https://mariakonnikova.substack.com/p/gratitude-despite-the-odds [https] The Leap SubscribeSign in Share this post [https] The Leap The Leap Gratitude despite the odds Copy link Facebook Email Notes More Gratitude despite the odds Joseph Brodsky, on being grateful [https] Maria Konnikova Nov 27, 2024 19 Share this post [https] The Leap The Leap Gratitude despite the odds Copy link Facebook Email Notes More 7 1 Share Shortly after he turned forty, Joseph Brodsky wrote a poem to commemorate the occasion: "May 24, 1980," in its English translation; in Russian, with just its opening line as a title, "Ia vkhodil vmesto dikogo zveria v kletku," or, "I walked into the cage instead of the wild beast."1 As much as I love writing about psychology and decision making, I also love using this space to introduce people to my favorite poems, my favorite poets, my favorite literary moments. And Thanksgiving week seems the perfect time for this interlude. The Leap is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. [ ] Subscribe [https] On the left, the English translation of "May 24, 1980," and on the right, the Russian original. In 1964, when he was only 24, Brodsky was sentenced to five years in a hard labor camp for "social parasitism" - a made-up charge levied against those who were "parasites" on society. Why was he being arrested, he dared to wonder aloud, during his trial? [https] An excerpt from Brodsky's trial transcript, taken and smuggled out at great risk by Frida Vigdorova, a journalist who was one of his biggest defenders. The court had no real answer. The official excuse was that he wasn't physically toiling away at some occupation, as every able-bodied citizen must. But unofficially, it was clear that it's what, precisely, he was doing with his time that was at issue. Brodsky was writing poetry--and poetry that was not particularly Soviet in nature. His words, his thoughts, his very being were a danger to the Soviet regime. Words have power. And his poetry was a weapon. Because it was as much a part of him as his humanity--"Who ranked me as a member of the human race?"--they couldn't well stop him from being what he was. But they could stop him from being, full stop. [https] Because so many risked their own wellbeing to intercede on his behalf (none more so than another one of my favorite poets and one of Brodsky's leading benefactors, Anna Akhmatova), Brodsky was released after only eighteen months.2 That wasn't before he had been confined to a mental hospital and forced to labor in Archangelsk. When he was released, his poetry was still banned--and eventually, he himself was exiled. He would never again enter the Soviet Union. May 24, 1980 takes us through Brodsky's trials--or a poetic version of them. Being caged like a beast. Gambling with the devil. Drowning and being torn to pieces (metaphorically speaking, of course). Surviving exile from his native country. Being forgotten. But despite it all, surviving. And not only surviving, but being eternally grateful for the survival. Yet until brown clay has been rammed down my larynx, only gratitude will be gushing from it. No poka mne rot ne zabili glinoi, iz nego razdavat'sia budet lish' blagodarnost'. I think those are two of the most powerful lines ever written. The call for gratitude until the very end, despite everything, until your mouth has been stuffed with clay and you can breathe no more. It's a hard message to remember, sometimes. Brodsky, too, struggled to remind himself of his gratitude. "You only remember bad things--you pay attention to them because they have more to do with you than your work," he once told an interviewer. He was often depressed. Often angry. Often irascible and famously difficult. But I'd like to think that, deep down, he was also always grateful. When I was a young child--I'm not sure how old, eight or nine, maybe--Joseph Brodsky came to Boston, where I grew up, to give a reading. My mom was able to finagle us some tickets. And even though I was way too young to appreciate what I'd be seeing, I was beyond excited. I may not have understood Brodsky's poetry, but I loved how it sounded. And I sensed that I was hearing greatness. And then, the morning of the reading, I got sick. Very sick. Like fever-and-cough-and-can't-get-out-of-bed level sick. And so one of my siblings got my ticket, and I had to stay home. Shortly after, Brodsky was dead--far too young, as far too many Soviet poets died--and I'd never again have the chance to hear his voice in person. To this day, that ill-timed flu is one of my biggest regrets in life. Something totally outside of my control, and yet something I somehow feel I could have changed if I'd only tried hard enough. I want you to listen to Brodsky reading his fortieth birthday poem. Especially in Russian. (The first clip, above, has both languages but no video; the second, below, is Russian only, but with a video recording.) Nadezhda Mandelstam, the widow of Osip Mandelstam,3 once called Brodsky's voice a "remarkable instrument." Even if you don't understand a word of Russian, it is worth giving yourself up to the music. I, for one, remain eternally grateful. That Brodsky wrote his poetry, despite everything. That someone recorded and preserved his readings. And that even though I was too sick to meet him in person, that I can experience him, his words, his cadences, and his gratitude despite the unbelievable hand he was dealt, today, almost thirty years after his death. Happy Thanksgiving. The Leap is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber. [ ] Subscribe 1 That's my literal translation. You will see that Brodsky made a different poetic choice. 2 By the time of his release, Frida Vigdorova had died of cancer, but she did make sure the trial transcript made it to the West. 3 Mandelstam's five year hard labor sentence wasn't nearly as lucky as Brodsky's. He died in 1939, en route to the Siberian gulag, only seven years after his own fortieth birthday. 19 Share this post [https] The Leap The Leap Gratitude despite the odds Copy link Facebook Email Notes More 7 1 Share Discussion about this post Comments Restacks [https] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [https] Alexis Ludwig 7d Liked by Maria Konnikova Thanks for posting. Have always loved Brodsky, and considered him one of the greatest writers of English (I don't speak Russian), bringing the kind of depth and range to the language that only non-native writers can bring. Along the same lines as Nabokov and Conrad. Love his In Praise of Boredom essay/commencement in particular. Agree that the Russian version intoned by the poet himself is spellbinding. Happy thanksgiving. Expand full comment Reply Share 1 reply by Maria Konnikova [https] Michael Andreen 7d Liked by Maria Konnikova I did not know I needed to read this poem but the words quenched a thirst my spirit did not know it had. I did see Brodsky perform his poetry, about 1977 in Eugene, Oregon, at the University. He spoke the Russian, and I've never see other poets' bodies participate in the poetry the way his did. He embodied passion and belief in the power of his art. I was close enough and the light fell so that I could see his saliva explode from his mouth. I can only compare it to the exertion of horses that I have seen running. I mention this not to make your regret deeper but to let you know how it was for someone who had the good fortune to see Brodsky. Gratitude is powerful. It is elusive. Without it we're subject to despondency and despair. So you sharing Brodsky's poem and your love for it brings gratitude into my heart. Thank you. Expand full comment Reply Share 1 reply by Maria Konnikova 5 more comments... Top Latest Discussions No posts Ready for more? [ ] Subscribe (c) 2024 Maria Konnikova Privacy [?] Terms [?] Collection notice Start WritingGet the app Substack is the home for great culture Share Copy link Facebook Email Notes More This site requires JavaScript to run correctly. Please turn on JavaScript or unblock scripts