Anna Akhmatova - Final Meeting: Selected Poetry of Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova Final Meeting
Copyrigh t Kneller, Boston, 2011 All rights reserved
Also by Andrey Kneller: White Flock: Poetry of Anna A khmatova Wondrous Moment: Selected Poetry of Alexan der Pushkin My Poems: Selected Poetry of Marina Tsve taeva Backbone Flute: Selected Poetry of Vladimir Maya kovsky February: Selected Poetry of Boris P asternak The Stranger: Selected Poetry of Alexander B lok Unfinished Flight: Selected Poetry of Vladimi r Vysotsky O, Time: Selected Poetry of Victoria Roshe Discernible Sound: Select ed Poetry

Table of Contents Requiem
Anna Akhmatova Selected Poetry 09-1959 *** , : ! , . , , , . , ?... . 1909, *** My night I think of you obsessively,
My day indifferent: let it be!
I turned and smiled at my destiny
That brought me only misery.
The fumes of yesterday are dire,
The flames that burn me will not die,
It seems to me, this blazing fire
Will not become a sunlit sky.
Shall I endure without conceding,
And curse you for not being there?...
Youre far away. 1909, Kiev , . : " , ..." , ,- . 1909 Reading Hamlet Theres the graveyard, the wasteland, the shore,
Where the river shines cool and blue.
You told me: Get thee to a nunnery or
Find a fool to marry you
Thats the sort of thing princes say, I know,
But Ill never forget this one,
Like an ermine mantle let your words shine and flow
For many years, and on, and on. 1909 *** , , , , ! , , . 1909 *** Either I remained with you,
Or you came with me, my angel!
But our fears did not come true,
We avoided separation.
Its not your sigh of deep despair,
Or your complex accusations,
But your clear and peaceful stare
That fills my soul with trepidation. 1909 *** . , . , ... . ! *** The pillow is already hot
On both its sides.
The second candles at
Its end, and loud cries
Of crows are growing clear.
I didnt sleep this night,
Too late for sleep I fear
Oh, how unbearably white
Is this curtain here.
Welcome! 1909 *** , , , ; . . , - ... ? 1910, *** The stifling wind is hot and parching,
Sun-burnt fingers in the grass,
Above my head, the heavens arches
Are made of blue and fragile glass;
The fallen immortelles lie drying,
Once the sickles cut them loose.
Working ants have formed a highway
Running up the twisting spruce.
The silver pond is idly gleaming,
Life is easy no regret
O, I wonder whom Ill dream of
In my hammocks motley net? January 1910, Kiev *** ; , , . , . , ... , , , . , , , ... . 1910 *** In my room, there is a serpent,
Slow and gorgeous to behold
She is calm and introverted
Much like I, and just as cold.
As Im writing in the evening,
She is sitting by my side,
Her indifferent eyes wont leave me,
Shining emerald in the night.
In the dark, I sob and whimper
But the icons dont reply...
My requests would be so different
If it wasnt for those eyes.
In the morning, when Im weary,
Like a candle, melting thin,
A black ribbon slithers freely
Down across the shoulder skin. 1910 ... : , . , , .... 9 1910, He loved He loved three things in this world: Evensong , white peacocks and very Old tattered maps of America. 9 1910, He loved He loved three things in this world: Evensong , white peacocks and very Old tattered maps of America.

He despised it when little kids bawled, Disliked tea served with berries And women acting hysterical. And I was his wife. November 9, 1910, Kiev *** ... " ?" - , . ? , , ... , : " , . , ." : " " 1911 *** Hands pressed together under the veil
What is it that makes you so pale and faint?
- Im afraid Ive inebriated him with the ale
Of bitter anguish and torturous pain.
Could I forget it? He stumbled out, wavering,
His tormented mouth was twisted and grim....
I ran down the stairs, not touching the railing,
At the end of the walkway, I caught up to him.
I yelled after him: I was kidding and only.
If you leave me today, I will die.
He turned back and smiled, so intolerably calmly,
Dont stand in the wind, he replied. 1911 , , , , , , . , , , . , , - ! , , . 1911 During the white night I didnt lock the door And candles werent lit, Exhausted, sleepy, sore, I wouldnt sleep a bit. 1911 During the white night I didnt lock the door And candles werent lit, Exhausted, sleepy, sore, I wouldnt sleep a bit.

