Joseph Brodsky (24 May 1940 – 28 January 1996 / Leningrad)
A hotel in whose ledgers departures are more prominent than arrivals.
With wet Koh-i-noors the October rain
strokes what's left of the naked brain.
In this country laid flat for the sake of rivers,
beer smells of Germany and the seaguls are
in the air like a page's soiled corners.
Morning enters the premises with a coroner's
punctuality, puts its ear
to the ribs of a cold radiator, detects sub-zero:
the afterlife has to start somewhere.
Correspondingly, the angelic curls
grow more blond, the skin gains its distant, lordly
white, while the bedding already coils
desperately in the basement laundry.
Poet Other Poems
- A list of some observation...
- A Polar Explorer
- A Song
- Belfast Tune
- Bosnia Tune
- Daedalus in Sicily
- Dutch Mistress
- Folk Tune
- From A School Anthology
- Galatea Encore
- I Sit By The Window
- I threw my arms about those shoulders
- Letter to an Archaeologist
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Letter to an Archaeologist by Joseph Brodsky )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley