By Joseph A. Brodsky 

The English Poetic Translation, by Anna A. Polibina-Polansky

*** At a Friend's Death

("Imyareku, tebe, - potomu chto ne stanet za trud...")

To you, so-called, this way, as it won't be worthy of efforts

To draw you, so, from under the stone. I'm nameless and true.

So one will be erased from the marble, as it can't be shattered.

I'm beyond, outside, I am too far away, so obtrudes

No voice, from the silence. The parable Northern, just lurks so.

The tattooes of the poles appear by my ear, by my taste.

So the soaking space of king thrushes, deadly, is smirking.

You are son of a widow the chequer, by Spirits or haze.

A book robber does celebrate odes 'gainst of Pushkin's manners.

So liars cause tears, love lyrics stirs up in the lace.

Jingle trams, silent are female figures and serpents at banners;

With the columns of higher stste offices, birds are embraced.

Oh the lonesome heart, oh the body of countless cots,

Let the brownish soil be that fluffy to you, oh my vapor!

Bumble-bees at hot bloom, so, think and recall, on the spot.

That Third Rome made you freeze to death, in your immaculate labor.

There is no better gates to sweet Nothingness. You're outside,

Your bleak coat was, yet, 'mong the the curious guards of your body.

So Kharon will not find his coin 'hind your thin cheek. You abide

There on high! Here is my farewell bow to your sight,

From unknown windy shores. You don't care from which, oh my buddy.

1973/tr. 2020