Joseph Brodsky, poet, thinker, and essayist, rarely dedicated explicit odes to women. His lyrics about the female form are more like reflections on time, memory, and loneliness, seen through the prism of the female figure. In Brodsky's poems, women appear at times as a symbol of lost harmony, at times as a chance witness to existence, at times as the embodiment of an eternal mystery. His poems about women are distinguished by intellectual rigor, philosophical depth, and his characteristic irony, often veering toward melancholy. They are not about love in the conventional sense, but rather about the complexity of human relationships and the inevitability of separation.
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Letter to a tourist
Yesterday in Venice, by the bridge, you passed by without saying a word. And now, like an empty line, that head lingers in my memory. I can't tell where from or where, or why you came at all. Only the water, as always, effortlessly reflected everything around itself. And now, in this empty room, I write to you, as if by command. Don't look for me. I'm not myself. And Venice is just a memory.
Twenty Sonnets to Mary Stuart (excerpt)
What good is a crown, velvet, and gold, When in your heart there's only cold and melancholy? You wander like a shadow in this darkness, And your fate is just a bitter line. Men are just toys in your hands, And power is just an illusion, an empty deception. And in the mirror there's only a reflection of days gone by, And ahead is only an inevitable scar.
Harbor. Return
She stood at the pier, in a worn coat, slightly sad. And the wind played with her hair, as if saying something. She didn't care who I was, where I came from, or where I was going. She looked through me, at the sea, at the empty water. And in that gaze there was silence, and in that silence there was the whole world. She was like an eternal wave, whispering of days gone by.
Night at the Museum
In the dim halls, among the statues, she wandered like a ghost, alone. And in her eyes—a reflection of bygone eras, and an eternal, quiet sadness. She felt cramped in this world of things, she longed for freedom, space, light. But the night held the secrets of days past, and in this secret—her fate was sung.
Autumn Etude
Rain fell outside, and the room was dark. She sat leafing through a book. And in this solitude was an echo of longing for the summer that was flying away. She didn't care that outside the window the leaves were swirling in a slow fall. She lived in her own, separate dream, in which there was neither pain nor oblivion.
Conversation with a stranger
“Where are you from?” she asked me, with a light, slightly ironic smile. “I come from another time,” I replied, “From a world full of sorrow and granite.” “And what are you looking for?” she asked again, “In this city, strange and cold?” “I’m looking for a lost paradise,” I said, “And a woman who will be my own.”.
Old photo
In a yellowed photograph – she is, young, laughing, alive. And in this photograph – spring, And in this spring – hope, never fading. But time passed, and everything changed, And in her eyes – a shadow appeared. And now – she is no longer the same, But only a memory, a quiet day.
History lesson
She spoke of wars, of kings, of battles and passions. And in her voice there was pain, of those who fell in bloody days. She felt sorry for all these dead, and for all who would suffer after them. And in this lesson there is an echo of centuries, and in this echo there is a search for destiny.
Winter morning
Snow was falling outside, and the room was warm. She woke up, stretching sweetly. And in this morning, something froze, as if time had suddenly stopped. She felt good in this quiet sleep, she didn't want to think about the future. She lived in her own, separate day, in which there was neither evil nor a sense of boredom.
Meeting in the park
She sat on a bench alone, in the shade of trees, old and mighty. And in this park – silence, and in this silence – a persistent sadness. She didn’t care who passed by, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She lived in her own separate world, in which there was neither pain nor love.
The Lost Pendant
A forgotten pendant glistens on the pavement, silver, with a fading pattern. As if someone's life, like a quiet dream, had soon crumbled into tiny fragments. She probably searched for it for a long time, in despair, with hope in her eyes. But time passed, and her pain faded, and the pendant remained in dusty tears.
Echo of the past
In the old letter—her familiar handwriting, words of love written once upon a time. And in this letter—an echo of silence, and in this silence—immeasurable sadness. It was painful for her to remember him, those days gone forever. But the memory lives on, and in the heart lives the love that was so pure and sweet.
Reflection in the water
Her face floats in the river water, blurred like a dream, indistinct and pale. And in this reflection, something calls, to forgotten days, to unbearable, blind love. She was afraid to look into this depth, where secrets and deceptions are hidden. But she couldn't look away, and in that gaze – longing and hurricanes.
White Dance
In a white dress, like a snowbird, she danced in an empty hall. And in this dance – boundless sadness, and in this sadness – fate, as in a trap. She didn’t care who was looking at her, she only wanted to express her pain. She danced as if in a forgotten dream, and in this dream – a lost role.
Evening walk
Along the embankment, in the evening twilight, she walked, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. And in this loneliness there was something otherworldly, and in this otherworldliness—a bitter sadness. She didn't care where she went, she didn't want to talk to anyone. She lived in her own separate world, in which there was neither joy nor life.