Anna Akhmatova

(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)

Anna Akhmatova Poems

81. I Taught Myself To Live Simply 1/3/2003
82. Requiem 1/3/2003
83. Everything 1/21/2003

Comments about Anna Akhmatova

  • Hamza (2/26/2018 12:56:00 AM)

    I like it so much

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  • himu khan (12/23/2017 6:21:00 AM)

    she was a high.measure profitable poetI have ever seen....

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

    thanks alot. but who is the translator?

  • Fabrizio Frosini 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)

  • Misha Allport Misha Allport (1/23/2014 11:40:00 AM)

    A restrained elegance enveloped in a Slavic midnight hue.

  • Sylva Portoian Sylva Portoian (6/26/2012 6:52:00 AM)

    She has a voice...
    No one can cross...
    She has a chant...
    Like a 'Breathing Rose'...!

  • Charmaine Sinclair (5/17/2009 7:16:00 AM)

    Her words are so simply hung. I love her words.

  • Dana Santos (4/26/2004 4:07:00 PM)

    i like it very touching

Best Poem of Anna Akhmatova

Everything

Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,
so why does a light shine ahead?

By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,
breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,
new constellations are thrown.

And something miraculous will come
close to the darkness and ruin,
something no-one, no-one, has known,
though we’ve longed for it since we were children.

Read the full of Everything

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,

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