Volume 39, Number 11 · June 11, 1992
In the Light of Venice
By Joseph Brodsky
The winter light in this city! It has the extraordinary property of enhancing your eye's power of resolution to the point of microscopic precision—the pupil humbles any Hasselblad lens and develops your subsequent memories to National Geographic sharpness. The sky is brisk blue, the sun, escaping its golden likeness beneath the foot of San Giorgio, sashays over the countless fish scales of the lagoon's lapping ripples; behind you, under the colonnades of the Palazzo Ducale, a bunch of stocky fellows in fur coats are revving up Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, just for you, slumped in your white chair and squinting at the pigeons' maddening gambits on the chessboard of a vast piazza. The espresso at your cup's bottom is the only small black dot in, you feel, a miles-long radius.
Feature, 3573 words
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