When Joseph Brodsky emigrated to the United States in 1972 as an involuntary exile from the Soviet Union, he probably believed that he’d see his parents again, that political circumstances would inevitably change. Moreover, it is only natural to believe that a forced "political" separation from one’s parents could not last for long. His parents spent their final years hoping against hope that they’d see their beloved son one more time—a death wish before dying. But that faithful dream never materialized. "I know," writes Brodsky, "that one shouldn’t equate the state with language but it was in Russian that two old people, shuffling through numerous state chancelleries and ministries in the hope of obtaining a permit to go abroad for a visit to see their only son before they died, were told repeatedly, for twelve years in a row, that the state considers such a visit ‘unpurposeful’…" Letters were mostly forbidden, but Brodsky was allowed to call his parents every week. Phone calls were monitored. Brodsky tells us that they learned how to speak "euphemistically."

"In a Room and a Half" is Brodsky’s last attempt to join his parents. Brodsky’s father was a professional photographer and journalist. Something of the art of photography must have been passed on to his son. This beautiful narrative was as close as Brodsky could come to presenting a family album of photographic "takes" or "frames" which emerge in the poet’s memory from his childhood days. There are forty-five photos that make up "In a Room and a Half."

You cannot possibly stand outside of this memoir as a "detached witness" once you begin to read it. It is as if you were sitting late into the night with Brodsky—the last log is burning out and he begins to tell you about something that is, under ordinary circumstances, a private and solitary affair of the heart. In this sense, we feel privileged, and we want him to go on—to keep turning the pages of his lost youth, to share whatever sacred memories he has left to share about his life with his parents. It is indeed an act of defiance that is anything but sentimental. And yet, who can read this eulogy without feeling their heart drop to the floor?

We listen, and, through Brodsky’s genius, enter into these forty-five narrative photographs. We can see and touch the China that his mother saved for his wedding. We hear the sounds of a faucet, the odors from the kitchen. We see the quiet, grey light of this tiny space where father, mother and son lived out their daily activities. We walk around the room with Brodsky as he tells us about the story of his parents’ cherished bed. We see a feeble table with a white, luminous tablecloth under the care of his mother’s hands. We see the deep blue of his father’s uniform and we reach out to touch those bright yellow buttons that remind the boy of an illuminated avenue. It is all so vividly real.

Joseph Brodsky is dead now—and there is nothing that can ever separate this family again.

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"In a Room and a Half" is a bit too lengthy for online reading in my opinion. This is where the editor of ForPoetry.com must admit that there are some works of literature that must be read in print. I don’t think I need to explain that point. And so, what I will do is present several memorable photos from his eulogy to his parents and his native city. If you haven’t read Joseph Brodsky’s LESS THAN ONE – now is your chance to purchase this book. I highly recommend it.

Joseph Brodsky (1940-96) was born in Leningrad and emigrated to the United States in 1972 as an involuntary exile from the Soviet Union. His other books include A Part of Speech, To Urania, and So Forth, collections of poetry; a second collection of essays, On Grief and Reason; Watermark, a long essay on Venice; and the play Marbles. He lived in New York and South Hadley, Massachusetts, and was the Andrew Mellon Profesor at Mount Holyoke College.

Joseph Brodsky was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1987 and served as Poet Laureate of the United States in 1991 and 1992.