Bella Akhmadulina

Bella Akhmadulina Poems

‘Twas snowing. And to the snow,
To cold of the heaven and earth,
The deeper I slept the more grown
Was Chegem tulips' warming blaze.

Rain flogs my face and collar-bones,
a thunderstorm roars over musts.
You thrust upon my flesh and soul,
like tempests upon ships do thrust.

Of hills and woods this world consists,
Of skies that cover all;
It's just a broil of voices midst
A little boy and girl.

And I shall tell you at the end:
farewell, don't pledge self to love, helpless.
I go mad, or just ascend
to the high echelon of madness.

No word about love! But I'm mute it about -
My larynx, long ago, had lost its nightingales.
There're just the fire flames with empty skies around,
No word about love - e'en if the moonlight reigns.

To recollect! It's better than to have.
Just when this trice and one, that's gone to yore,
together merge, like a bell's tongue and cave,
a world receives one sound-poem more.

Has not been heated to the white,
Yet it is whitening with its heaven -
Night o'er Neva. The mind is stiffened
With sadness and the young delight.

How do you make this, o my colleges-comrades?
Having waked up, while dark's moving to light,
you take your pen and open your notes,
and write - and is this quite enough to write?

The coming day was whitened in the dark,
The day, that's come, was much alike a-singing,
And those four - whose sight was wonders bringing -
Those four rowers moved me in a bark.

Oh, trees! You are brothers of mine.
‘Twas dark'ning, but my eyes defined,
For sure - to the heaven, so starry -
That you, for your night rest, have hurried,

Oh, my friends, only verse is the first of all us,
First of me, first of time in its triumphal stroll,
First of first love, of first blades of first rising grass,
First of first snowflakes, and, at last, - first of all.

Oh, what a great was our fortune,
we were so lucky at the times,
when was a running disk of Chopin,
the only border between us

There is again a change in Nature,
the green is very rough in sight,
and rises - in a lofty fashion -
the figure of the mushroom, white.

She's come and stands - in her full eighteen years.
"How old are you?" She answer'd, "I am eighteen…"
The polygon of hands, cheek-bones, and knees.
A proud in angularity quite melted.

Oh, this death - not of mine - is a credit and loss
for my life, always pushing a wall with its brow.
But aft Theater's lamps had been lighted in halls
and extinguished - is Tragedy entering now.

The player's disk - a silly wonder -
The simple player - trifles at all!
It's heard as if were distant thunder
From the earth's deeps, from ‘under-under'

I'm clinging to the noble style,
I'm charmed by speech of our ancestors,
It can be sharper then we try,
And newer than our newest lectures.

You need the simple candle to flash,
The simple one, the wax cylinder,
And the old style that ere was hidden,
In your remembrance will be fresh.

The clock's chiming proclaims fall around:
Harder then in the year that had passed,
And an apple beats the icy ground
In so many as apples are times.

Oft it comes thus: the kind of pleasant languor,
The clock's weak chiming sounds in my ear,
And far pills of the passing thunder's anger.
It seems to me, that I can badly hear

Bella Akhmadulina Biography

Izabella Akhatovna "Bella" Akhmadulina (10 April 1937 – 29 November 2010) was a Soviet and Russian poet, short story writer, and translator, known for her apolitical writing stance. She was part of the Russian New Wave literary movement. She was cited by Joseph Brodsky as the best living poet in the Russian language.

Despite the aforementioned apolitical stance of her writing, Akhmadulina was often critical of authorities in the Soviet Union, and spoke out in favour of others, including Nobel laureates Boris Pasternak, Andrei Sakharov, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. She was known to international audiences via her travels abroad during the Khrushchev Thaw, during which she made appearances in sold-out stadiums. Upon her death in 2010 at the age of 73, President of Russia Dmitry Medvedev hailed her poetry as a "classic of Russian literature."

The New York Times said Akhmadulina was "always recognized as one of the Soviet Union's literary treasures and a classic poet in the long line extending from Lermontov and Pushkin." Sonia I. Ketchian, writing in The Poetic Craft of Bella Akhmadulina, called her "one of the great poets of the 20th century. There's Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, Mandelstam, and Pasternak – and she's the fifth".

The Best Poem Of Bella Akhmadulina

The Dream Of Winter Night

‘Twas snowing. And to the snow,
To cold of the heaven and earth,
The deeper I slept the more grown
Was Chegem tulips' warming blaze.

‘Twas snowing. Soul was singing
From whiteness of snow afar.
‘Twas snowing. Plane-trees were greening.
How green, dreams of winter, you are!…

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