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. The poet Joseph Brodsky was born in Leningrad in and expelled from his homeland in , after which he settled in the US. Perhaps it. Brodsky, a survivor of the Gulag, went to Venice in search of love. He returned every winter for 17 years.

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The nutria-clad sight next to me began explaining in a somewhat hushed voice that she was taking me brpdsky my hotel, where watermar, had reserved a room, that perhaps we’d meet tomorrow or the day after, that she’d like to introduce me to her husband and her sister.

A metaphoror, to put it more broadly, language itselfis by and large open-ended, brrodsky craves continuum: Also, because of their numerical superiority over any other carved or sculpted image, including that of the Madonna or the Redeemer Himself. He is another of those wonders, like Nabokov, who writes beautifully in English regardless of its being a second language – and though parts of the essay were more introspective and personal than I hoped or wanted, I connected with a good few of those.

In a line of work involving the dipping of a pen into watemrark inkpot, one can identify with both. There are better ways, no doubt, to manipulate dreams, and no doubt a good case can be made for it being best done gastronomically.

Yet no traveler comes here without a spare sweater, jacket, skirt, shirt, slacks, or blouse, since Venice is the sort of city where both the stranger and the native know in advance that one will be on display.


I love the flow of such writing when the references aren’t overtly explained. That nearly disqualified the sight as a subject of interest in the eyes of the coterie to which I belonged. This was fabulous, breathtaking, enchanting.

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They were shedding, those curtains, and some of their folds exposed broad, bald, threadbare patches, as though the fabric felt it had come full circle and was now reverting to its pre-loom state. Nela descansa para sempre I wasn’t sure whether I would make it to Paris; but what was interfering with my fear was the clear sense that, should I manage, in no time at allwell, in a yearI’d be back to the cold place between Herod and Pharaoh. In fact, they only pass the cold through, whereas walls store it.

On wateermark map this city looks like two grilled fish sharing a plate, or perhaps like two nearly overlapping lobster claws Though his voice is a sensual one and he is obviously thinking of sex whenever he looks at a Venetian cathedral or a torn up curtain or a crumbling apartment facade he lacks a power and a direction and a virility in hrodsky writing that I found very depressing from a nobel winner.

Deep and inviting, it seemed to contain a perspective of its ownperhaps another enfilade. Please try again later.

The old lady was in good shape, reasonably well off; on top of that, she had the comfort of waterark convictionsa comfort, I felt, she’d go to any length to defend. Furthermore, should dreams ever be designated a genre, their main stylistic device would doubtless be the non sequitur. Preview — Watermark by Joseph Brodsky.

Plus, there is no doubt a correspondence betweenif not an outright dependence onthe rectangular nature of that lace’s displaysi. Forty-eight chapters recall a specific episode from one of his many visits there. Should one ask a simple [orata]not even a caught one, in a free statewhat it thinks one looks like, it will reply, You are a monster. On the map this city looks like two grilled fish sharing a plate, or perhaps like two nearly overlapping lobster claws Pasternak compared it to rbodsky swollen croissant ; but it has no north, south, east, or west; the only direction it has is sideways.


At night, there is not much to do here. An alternate burial spot a little farther from Pound was found. With all due respect to the best available creed, I must say I don’t think this place has evolved from the famous chordate only, triumphant or not.

Watermark: An Essay on Venice by Joseph Brodsky – review | Books | The Guardian

A Part vrodsky Speech. May 28, Jeff rated it it was amazing. I glanced at that enfilade and I shuddered: They were a cross between picaresque and detective novels, and at least one of them, the one I call in my mind [Provincial Entertainments], was set in Venice in winter. For it was more than a letdown: Once, in a dusk that darkened gray pupils but brought gold to those of the mustard-cum-honey variety, the owner of the latter and I encountered an Egyptian warshipa light cruiser, to be precisemoored at the Fondamenta dell’Arsenale, near the Giardini.

He vowed never to visit in summer, preferring instead the frigid dampness of Venice in winter. And the object can be a little monster, with the head of a lion and the body of a dolphin. Why it should have happened here, I have no idea. The same goes for a fusion of two or more brofsky or properties, not to mention genders.

And the trick is not to disturb them. The books, too, were quite moribund: