I entered the cage instead of a wild beast,

Burned out my term and moniker by nail in barrack,

lived by the sea side and played the roulette,

had dinner, hell knows with whom, in a frock coat.

From the height of a glacier I watched half of the world,

three times was drowning and twice was ripped.

Left the country in which I was nursed.

A city can be made out of those who me had forgotten.

I wandered the steppes which remembered the yelling Hun,

wore the things that again were coming in fashion,

sowed the rye, covered barn with a black tar paper,

and I did not drink only dry water.

I let in my dreams the convoy’s blued eye,

guzzled the bread of exile leaving no crusts.

Allowed my chords all sounds and even the howling;

broke into whisper. Now I am forty.

What to say about my life? It turned out to be a long way.

Only with the grief I feel solidarity.

But as long as my mouth is not stuffed with clay,

it will utter only gratitude with all my ability.

 Joseph Brodsky (1980, 24th of May)