Hello everybody. As promised a reading of a poem from Joseph Brodsky’s A part of Speech. A bit challenging but perhaps you can find it and read it on your own. Take care of yourselves, drink plenty of water and keep a good frame of mind.
Ready for more?
Hello Patti, I just read this poem for the first time while sitting in the middle of the field in England, I’m a foreigner in town for work. I also reread the last section of the poem, but mainly because the closing line was so beautiful. I wonder what the source material for this poem is? Is it actual letters? I have no idea I just started reading Brodsky, and I also basically just started reading poetry for the first time in my adult life with him. I really enjoy his essays, they are beautiful.
Thank you Patti !!
Thank you for the reluctant goodbyes. When I feel adridt/off-kilter/uncertain, I come here to listen to your voice. It’s like church, if church were healing.
Oh! How wonderful you are! Thank you for sharing this lovely video. I’m Karen from Ireland and just came across your work on Substack. Thank you for all you have done, are doing and will do. I love reading and listening to people read too! And yours was especially moving. Lots of peace, love and light to you. God Bless!☘️✨☘️
How many books do you take when you travel, Patti? I take at least 3 books because I like to keep my options open
Thank you for the reading. Please thank Cairo for the cameo appearance.
Sweet memory of Oscar night with mom. It's the little things that stay with us, isn't it? My mom introduced me to Hollywood musicals.
Love the reading & the tee shirt!! I normally avoid clothing that 'advertise' but I love wearing my concert tees...&: People have the Power!!
Thank you, Patti!! I didn't know this poem. I will read it again. XO
I have such good memories of Oscar night with my mom too. All the glamour. Fun to chat about the dresses and such.
This was lovely. A poem l hadn’t heard before, l don’t know why but the absence of rice but so much rice paper resonates with me and l loved the laundry and T-shirt story, really made me chuckle.
Cairo was a beautiful interruption, l have a feeling she didn’t enjoy the poem so much or maybe it was time to eat………
That line resonates with me too
Thats great Patti - enjoy all your talks on here Susan
Ohhh, I love you Patti! Your “digression made me smile ear to ear! Telling us about your laundry...
Oh the humanity 🫶🏼🙏🏼🙌🏼
What I see here is you remaining a centre of peace against the chaotic sirens in the back ground. Mischief from Ciaro & beautiful lilting words spoken.
This from a blog by Richard Drayton:
Things you want to think about
"... IT IS IN VAIN THAT NERO PROSPERS, FOR TACITUS IS ALREADY BORN IN THE EMPIRE"
Derek Walcott translating Joseph Brodsky
The translated poem is a sacred thing. It is a crossroads where one person has chosen to listen, with all the resources of their mind and heart, to something which someone else has given all of their capacities for understanding, truthfulness, communication, and pleasurable play. At its best, it is the most beautiful kind of self-full selflessness: one’s gifts become the medium through someone else’s gifts are born again in another community of symbols. And how much more intense is this act of generous anansi web weaving, when it reaches in to a poem which itself is in a kind of translatory homage to the word aesthetics of another language community? The mediator is mediated, and mediated again, in one unbroken transcultural gift-giving ritual. That is why I love so much Derek Walcott’s 1977 translation of Joseph Brodsky’s *Letters from the Ming Dynasty* – the Caribbean (English) poet opening his gifts to the Russian poet who opens his gifts to the Tang dynasty Taoist poetic aesthetic, in order to chant down Babylon.
It is an urgently political poem, and the first steep of its meanings yields a brew which tastes only of loss and corruption. But its politics are ordered in poetic figures which insist on the present as the theatre of experience and of moral agency, and that the space of loss from one’s native home, the predicament of exile, measured in time (years) and distance (li), is a space where suffering opens up a hidden redemptive power, for the honesty of the gaze which discovers “this pull in one direction only/ has made
me something elongated, like a horse’s head” contains within it a rebalancing of the direction of that head, an implicit moment, in the physics sense of movement, towards the restoration of balance, which begins in daring to raise the moral voice, to chant down Babylon.
