Joseph Brodsky in Venice (1981)
La Serenissima, in morning light, is beautiful. But you already knew that. Palette of honeyed ochre and ship’s bell bronze, water precisely the color of the hand-ground pigment with which the water of Venice has been painted for centuries, angled slats of aquamarine chopped by wakes to agate, matte black backlit with raw opal and anodized aluminum, rope-work of wisteria, wands of oleander emerging from hidden gardens. At noon, near the boat-yard of the last gondola maker, a violin echoes from deep inside an empty cistern. Lo and behold. Ecco. A swirl of wind-blown ashes from yet another cigarette and for a moment you see December snow in Saint Petersburg, the Lion’s Bridge, crystalline halo crowning Akhmatova’s defiant silhouette. Sunset: bitter orange and almond milk, sepia retinting the canals with cartographer’s ink as you study the small gray lagoon crabs patrolling a kingdom of marble slabs descending into the depths; rising almost imperceptibly, the tide licks at, kisses, then barely spills across the top step’s foot-worn, weed-velveted lip in slippery caravans, dust-laden rivulets. So another day’s cargo of terrestrial grit enriches their scuttled realm, and they make haste, like drunken pirates in a silent film, erratically but steadfastly, to claim it.
About this Poem
"On a visit to Venice a few summers ago, I happened upon a historical marker noting that Joseph Brodsky had lived for a time in a certain palazzo. Brodsky had been my teacher at Columbia back in the 1980s, and the image of him smoking his cigarette with Russian intensity amidst Venice’s shopworn beauty seemed at first paradoxical, and then strangely logical. And so I simply imagined him into being, watching the lagoon crabs go about their business. Given his rigorous poetics, it seemed impossible to write a poem about Brodsky without some formal component, and haphazard rhyme was the least I could do. Let me add, as a postscript, that conceiving this poem brought to my attention Brodsky’s own memoir of Venice, Watermark, a slender, lyrical, deeply delightful book."
Campbell McGrath is the author of ten collections of poetry, including XX: Poems for the Twentieth Century, In The Kingdom of the Sea Monkeys, Shannon, and Seven Notebooks. His third book, Spring Comes to Chicago, won the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award.
Date Published: 2014-03-05
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/joseph-brodsky-venice-1981