Born in St. Louis, Missouri in 1941, Brodsky has writing degrees from Yale University, Washington University and San Francisco State University. He has taught creative writing and since 1987 devoted himself to writing poetry. Author of fifty-five books of poetry and twenty-three volumes of prose, Brodsky has also written books on William Faulkner and seven books of short fiction. His poems and essays have appeared in Harper’s, The Faulkner Review, Southern Review, Texas Quarterly and the National Forum among other publications. His work also has been included in five editions of the Anthology of Magazine Verse and Yearbook of American Poetry.
An argentiferous mist
Lifts between sky and trees,
Enfacing his eyes' tormented horizon.
He has no idea why he's driving south,
Unless it's to elude sleep's neo-Nazis,
Stalking alleys and side streets
Of the ghetto from which he's perpetually retreating —
He had not one extra second
To grab possessions
During their blitzkrieg last night-mare
Or to act upon his Wiesenthal dreams.
Stating the case with ironic hyperbole.
Probably, this ominous mist, now crimson,
Portends nothing less nor more
Than the severe thunderstorm
His radio's been forecasting repeatedly
These past three hours.
Yet perhaps he's actually fled this time,
Not to elude Nazis
But to hunt down his fugitive hallucination,
Extradite and punish it
For crimes against his humanity.