20 May A very, very short prose-exercise by Nobelist Brodsky about Venice, his many wintertime trips there, the enchantment and ironies and visual. Watermark [Joseph Brodsky] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. In this brief, intense, gem-like book, equal parts extended autobiographical . 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.

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It won’t tell you about curious sites to see, or hotels to stay in, or describe romantic gondola rides at midnight. Be polite and don’t interrupt the lady; it’s garbage, but she believes it.

WATERMARK by Joseph Brodsky | Kirkus Reviews

It’s certainly better than a lot of other things written about Venice ahem, Ackroydbut the intricate tapestry of cultural allusions sometimes comes across more as obfuscatory name-dropping than erud This is an interesting and evocative meditation on Venice.

That, to me, is time coming out of water, and I stare at the lace-like pattern it puts on the shore, not with a gypsy-like knowing, but with tenderness and with gratitude.

Like a TV set left switched on in an abandoned apartment, the eye keeps sending in images brodskg all these 5’8” miracles, complete with light chestnut hair, Perugino ovals, gazelle eyes, nurse-like bosoms, wasp waists, dark-green velvet dresses, and razor-sharp tendons. Other Book Industry Professional.

The yellow arrow signs at intersections are not much help either, for they, too, curve. It was already in full swing when the three of usa fellow writer, her son, and Iarrived. No matter how well brodskyy, in this city one’s body, in my view, should be obscured by cloth, if only because it moves.

The singing will be a bit subdued, presumably on account of the weather. Although in some cases you could tell a room’s designationdining room, salon, possibly a nurserymost were similar in their lack of apparent function.

So I never slept, let alone sinned, in a cast-iron family bed satermark pristine, crisp linen, embroidered and richly fringed bedspread, cloudlike pillows, and bridsky pearl-encrusted crucifix above the headboard. I am not looking for a naked maiden riding on a shell; I am looking for either a cloud or the crest of a wave hitting the shore at midnight.

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Or else these streets are like wardrobe racks: Partly because of that they drew their heads into their shoulders. In fact, with an eye on marrying into the Cretan king’s family, he might have accepted the murderous commission to make the family more respectable.

The owner was a forest engineer or some such thing, and was, naturally, away on business.

The City Nobel Laureate Joseph Brodsky Called Paradise

Brodssky my Ariadne vanished, grodsky behind a fragrant thread of her expensive was wafermark Shalimar? Seasons are metaphors for available continents, and winter is always somewhat antarctic, even here.

Except in a mirror, the eye never sees itself. As for his plight in St. A smell is, after all, a violation of oxygen watermarm, an invasion into it of other elementsmethane? She would bundle up for the nightpink woolen jersey, scarf, stockings, long socksand, having counted [uno, due, tre! Churches, however, remain open, but then treading upon water is no news to either clergy or parishioners; neither to music, water’s twin.

I’d even marry my partner’s secretary, which he doesn’t have since he doesn’t exist Every surface craves dust, for dust is the flesh of time, as a poet said, time’s very flesh and blood; but here the craving seemed to be over. In the abstract season life seems more real than at any other, even in the Adriatic, because in winter everything is harder, more stark.

No tribe likes strangers, and Venetians are very tribal, in addition to being islanders. On the map this city looks like two grilled fish sharing watermarl plate, watermatk perhaps like two nearly overlapping lobster claws Pasternak compared it to a swollen croissant ; but it has no north, south, east, or west; the only direction it has is sideways.

Men allikevel ble watwrmark hakket for poetisk og melodramatisk for min del. The latter, whose appearance completely escapes my memory for reasons of redundancy, was a scumbag of an architect, of that ghastly postwar persuasion that has done more harm to the European skyline than any Luftwaffe.

And in the fluently flapping hand of the native whom you stop to ask for directions, the eye, oblivious to his sputtering [A destra, a sinistra, dritto, dritto], readily discerns a fish. There are plenty of guidebooks to Venice, and plenty of fictional accounts by writers who lived there and fell in love with the city.

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His face looks very much like yours.

The dissident-poet had been expelled from his Russian homeland just six years earlier, in Visiting Venice only off-season, over nearly two decades, Brodsky strings together stories, impressions — all so beautifully articulated and wonderfully insightful — of the city, its people, the mood, its effect on himself, on the human psyche in general.

Besides, she was a Veneziana. And in the final analysis, the eye is not so wrong, if only because the common purpose of everything here is to be [seen]. It is because the objects of its attention are inevitably situated on the outside. Having risked the charge of depravity, I won’t wince at that of superficiality either. That’s why it is possible to love cities, architecture per se, music, dead poets, or given a particular temperament, a deity.

Auden and other supporters. In any case, some of the blueprintsan apt term in this city!

Only alcohol can absorb the polar lightning shooting through your body as you set your foot on the marble floor, slippers or no slippers, shoes or no shoes. Yet many a [frontone] here reminds you precisely of a headboard looming above its habitually unmade bed, be it morning or evening. Something, to say the least, far more complex than the fish itself. Scanning this city’s face for seventeen winters, I should by now be capable of pulling a credible Poussin-like job: What they return to you is not your identity but your anonymity, especially in this city.

You could feel his love for this city and I hope I will understand him much better one day. As long as it exists, I don’t believe that I, or, for that matter, anyone, can be mesmerized or blinded by romantic tragedy. At night, infinity in foreign realms arrives with the last lamppost, and here it was twenty meters away. I should say that, good though this place is for honeymoons, I’ve often thought it should be tried for divorces alsoboth in progress and already accomplished.