Sunbeam Poem by Anna Akhmatova
Sunbeam
I pray to the sunbeam from the window -
It is pale, thin, straight.
Since morning I have been silent,
And my heart - is split.
The copper on my washstand
Has turned green,
But the sunbeam plays on it
So charmingly.
How innocent it is, and simple,
In the evening calm,
But to me in this deserted temple
It's like a golden celebration,
And a consolation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 7:00:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A tender, delicate poem and a fit companion piece for Dickinson's 'There's a Certain Slant of Light'. Dickinson's light, however, was oppressive and disconsolate. Akhmatova's light is a consolation in a deserted place, and her heart 'is split' perhaps because of a failed love affair. Nice.