You got to love too the exquisite Walcott ear for sound play, just check out the breaking wave of ‘ess’-es and the percussive r-ss in that couplet that ends the first stanza:
“ is brushed onto scented rice paper given me by the Empress.
Lately there is no rice but the flow of rice paper is endless.”
It is endless indeed, brother Derek, and yet exquisitely contained, as in a Ming vase.
Letters from the Ming Dynasty
i
Soon it will be thirteen years since the nightingale
fluttered out of its cage and vanished. and, at nightfall,
the Emperor washes down his medicine with the blood
of another tailor, then, propped on silk pillows, turns on a jeweled bird
that lulls him with its level, identical song.
It’s this sort of anniversary, odd-numbered, wrong,
that we celebrate these days in our “Land-under-Heaven."
The special mirror that smooths wrinkles even
costs more every year. Our small garden is choked with weeds.
The sky, too, is pierced by spires like pins in the shoulder blades
of someone so sick that his back is all we’re allowed to see,
and whenever I talk about astronomy
to the Emperor’s son, he begins to joke…
This letter to you, Beloved, from your Wild Duck
is brushed onto scented rice paper given me by the Empress.
Lately there is no rice but the flow of rice paper is endless.
ii
"A thousand-li-long road starts with the first step,” as
the proverb goes. Pity the road home does
not depend on that same step. It exceeds ten times
a thousand li, especially counting from zeros.
One thousand li, two thousand li–
a thousand means “Thou shalt not ever see
thy native place.” And the meaninglessness, like a plague,
leaps from words onto numbers, onto zeros especially.
Wind blows us westward like the yellow tares
from a dried pod, there where the Wall towers.
Against it man’s figure is ugly and stiff as a frightening hieroglyph,
as any illegible scripture at which one stares.
this pull in one direction only has made
me something elongated, like a horse’s head,
and all the body should do is spent by its shadow
rustling across the wild barley’s withered blade.Derek Walcott
Thank you so much for this response, so interesting to consider the effects a good translator has on our enjoyment of the poems elixir .
Thank you, this is so interesting, I will read and contemplate it tonight.
Haha, Cairo was trying to get your attention and as you remained focus on reading she then turned off Comments while trying to stop it all ;-)
i love listening to you read. and your kitty cat too!
Love to see your t-shirt! :) I looked up the poem and read it, as suggested. Still scratching my head but I did find this: He says about it somewhere, "I was trying to combine two things, Beckett and Mozart," maybe akin to two things he describes elsewhere as grief and reason.
Rest well Patti.
Actually fun to listen to when you digress! Keep well! Thank you for the reading.
thanks to a commenter below the poem you read makes more sense now especially the wildness of the imagination being suffocated which certainly didn't/hasn't happen in the movie "Babylon" which i watched in lieu of but also in homage maybe to the Oscars. Disorienting, even harrowing in its scope for sure and almost a relief to see clips of Jamie Lee Curtis et. al. on Youtube this morning washing away the darker bits of that film which while mostly a shotgun misfire spread its load out with searching purpose somehow.....
I thought you read it just perfectly. And you were in the zone, so that when your Cairo moved about and peered at you curiously, you didn't falter. Thank you. Mesmeric. x
Thank you Patti and Cairo, you are both such a welcoming part of my day....X
Thanks for this reading! Cairo is so precious. He wants "Mommy's" attention! I always watched the Oscars with my mom too and last nite my daughter was here and we watched together! Disappointed that Angela Bassett did not receive the award, though. Enjoy your Monday!
That was a lovely reading, and I will add this book to my "To Be Acquired" list, which grows and grows with such satisfaction. Cairo was listening to your every word, and then, being a kitty, she had to get busy doing kitty things. She's adorable! You remind me of my sister when it comes to saying good-bye, she tends to linger, and that's sweet. Thank you, Patti!
Thank you Patti, it's a challenging poem, but you made it more accessible.
Thank you for reading Patti. I find the same, sometimes you just can’t get a way into book easily. Happened to me lots before even with books that I really wanted to read.
