书名：On Grief and Reason悲伤与理智
作者：Joseph Brodsky
出版社名称：Penguin
出版时间：2011
语种：英文
ISBN：9780241952719
商品尺寸：12.9 x 2.4 x 19.8 cm
包装：平装
页数：432
可在美国乃至整个西方文学界，布罗茨基传播较广、更受推崇的却是他的英语散文，他甚至被称作“更伟大的英语散文家之一”——《泰晤士报》

On Grief and Reason《悲伤与理智》是布罗茨基生前出版的一部散文集，为其散文创作的集大成者，更是赢得了世界范围的赞誉。这卷文集可以说是通向布罗茨基的诗歌观和美学观，乃至他的伦理观和世界观的一把钥匙。

媒体评论：
“他的散文具有大师的力量与精准，时而却又发散出先知般的道德光辉。”
——《华盛顿邮报》

“英语文坛伟大的散文家之一......一部世人为之庆贺的杰作。”——《泰晤士报》

In this richly diverse collection of essays, Joseph Brodsky casts a reflective eye on his experiences of early life in Russia and exile in America. With dazzling erudition, he explores subjects as varied as the dynamic of poetry, the nature of history and the plight of the émigré writer. There is also the humorous tale of a disastrous trip to Brazil, advice to students, a homage to Marcus Aurelius and studies of Robert Frost, Thomas Hardy, Horace and others. The second volume of essays following Less Than One, this collection includes Brodsky's 1987 Nobel Lecture, 'Uncommon Visage'.

Review
'His prose has the energy and precision of a master, and, at times, the moral authority of a prophet' (Washington Post)

'One of the English language's great essayists ... a book to be thankful for'(The Times)
On Grief and Reason《悲伤与理智》共收入散文二十一篇，大致分为回忆录、旅行记、演说讲稿、公开信和悼文等几种体裁。这些散文形式多样，长短不一，但它们诉诸的却是一个共同的主题，即“诗和诗人”。这卷文集可以说是通向布罗茨基的诗歌观和美学观，乃至他的伦理观和世界观的一把钥匙。文集中zui后一篇作品《悼斯蒂芬·斯彭德》完成后不到半年，布罗茨基自己也离开了人世，《悲伤与理智》因此也就成了布罗茨基生前出版的zui后一部散文集，是布罗茨基散文写作、乃至其整个创作的“天鹅之歌”。在这部题材丰富、视界浩淼的散文集中，约瑟夫布罗茨基开篇便用深沉内省的目光审视了自己在苏俄的早年经历以及随后去往美国的流亡生涯。接着，作者用惊人的博学探讨了诗歌的张弛变幻、历史的本质、流亡诗人的双重困境等一系列颇具广度与深度的话题，思维的触手延揽古今，上及古罗马贤帝马可奥勒留，下至现当代诗人托马斯哈代与罗伯特弗罗斯特，将对存在本质的哲学探讨与对诗歌美学的炽烈情愫糅合锻造为继《小于一》之后的又一部世所罕见的奇作。
约瑟夫·布罗茨基（1940—1996）是一位跨越了英语与俄语世界的文学奇才。生于1940年的列宁格勒，布罗茨基的前半生在母国苏联度过，他的大部分诗歌成就也是用俄语完成的；1972年，永别故土、定居美国的布罗茨基从零开始学习英语，进而一举成为英语世界散文大师之一。诚如他在一次采访中所给出的自我认知：“我是一名犹太人；一名俄语诗人；一名英语散文家。”1986年，布罗茨基荣获美国国家书评奖，1987年荣获诺贝尔文学奖，1991年获选“美国桂冠诗人”。其代表作品有诗集《诗选》、《词类》、《致乌拉尼亚》，散文集《小于一》、《悲伤与理智》等。

Joseph Brodsky (1940-96) came to the United States in 1972, an involuntary exile from the Soviet Union. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1987 and served as Poet Laureate of the United States in 1991 and 1992.
Spoils of War战利品
The Condition We Call Exile我们称之为“流亡”的状态，或曰浮起的橡实
A Place as Good as Any一个和其他地方一样好的地方
Uncommon Visage表情独特的脸庞
Acceptance Speech受奖演说
After a Journey旅行之后，或曰献给脊椎
Altra Ego第二自我
How to Read a Book怎样阅读一本书
In Praise of Boredom颂扬苦闷
Profile of Clio克利俄剪影
Speech at the Stadium体育场演讲
Collector’s Item一件收藏
An Immodest Proposal一个不温和的建议
Letter to a President致总统书
On Grief and Reason悲伤与理智
Homage to Marcus Aurelius向马可•奥勒留致敬
A Cat’s Meow猫的“喵呜”
Wooing the Inanimate求爱于无生命者
Ninety Years Later九十年之后
Letter to Horace致贺拉斯书
In Memory of Stephen Spender悼斯蒂芬•斯彭德
In the beginning, there was canned corned beef. More accurately, in the beginning, there was a war, World War II; the siege of my hometown, Leningrad; the Great Hunger, which claimed more lives than all the bombs, shells, and bullets together. And toward the end of the siege, there was canned corned beef from America. Swift, I think, was the brand name, although I may be wrong; I was only four when I tasted it for the first time.
It was perhaps the first meat we had had in a while. Still, its flavor was less memorable than the cans themselves. Tall, square-shaped, with an opening key attached to the side, they heralded different mechanical principles, a different sensibility altogether. That key skeining a tiny strip of metal to get the can open, was a revelation to a Russian child: we knew only knives. The country was still nails, hammers, nuts, and bolts: that’s what held it together, and it was to stay that way for most of our lives. That’s why, there and then, nobody could explain to me the sealing method used by these cans’ makers. Even today, I don’t grasp it fully. Then and there, I’d stare at my mother detaching the key, unbending the little tab and sticking it into the key’s eye, and then turning the key time and again around its axis, in sheer bewilderment.
Long after their contents vanished into the cloaca, these tall, somewhat streamlined around the corners (like cinema screens!), dark red or brown cans with foreign lettering on their sides survived on many families’ shelves and windowsills, partly as aesthetic objects, partly as good containers for pencils, screwdrivers, film rolls, nails, etc. Often, too, they would be used as flowerpots.
We were not to see them ever again — neither their jellied contents nor their shapes. With the passage of years, their value increased: at least they were becoming more and more coveted in schoolboys’ trade. For a can like this, one could get a German bayonet, a navy belt buckle, a magnifying glass. Their sharp edges (where the can was opened) cost us many a cut finger. In the third grade, however, I was the proud owner of two of them.