When You get older...

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When You realize that count of missed opportunities is greater that the count of the not gray hair on Your head,
You're getting older.
When You need to hear more then You need to See.
You're getting older.
When You can lecture Your own son and Your wife agrees.
You're getting older.
When You need to give more then You need to get.
You're getting older.
When You get older,it's harder to give but that's what You want,
When You get older, it's easier to lecture and that's what You want,
When You get older, it's hard to understand anymore what You want.
I hated old people ,I always wanted to become one of them,when I can be Young ,I can't be renewed,so I'm getting there ,and the aircraft has always returned to the ground this way or another.

Brodsky Poetry analysis

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Just found greate site
http://www.eliteskills.com/analysis_poetry/I_Sit_By_The_Window_by_Joseph_Brodsky_analysis.php

Sit By The Window Analysis


Author: poem of Joseph Brodsky Type: poem Views: 10


I said fate plays a game without a score,
and who needs fish if you've got caviar?
The triumph of the Gothic style would come to pass
and turn you on--no need for coke, or grass.
I sit by the window. Outside, an aspen.
When I loved, I loved deeply. It wasn't often.

I said the forest's only part of a tree.
Who needs the whole girl if you've got her knee?
Sick of the dust raised by the modern era,
the Russian eye would rest on an Estonian spire.
I sit by the window. The dishes are done.
I was happy here. But I won't be again.

I wrote: The bulb looks at the flower in fear,
and love, as an act, lacks a verb; the zer-
o Euclid thought the vanishing point became
wasn't math--it was the nothingness of Time.
I sit by the window. And while I sit
my youth comes back. Sometimes I'd smile. Or spit.

I said that the leaf may destory the bud;
what's fertile falls in fallow soil--a dud;
that on the flat field, the unshadowed plain
nature spills the seeds of trees in vain.
I sit by the window. Hands lock my knees.
My heavy shadow's my squat company.

My song was out of tune, my voice was cracked,
but at least no chorus can ever sing it back.
That talk like this reaps no reward bewilders
no one--no one's legs rest on my sholders.
I sit by the window in the dark. Like an express,
the waves behind the wavelike curtain crash.

A loyal subject of these second-rate years,
I proudly admit that my finest ideas
are second-rate, and may the future take them
as trophies of my struggle against suffocation.
I sit in the dark. And it would be hard to figure out
which is worse; the dark inside, or the darkness ou

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I allways wanted to write/share and just do anything about poetry,I did finish BA in comparative literature and can discuss freely poetry of 3 languages : Russian,English and Hebrew/Byblical and I think it would interest everyone if I write about erotica in the poetry.

Anyway,let's see if that is interesting You!!!!
We can start with Alphabet order which is easier and skipping Achmatova which I feel I'm not so much equipped to discuss as a male I'll go straight on to Brodsky,I.
As I see him a Achmatova's good student I think that will be only fair and just to say Brodsky's "formalism" is Achmatova's gift to him and to the Soviet/Russian poetry,though Brodsky has certainly took it to another step and made it almost touchable,I'll quote in russian translit,You can find a decent translation if You wish:
"On razdevalsja v komnate svoei,
pogljadyvaja na popachivaushi potom
Klych podchodjashi k mnozhestvy dverei,
Oshelomlenni pervym oborotom"

I'd translate it roughly:
He's been undressing in his chamber ,though
he glimpsed astray at smelling perspiration
A key, that could match so many a door
And overwhelmed with first appreciation