Very excited today because I saw you’re playing a show with your band near where my parents live in the summer! Making plans now :-)
Dear Patti,
I’m so moved by your reading of this, and apologize for not having been able to reply before now. I haven’t slept because working and have to be up soon for a visit from a nurse, so I’ll try to get these thoughts out, hoping they’re clear and with apologies if not.
I think I understand why Brodsky was hard for you to find your way into despite Sontag’s recommendation of him to you. I also have had trouble getting into Brodsky.
To be brief (which in this instance means being reductionist, which I hate), Brodsky, like Auden, who so admired him, was a poet of ideas. Among his great subjects was language (hence, the title of the volume, “A Part of Speech”) and the condition of exile, a state Brodsky occupied permanently, having been a political dissident. In general, I tend to be drawn not toward poems of ideas, but of experiences, and I think your taste runs similarly.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you and I are both drawn to “Letters from the Ming Dynasty,” in which the speaker addresses his loved one not ironically but not without irony. The speech of the poem is suffused with the tension between the way the opulence of the Dynasty (with its “special mirror that smooths wrinkles even”) warps the senses and hobbles the possibility of artistic and expressive freedom and the glimmer of hope that resides in what’s considered low (the small garden choked with weeds; the sky, pierced by spires).
At the end of the first section, we understand that the writer of the letter (who is the speaker of the poem) known to his beloved as “Wild Duck” is no longer wild because this letter (which is the poem) is not etched or written or inscribed, but “brushed” -- almost a crippling of a poem to be brushed -- onto “scented rice paper” not found or made, not troubled into being as poems should be, but “given” to the writer by the Empress. So not free, not at liberty, as all poems, if they are to live, must be.
The proof that the trappings of luxury drain the wildness, tame the Wild Duck, is that “there is no rice but the flow of rice paper (scented by the Empress) is endless.”
The poem begins with the thing that pulls us in, the fact that it’s been thirteen years since the nightingale -- that symbol of the power that begets poetry, the wildness that holds mystery -- “fluttered out of its cage and vanished.” It is in that vanishing that the poem holds its desolation, but also its hope. The nightingale escapes the fate of poems brushed into scented rice paper or the narrowness of a place where whenever the Wild Duck talks about astronomy (the vastness, the mystery) “the Emperor’s son begins to joke . . . “
The Ming Dynasty in many ways established a police state, where spying was carried out in order to control dissent from enemies. Brodsky was oppressed by a modern version of such a state in which the wild imagination is always in danger of being suffocated.
In the second part of the poem, the speaker -- not without irony -- cites the proverb about the thousand-li long road” starting with the first step -- “as the proverb goes,” and then, hollowly, “Pity the road home does/ not depend on that same step.” With a sense of futility, he says, “It exceeds ten times a thousand-li,” and again, almost ironically, “especially counting from zeros.” This drives a major theme in Brodsky (who never returned to Russia after leaving).
One thousand li, two thousand li--
a thousand means "Thou shalt not ever see
thy native place."
It is harrowing that “the meaninglessness, like a plague,/ leaps from words onto numbers, onto zeros especially.” In this landscape, what is “Wild” is no human (the once Wild Duck writer) since the human figure is “ugly and stiff like a frightening hieroglyph” (we don’t usually think of hieroglyphs as frightening). What’s wildly frightening is the illegibility of the scripture at which one stares. When there is no longer the wildness of legibility - when writing has been tamed into nothing more threatening than a scent on rice paper -- the rice paper flowing, but offering nothing nutritious — what’s frightening is the “illegible scripture at which one stares.” There is no battle cry; the poet, lacking communicable language, does not have the power.
Patti, I think that what you thought you read wrong was the line that says:
“this pull in one direction only has made”
and I think it’s because you first read it as “this pull in one direction only” -- as if the ONLY thing that the pull in one direction has done, as in “it’s merely done this” when what he means us to glean (no doubt it’s deliberately written -- translated -- to be easily deceiving) is that the pull in ONLY one direction (so not wild or free but tamed by the repressive Dynasty) is that “the one direction only” is a contortion, a pull away from wildness, toward submission, the illegibility of the poet, the songlessness of the singer, which has transformed the once wild speaker, “made/ me” (as in tamed and changed me) into:
something elongated, like a horse's head,
and all the body should do is spent by its shadow
rustling across the wild barley's withered blade.
