
and I’ll tell you what the constellations are called.

Soon, Postumus, your friend who loves the addition,
will pay off his long-standing debt.
Take your savings from under your pillow,
there is not much there, but enough for the funeral.

Ride your black mare
to the house of hetaeras under our city wall.
Give them the price for which you loved,
so that they pay for the same price.

The greenery of the laurel, almost to the point of trembling.
The door is open, the window is dusty,
an abandoned chair, an abandoned bed.
Fabric that has absorbed the midday sun.

Pontus rustles behind a black hedge of pine trees.
Someone's ship is struggling with the wind off the cape.
On the dry bench is the Elder Pliny.
A blackbird chirps in the cypress hair.

Analysis of Brodsky's poem "Letters to a Roman Friend"

The poem “Letter to a Roman Friend” was written by Joseph Alexandrovich Brodsky in 1972. The title says “From Martial,” but this is not a free translation of any of the works of the famous epigramist Marcus Valerius Martial, but an independent work based on Roman history.

In the poem, the author plays the role of a Roman living during the reign of Julius Caesar. From the text of the poem we understand that he once lived in the capital, knew personally the powers that be, but decided to leave for a remote province. All that connects the hero with his former life is a friend named Postumus, to whom he sends letters, talks about his everyday life and asks about the news.

Despite the fact that the poem talks about historically significant things and touches on serious philosophical topics, it is easy to read. This effect is achieved thanks to simple vocabulary, devoid of pretentious statements, archaic expressions and tricky words. But it contains enough sayings that make the plots of ancient life more understandable and relatable to the Russian reader. Here, for example, is how the poet is interested in the details of a friend’s stay in Rome:
What's in the capital? Are they laying softly? Isn't it hard to sleep?
How's Caesar doing? What is he doing? All intrigue?

Of course, all these questions are rhetorical. The author himself is well versed in the behind-the-scenes struggle that has always accompanied any throne. It is easy to see the parallel here with modern world and the era in which Joseph Alexandrovich himself lived.

In the eighth stanza, the poet allows himself to criticize the authorities:
Are you saying that all governors are thieves?
But a thief is dearer to me than a bloodsucker.

It was the court intrigues that pushed the lyrical hero away from the bustle of the big city. Again using the proverb, the poet explains why he tries to stay away from palace intrigue:
Let it be true, Posthumus, that a chicken is not a bird,
but with chicken brains you'll have enough grief.

He admits to Posthumus that his life became calmer when he moved to the sea. With the help of bright, expressive epithets, the author paints pictures of provincial life for his interlocutor. Nature plays with rich, pleasing colors: “under a clear sky”, “cypress hair”, “black pine hedge”, “fabric that has absorbed the midday sun”.

Without hesitation, the author shares the details of his simple life. He then talks with slaves who utter unexpectedly wise ideas. Then he shares a leaky roof with a corrupt woman. The poet, in ironic, ambiguous terms, narrates how he argues with the girl about the seeping drops, without worrying that the lines will be considered offensively obscene:
Leaking, you say? But where is the puddle?
It never happened that I left a puddle.
You'll find yourself some husband,
it will leak onto the bedspread.

But besides these simple descriptions of everyday incidents, the poet also raises serious topics. Often the work contains the motif of death and the meaning of life. Using the example of several characters, the author reveals the problem of the unpredictability of fate. It tells the story of a savvy merchant who came to these lands to make profitable deals. But he suddenly came down with a fever and died. The poet emphasizes that a person can plan his actions as much as he likes, but he cannot cope with predestination:
...By trade
he came here for business, not for this.

In contrast, the author cites the story of a legionnaire. This man risked himself all his life, but fate decreed that death passed him by where many of his comrades died. And this soldier, in turn, lived to old age and died quietly.

The poet also talks about his own death. But in the stanzas that are dedicated to this event, there is no tragedy. The author simply draws familiar pictures, but without his own figure in them. He uses the metonymy - “On the dry bench - the Elder Pliny,” showing that after his death there will be a trace similar to that left by the ancient poet in the form of his book. The poet demonstrates that life will continue to take its course, which is why the last stanzas are so calm and full of warmth.

This poem is amazing. It raises deep questions about life and death, but the work is not burdensome or brooding. Joseph Alexandrovich succeeded in simple language talk to the reader, as with an old friend, on serious topics, but not to alarm or frighten him. This is Brodsky’s amazing talent as a poet.