Id watch the lights die down, And gloomy evening firs, And get drunk on the sounds - A voic e, so much like yours. My loss - a heavy burden, And life is agony! I used to be so certain That youd return to me. 1911 , . . , , - ! : " ! , ". !" . . - . 1911 Song of the final meeting How helplessly chilled was my chest, yet
My footsteps were nimble and light.
The glove that belonged on my left hand
I unconsciously put on my right.
It seemed that the stairs were endless,
But I knew - there were only three!
Autumn, whispering through the maples,
Pleaded: Die here with me!
I was blindly deceived by my dreary,
Dismal, changeable Fate. 1911 Song of the final meeting How helplessly chilled was my chest, yet
My footsteps were nimble and light.
The glove that belonged on my left hand
I unconsciously put on my right.
It seemed that the stairs were endless,
But I knew - there were only three!
Autumn, whispering through the maples,
Pleaded: Die here with me!
I was blindly deceived by my dreary,
Dismal, changeable Fate.

And I too,
I responded, My darling, my dear one,
And Ill also die here with you.
This is the song of the final meeting.
I looked up at your house, - all dark inside.
Just the bedroom candles burned with a fleeting,
Indifferent and yellowish light. 1911 *** , , . - . , , , . , . 1911, *** Love conquers, deceitful and slow, With a soft amateurish refrain. 1911, *** Love conquers, deceitful and slow, With a soft amateurish refrain.

So strange to think not long ago You werent dejected and gray. In the garden, at home, in th e field, Whenever she flashed her smile, Wherever you were, you believed You were free and out in the wild. Once taken by her, you glowed And you drank her poisons, content. Because all the stars seemed to grow, And grass had a different scent, Autumn grass. Autumn 1911, Tsarskoe Selo . : " !" . . , ... . : " - ". 1913 In the evening With sadness words cannot describe, Out in the garden, music played. 1913 In the evening With sadness words cannot describe, Out in the garden, music played.

The frozen oysters on the plate Smelled pungently of sea and brine. He gently touched my evening dress And said: I am a loyal friend! And yet, the contact of his hand Felt nothing like a true caress. Thus one might pet a cat, a bird, Or watch a slender circus rider Beneath his golden lashes, hiding Amusement, happiness and mirth. And as the smoke diffuses idly, The doleful fiddles sing above it: O, thank the Heavens - finally First time alone with your beloved. 1913 *** , . , ! 1913 *** Real tenderness cant be confused, Its quiet and cant be heard. , ! 1913 *** Real tenderness cant be confused, Its quiet and cant be heard.

Dont bother, theres really no use In wrapping my shoulders with fur. In vain you whisper sweet lies About falling under loves spell, Your stubborn and hungry eyes , - Im afraid, I know them too well! 1913 *** : " !" . . . , , . , . 1913 *** The boy said me: How painful it is! And I feel guilty somehow. 1913 *** The boy said me: How painful it is! And I feel guilty somehow.

Not long ago, he was living in bliss And knew no sadness till now. But at this moment he s urely knows sorrow No less than the wise and the old. It seems that his eyes have begun to grow narrow, And their brilliant light is now cold. I know: his pain will soon be too much, The pain of first love is intense. So helpless and feverish was his touch As he was stroking my hands. , . , . : , ? . , ! ? , , . 1 1913 *** We are all heavy-drinkers and whores, What a joyless, miserable crowd! There are flowers and birds on the walls And the birds all pine for a cloud. 1 1913 *** We are all heavy-drinkers and whores, What a joyless, miserable crowd! There are flowers and birds on the walls And the birds all pine for a cloud.

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