This is a horse that’s been broken, a poet that’s been rendered illegible, a singer without sound. The only consolation, the hope of the poem, is what we were told at the start:
“Soon it it will be thirteen years since the nightingale
fluttered out of its cage and vanished.”
The hope is that the nightingale that vanished is somewhere singing.
Thank you for thinking of me, thank you for your never illegible singing, your ever visible unvanishing.
Always, and with warmth to all,
Robin
Thank you, Robin for helping me with the poem. I still feel the horses head is peculiar but wasn't it Ming era that had horse sculpture?
This is so lovely. Thank you Patti. I feel like I will sleep well tonight just hearing your voice and seeing yourself and Cairo. Such a sweet moment spent here.
Wow sounds like our mums are in movie star heaven ! Mine knew what they were all up to, what diets they were on and health procedures having and managed to record tons of black and white films on VHS all night whilst asleep. The “golden age of Hollywood not to be underestimated. xx
Thank you Patti as always, love to here you read whatever it is, this is an excellent choice & seems Cairo feels the same 🤗😽bless you both. ❤️🌸
I think what people love about Patti is everything Xxo
incredibly, especially with all her loves, losses and living - Patti is essential in this world of ours.
So well said, would love a coffee and conversation with Patti, an evolving human to this day :)
Thank you.
Yes: keeping a good frame of mind is essential.
Warm regards from Austria - Stephanie
well said!
I liked the poem,
the imagery and
the rhythm
of your voice reading
it,
and Cairo coming in and out
and the flick of his tail.
It's so wonderful to be
read
to.
thank you.
Poet, artist, punk, mum, traveller, visionary - Patti is the lot!
a sweet memory- when i watch the Oscar’s it’s because of my mum too. 💜
Thanks for the reading. I watched the Oscars tonight. I can't say it was the best use of my time, but I worked all day sitting in front of the work computer. I deserved a couple hours of entertainment. Looks like the Everywhere All At Once movie is something to check out.
My health is failing and I feel my days winding down. My bucket list was never a very long one; I was content in my life. But seeing Ireland and you live were the top 2. I will likely never manage either, but these sessions have brought me such profound joy. Thank you incredibly for your generosity of self.
lovely words Heidi, be well.
How tender the velvet of your heavy drape upon my frizzled mass
Thanks Patti, I will read this book. I loved the poem. Say hello to Cairo and please, come back soon to London with your amazing band.
Thanks, Patti, I really enjoyed your reading . . . and I think Cairo did too! So nice hearing about your memories of watching the Oscars with your mother, and keeping the tradition in her honor. Wishing you a good night.
Wonderful Brodsky choice, Patti. It reminds me that, if I ever get on an airplane again, it will be to visit Taiwan and the National Museum there, which houses the world's greatest collection of Chinese art. Just a short trip, for the museum and maybe for the food, before it all disappears.
You Reading out loud is super. Funny you mentioned how some poems are better on paper - English wasn’t my first language growing up, so I am a slow reader because I subvocally articulate everything I read - especially poems. My own head reads out loud to me.
How wonderful! Reading aloud is the best way one can read.
This was a lovely reading before I take my slumber. Cairo was so cute as she sat listening to you. Sweet dreams Patti and thank you. ❤️
Patti I had to laugh. Before you mentioned the t-shirt, I was looking at you and listening and then asked myself "is she wearing a Patti Smith t-shirt?" Then you mentioned it! Thanks for the reading and I'm glad you finally got into the book!
Your visits are welcome on your best and worst days. Rereading parts of Just Kids in the middle of the night. You and Sam Shepherd. It gave me energy and hope. A million thanks.
