...and when "the future" is uttered, swarms of mice <br />rush out of the Russian language and gnaw a piece <br />of ripened memory which is twice <br />as hole-ridden as real cheese. <br />After all these years it hardly matters who <br />or what stands in the corner, hidden by heavy drapes, <br />and your mind resounds not with a seraphic "doh", <br />only their rustle. Life, that no one dares <br />to appraise, like that gift horse's mouth, <br />bares its teeth in a grin at each <br />encounter. What gets left of a man amounts <br />to a part. To his spoken part. To a part of speech. <br /> <br /> <br />Translated by Author <br /> <br />Anonymous submission.<br /><br />Joseph Brodsky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/part-of-speech/
