Anna Akhmatova

(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)

Anna Akhmatova
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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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Anna Akhmatova 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).
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Comments about Anna Akhmatova

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    A gifted poetess. Bold and fearless writing is her hallmark.

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    I love her poetry

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    Anna Akhmatova
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  • Saeedeh Moosavi (11/28/2016 6:32:00 AM)

    thanks alot. but who is the translator?

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  • Fabrizio Frosini (10/10/2015 10:45:00 AM)

    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)

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Best Poem of Anna Akhmatova

I Taught Myself To Live Simply

I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.

Read the full of I Taught Myself To Live Simply