Anna Akhmatova

(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)

I Wrung My Hands - Poem by Anna Akhmatova

I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
"Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?"
-- Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.

I'll never forget. He went out, reeling;
his mouth was twisted, desolate. . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,
and followed him as far as the gate.

And shouted, choking: "I meant it all
in fun. Don't leave me, or I'll die of pain."
He smiled at me -- oh so calmly, terribly --
and said: "Why don't you get out of the rain?"

Comments about I Wrung My Hands by Anna Akhmatova

  • (11/11/2008 5:29:00 PM)

    this poem is so good.

    i usually like complex poems, with riddles of successive words like simic writes. but this one is touching in its simplicity. it has one potent word-combination: 'astringent sadness'. i think the poem is punctuated really well, also.
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Read poems about / on: fun, rain, pain, dark, running, smile

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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