Joseph Brodsky turns 85

 Born May 24, 1940 – 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅, 𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅, 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅.

This week, we honor the birthday of one of the 20th century’s most clear-eyed voices — Joseph Brodsky, poet of exile, of dust, of death, of astonishing clarity. He would have been 85.

In “Nature Morte,” Brodsky does not romanticize death or sidestep the absurdity of human symbols. Instead, he lets things — broken, brown, battered — speak for themselves. And in that stillness, something else emerges.

There is no scream, no spectacle. Just the recognition — that death arrives wearing your gaze.

Revisit the full poem at the link below or simply sit with this fragment. Stillness can speak.

🔗 Nature Morte (J. Brodsky)