Don’t like to say good bye either. Enjoy your Oscar night as much as I enjoy your reading to us. Cairo was nice to see too. *barley in the poem reminds me of my ma’s barley soup. Nice touch for me alone but no less appreciated 🥰
Second reading was extra nice. Thank you
she reads like a king and queen does our Patti :)
Take care and stumble away. Thankyou for the reading needed this to slow down the nervous breakdown love hearing your little updates keeps joy creating down under
Keep safe
☕🌈🙃
Hey, the comments ARE on and working Patti 👌🙋♀️
Thank you for sharing Patti, I hope jet lag passes soon. That's lovely that you watch the Oscars in honor of your Mother; it's the small things that keep them in our hearts and minds. Gx
Thank you Patti, as always we love your ‘visits’ and your reading. For some reason I’m interested in this year’s awards .. I don’t know why because I didn’t see too many movies but I really liked Elvis and I saw that 3 times! I didn’t get into Elvis and his music the first time around, but in this movie I got a sense of the man and his beautiful voice also the kind person that he was. His life was a roller coaster and I felt the sadness he endured. It was heart wrenching how his life eventually turned out, he was trapped in Las Vegas!! That’d be my idea of hell on earth🙃😯
I love the lion on the cover. Reminds me of one of my favorite movies, “ A Lion in Winter”. Was out at my sisters without phone, but want to thank you for the poem that I will listen to again. And again. I love your shirt, I have a few like it myself. Please stay well. See ya soon, I hope. 😎🐎☮️
My parents were also enamored with movie stars and famous singers too like Peggy Lee and Mario Lanza. And it's nice to say the words out loud sometimes. And Cairo is ready for sup sup.
I've been trying to find a way into this poem, or find a way to let it into me, since Robin printed it and provided a link to Brodsky reading it himself but it just didn't click. I will listen to your reading a few more times because art is worth the effort. Thanks for following up with this even though you're still jet-lagged.
Every year I swear I won't watch the Oscars and every year I do. It's a guilty pleaure. Pass the popcorn.
I’m glad you watched the Oscars, Jim. A guilty pleasure can be a very good thing. I hope what I’ve written above (or below; wherever it is) helps you find your way into the poem. What I say about Patti’s difficulty with Brodsky - and my own - likely applies to you too.
As ever,
Robin
Robin:
I just read your insights on the poem twice and then returned to the poem, itself, two more times before relistening to Patti's recitation. I think the poem is slowly revealing itself to me. Or I'm understanding it better thanks to your note. Sometimes I find that it just takes time to appreciate something that's right in front of me. When I was young, I disliked the Grateful Dead. It wasn't until my 50s that I finally heard them with fresh ears and, now, I can't imagine going through a week without spending, at least, a day with them. Maybe it will be the same with Brodsky. There's certainly more there than met my eye. Thanks, Robin. You're a great teacher.
All the best,
Jim
Dear Jim,
I’m so happy that you took the time to go through the poem again. I don’t think any poem yields its secrets at first blush. One can be instantly taken by the sound, language, or images, but not yet have worked out the way a poem fits together. That takes time and patience and a willingness to be lost, as in a mystery.
I completely agree that it takes time, just as one needs to take time to get close to a painting or a piece of music. All of the senses should be open, and the mind open too.
How lovely that you came to the Grateful Dead in your 50s. Thank you for telling me and again, thank you for taking the time with the poem.
With warmth, as ever,
Robin
Thank you for sharing from Joseph Brodsky, truly one of the greats of Russian poetry. Also love his essays. I find Brodsky's poetry difficult but well worth the time to sit with and revisit and allow it to find a place to hang out inside of oneself.
Thanks Patti for reading✨it’s always appreciated.❤️ What’s your favorite movie this Oscar season?
I liked Corsage but it wasn't nominated. And EO....
Thank You Patti!
✌️🌏🤞 well that was a treat dear patti...thank you like the joy of hollyhocks in a tall wind....
Thanks for the read! Enjoy the Oscars. What a nice memory to have of something you and your mom did together! I will try again to read some thing of his; I, too, have not been able to grab onto it, so to speak.