By Joseph A. Brodsky

The English Poetic Translations, by Anna Polibina-Polansky

*** The Christmas Star

("V holodnuyu poru, v mestnosti, privychnoy, skorey, k zhare...")

At a cold season, at the vicinities of sultry spheres,

When the deserts are preferred to mounts, under terms severe,

A baby was born at a cave, in order to save the world.

Snow or sand swept about, and clouds got twirled.

So everything seemed immense to him: Mom's bosom and yellow vapor

From the nostrils of bulls. Belshazar and Caspar, the wizards,

And Melchior, along with them. The gifts were tucked to the hay pile.

He was just a point signifying a star, it's squeezed ray.

So without a blink, through rare, torn clouds,

Watched the star into the cave, at the cradle's nook.

So the Universe, by those eyes, was pierced about.

And it was Godfather's eternal, attentive, staring look.

1987/tr. 2020

*** The Life in the Dispersed Light

("Sneg idyot, ostavlyaya mir v men'shinstve...")

Snow falls. The flakes leave the world, in its minority proud.

So spies and thieves are in bloom;

It is their season. So you catch with yourself, at any disguise, about

All clumsy seals of your face, as you follow in gloom.

Those openings are all for free.

The silence, at outskirts, darkly reigns.

A split of the star is of a brightest breed.

Like refugees at a boat, it floats in vain.

Don't get blinded, orphan, a rejected cheek,

You are out of law, as a neglected bastard, that filthy.

You keep nothing yours, so the vapor reeks.

Like dragons in profile, to the air, you are yielded.

You should better pray aloud, as Jesus the Nasorey,

For the wizards roaming for stars, with all their gifts.

For self-imposing kings, also do pray.

And for all kids in cribs: that is Your poor thrift.

1980/tr. 2020