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Anna Akhmatova
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Anna Akhmatova Poems
- Requiem Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings ...
- Everything Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded, black ...
- I Taught Myself To Live Simply I taught myself to live simply...
- You Will Hear Thunder You will hear thunder and remember ...
- Voronezh For Osip Mandelstam And the town is frozen solid ...
- I Don'T Know If You'Re Alive O... I don't know if you're ...
- Twenty-First. Night. Monday Twenty-first. Night. ...
Anna Andreyevna Gorenko, better known by the pen name Anna Akhmatova, was a Russian and Soviet modernist poet, one of the most acclaimed writers in the Russian canon.
Akhmatova's work ranges from short lyric poems to intricately structured cycles, such as Requiem (1935–40), her tragic masterpiece about the Stalinist terror. Her style, characterised by its economy and emotional restraint, was strikingly original and distinctive to her contemporaries. The strong and clear leading female voice struck a new chord in Russian poetry. Her writing can be said to fall into two periods - the early work (1912–25) and her later work (from around 1936 until her death), divided by a decade of ... more »
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Quotations
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''The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.''
Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966), Russian poet. "Two Poems," no. 2, l. 1 (1956), trans. by Dimitri Obolensky (1965).
Requiem
Not under foreign skies
Nor under foreign wings protected -
I shared all this with my own people
There, where misfortune had abandoned us.
[1961]
INSTEAD OF A PREFACE
During the frightening years of the Yezhov terror, I
spent seventeen months waiting in prison queues in
Leningrad. One day, somehow, someone 'picked me out'.
On that occasion there was a woman standing behind me,
her lips blue with cold, who, of course, had never in
her life heard my name. Jolted out of the torpor
characteristic of all of us, she said into my ear
(everyone whispered...
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thanks alot. but who is the translator?
a tribute to a great Poetess:
Ленинград в марте 1941
Cadran solaire на Меньшиковом доме.
Подняв волну, проходит пароход.
О, есть ли что на свете мне знакомей,
Чем шпилей блеск и отблеск этих вод!
Как щелочка, чернеет переулок.
Садятся воробьи на провода.
У наизусть затверженных прогулок
Соленый привкус — тоже не беда.
(Анна Ахматова)
A restrained elegance enveloped in a Slavic midnight hue.
She has a voice...
No one can cross...
She has a chant...
Like a 'Breathing Rose'...!
Her words are so simply hung. I love her words.
i like it very touching