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Letter to an Archaeologist

Citizen, enemy, mama's boy, sucker, uttergarbage, panhandler, swine, refujew, verrucht;a scalp so often scalded with boiling waterthat the puny brain feels completely cooked.

Yes, we have dwelt here: in this concrete, brick, woodenrubble which you now arrive to sift.

All our wires were crossed, barbed, tangled, or interwoven.

Also: we didn't love our women, but they conceived.

Sharp is the sound of pickax that hurts dead iron;still, it's gentler than what we've been told or have said ourselves.

Stranger! move carefully through our carrion:what seems carrion to you is freedom to our cells.

Leave our names alone.

Don't reconstruct those vowels,consonants, and so forth: they won't resemble larksbut a demented bloodhound whose maw devours its own traces, feces, and barks, and barks.1983, translated by the author.

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Joseph Brodsky

Iosif Aleksandrovich Brodsky (/ˈbrɒdski/; Russian: Ио́сиф Алекса́ндрович Бро́дский [ɪˈosʲɪf ɐlʲɪˈksandrəvʲɪtɕ ˈbrotskʲɪj] (About this soundliste…

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