Anna Akhmatova

(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)

Anna Akhmatova Poems

41. Somewhere There Is A Simple Life 4/8/2010
42. As A White Stone In The Well's Cool Deepness 4/8/2010
43. True Tenderness 4/8/2010
44. Gray-Eyed King 4/8/2010
45. Muse 4/8/2010
46. Song Of The Final Meeting 4/8/2010
47. A Widow In Black 4/8/2010
48. I Don'T Like Flowers 4/8/2010
49. And You, My Friends Who Have Been Called Away 4/8/2010
50. The Two Of Us Won’t Share A Glass Together 4/8/2010
51. But Listen, I Am Warning You 4/8/2010
52. In Human Closeness There Is A Secret Edge 4/8/2010
53. Along The Hard Crust Of Deep Snows 4/8/2010
54. And As It's Going 4/8/2010
55. Here Is My Gift 4/8/2010
56. Willow 1/1/2004
57. Why Is This Age Worse...? 1/3/2003
58. Shade 1/21/2003
59. In Memory Of M.B. 1/3/2003
60. Thunder 1/21/2003
61. Lying In Me 1/1/2004
62. March Elegy 1/3/2003
63. I Hear The Oriole's Always-Grieving Voice 1/1/2004
64. I Wrung My Hands 1/3/2003
65. Lot's Wife 1/3/2003
66. Crucifix 1/1/2004
67. The Sentence 1/3/2003
68. Sunbeam 1/1/2004
69. White Night 1/1/2004
70. Memory Of Sun 1/3/2003
71. You Thought I Was That Type 1/3/2003
72. Solitude 1/3/2003
73. Departure 4/8/2010
74. Under Her Dark Veil 1/3/2003
75. Celebrate 1/21/2003
76. How Can You Bear To Look At The Neva? 1/1/2004
77. I Don'T Know If You'Re Alive Or Dead 1/3/2003
78. Twenty-First. Night. Monday 1/3/2003
79. Voronezh 1/21/2003
80. You Will Hear Thunder 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Anna Akhmatova

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...

Read the full of Requiem

White Night

I haven't locked the door,
Nor lit the candles,
You don't know, don't care,
That tired I haven't the strength
To decide to go to bed.
Seeing the fields fade in
The sunset murk of pine-needles,
And to know all is lost,

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