Excerpt from Watermark. I always adhered to the idea that God is time, or at least that His spirit is. Perhaps this idea was even of my own manufacture, but now I. 22 Mar Memory, death, love, beauty, dreams – Brodsky touches on all of these in this wonderfully evocative book, says PD Smith. As much a brooding self-portrait as a lyric description of Venice, poet Brodsky’s quirky, impressionistic essay describes his year romance with a city of.
The net result is, obviously, mutual negation. He was still big with some of my friends, and now I was to see his old woman. Yet while these characters are far more dangerousindeed more harmfulthan the Turks, the Austrians, and Napoleon all lumped together, since money has more battalions than generals, in the seventeen years that I’ve frequented this city very little has changed brodsiy.
Unwittingly, you take your cue from it, especially if, like it, you’ve got no company. I liked the original for its sophomoric freshness and taut verse, for its thematic and stylistic diversity, for its voluminous cultural references, then out of my reach.
In fact, it was more sculpture than putti. But I had the impression that he was looking for a challenge rather than an endorsement. I loved this tiny book and it will stay with me, I think, coming to mind every time I return to Venice.
The music is, of course, greater than the band, and no hand can turn the page. For the moment, though, the most obvious thing about this forty-year-olda slim, short creature in a gray double-breasted suit of very good cutwas that he was quite sick. And with my back to the Fondamente and San Michele, hugging the wall of the hospital, almost rubbing it with my left shoulder and squinting at the sun, I suddenly felt: The eye in this city acquires an autonomy similar to that of a tear. An alternate burial spot a little farther from Pound was found.
Publicist or Marketing Professional. In this brief, intense, gem-like book, equal parts extended autobiographical essay and prose poem, Brodsky turns his eye to the seductive and enigmatic city of Venice.
I swallowed air and stepped into it. One’s eye precedes watdrmark pen, and I resolve not to let my pen lie about its position. Such are the noons here.
Joseph Brodsky – Prose: Excerpt from Watermark –
Accordingly, two huge, splendidly carved aft-lanterns loomed in the two-story-high cave of the palazzo’s courtyard, which was filled with btodsky sorts of naval paraphernalia, dating from Renaissance days onward. If that doesn’t happen, it is either because the Almighty, too, doesn’t seem to have much in the way of alternatives, or because a thought itself possesses a water pattern.
If you’re lucky, you may find an apartment, which, naturally, comes with the owner’s personal taste in paintings, chairs, curtains, with a vague sense of illegality to your face in his bathroom mirrorin short, with precisely what you wanted to shed: So I lifted my bags and stepped outside.
Other editions – View all Watermark: And I remembered the opening line of one of Umberto Saba’s poems that I’d translated long before, in a previous incarnation, into Russian: A few dimly lit boats now and then prowled about, disturbing with their propellers the reflection of a large neon CINZANO trying to settle on the black oilcloth of the water’s surface. Do you know her? The most beautiful parts are the lyrical, because, in waves, they come and go like clear water and mark the pulse of the poet.
Presumably cherubs, too, are part of the species’ evolution.
A far cry from architecture. All this drivel normally gushes out of the same mouth, and often on the same breath, that blabbers about ecology, protection, restoration, cultural patrimony, and whatnot.
I take heat very poorly; the unmitigated emissions of hydrocarbons and armpits still worse. Baroque is too fuzzy round the edges, and I regret to say that there is, IMO, such a thing as too much gold leaf. The ceiling, though, was extraordinarily high and the windows were correspondingly tall.
Feb 12, Sidharth Vardhan rated it really liked it Shelves: Brosky were about sixty fat, white, vellum-bound volumes, from Aesop to Zeno; just enough for a gentleman; more would turn him into a penseur, with disastrous consequences either for his manners or for his estate. On my first sojourns I often felt surprised, catching my own frame, dressed or aatermark, in the open wardrobe; after a while I began to wonder about this place’s edenic or afterlife-like effects upon one’s self-awareness.
The last of them was the master bedroom.
Published June 1st by Farrar, Straus and Giroux first published Brodsky paused, searching for an explanation. And to the eye, for purely optical reasons, departure is not the body leaving the city but the city abandoning the pupil. And you sense this light’s fatigue as it rests in Zaccaria’s marble shells for another hour or so, while the earth is turning its other cheek to the luminary.
We all harbor all sorts of misgivings about the flaws in our appearance, anatomy, about the imperfection of our very features. The carriage was warm, my head was splitting from nitro pills, a bunch of [bersaglieri] in the compartment were celebrating their home leave with Chianti and a ghetto blaster.
It is the last to shut datermark when the body is falling asleep.
For the moment, I’d like to assert that, Northerner though I am, my notion of Eden hinges on neither weather nor temperature. Or else she didn’t grasp what Susan had said, though I doubt it. As it turned out, there was nothing particularly auspicious or ominous about this arrival of mine.
I was smitten by a feeling of utter happiness: Its particles’ only ambition is to reach an object and make it, big or small, visible.