Rotterdam Journal

Rain in Rotterdam. Dusk. Environment.
Opening the hood, I raise the gate.
Four days later they bombed the city,
and the city was gone. Cities
not people and not hiding in the stairwell
during a downpour. Streets, houses
not converge in these cases, the mind
and, falling, do not call for vengeance.

The July afternoon. Drips from the wafer
on the trouser leg. Chorus of children’s voices.
Around – the huge new buildings.
In Corbusier something in common with the Luftwaffe,
Both have worked from the heart
over the variable shape of Europe.
What pozabudut furious Cyclops,
a sober finish pencils.

As the time nor healthily, but the stump,
seeing no means different from the goals,
smart. And the stronger – from a panacea.
Night. Three decades later,
We drink wine with big old star
in an apartment on the twentieth floor -
at the level achieved already
soaring here once on the air.

Joseph Brodsky (St. Petersburg, 1992)