It Is Not You
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It is not you but it is the devil who burns me,
but devil is always afraid of the name of Christ,
The name of Christ is as quiet and soft as waters.
in waters I feel comfortable and sublime.
It is not you but Joseph I want to merge with,
It is his commanding voice that I hear behind.
And he is Russian, but very unusual always,
And he is the Russian patriot though exiled.
Why do I think so? - because of his many poems
devoted to America - there is almost none,
Well, maybe for Mikhail Baryshnikov but no more still,
but dream of Russia whose people he still sees kind.
Why are his poems bringing me so much comfort
as if I'm embraced by heaven while still on earth,
and I don't have any trouble or place to hide from,
because I am in Brodsky's House of eternal Word,
Bu şiiri puanla
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