By Anna Akhmatova, Andrey Kneller
Anna Akhmatova (June 23, 1889 - March five, 1966) is taken into account by way of many to be one of many maximum Russian poets of the Silver Age. even though precise repute and popularity didn't come till her later, “Evening,” her first poetry assortment, had stuck the eye of many famous literary critics of the time and helped to solidify her occupation as a author. one of many leading edge leaders of the Acmeism circulation, which thinking about rigorous shape and directness of phrases, she was once a grasp of conveying uncooked emotion in her portrayals of daily occasions. Her works diversity from brief lyric love poetry to longer, extra advanced cycles, equivalent to Requiem, a sad depiction of the Stalinist terror. through the time of heavy censorship and persecution, her poetry gave voice to the Russian humans. To at the present time, she continues to be one among Russia’s so much liked poets and has left an enduring influence on generations of poets that got here after her.
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Additional info for Evening: Poetry of Anna Akhmatova
With two windows, a door in-between, And an icon lamp always alight, Like a dark heart the icon will gleam With a scarlet-red fire inside. ” Now alone we are wandering free, With our feet in the blue surf below. 1911 Сад Он весь сверкает и хрустит, Обледенелый сад. Ушедший от меня грустит, Но нет пути назад. И солнца бледный тусклый лик — Лишь круглое окно; Я тайно знаю, чей двойник Приник к нему давно. Здесь мой покой навеки взят Предчувствием беды, Сквозь тонкий лед еще сквозят Вчерашние следы.
My hands grew cold in the downy muff. I felt scared, confused and wary. How can I bring back his love - Those weeks, so transient and airy! I want no vengeance or bitter grief, Let me die with the blizzard’s last blitz. I cast fortunes about him on Epiphany Eve. In January, I was still his. Spring 1911 Tsarskoe Selo *** Дверь полуоткрыта, Веют липы сладко… На столе забыты Хлыстик и перчатка. Круг от лампы жетлый… Шорохам внимаю. Отчего ушел ты? Я не понимаю… Радостно и ясно Завтра будет утро.
9 ноября 1910 Киев He loved… He loved three things in this world: Evensong, peacocks of white, And old tattered maps of America. He despised it when little kids bawled, Hated tea with preserves, and disliked Women acting hysterical. … And I was his wife. November 9, 1910 Kiev *** Сегодня мне письма не принесли: Забыл он написать или уехал; Весна как трель серебряного смеха, Качаются в заливе корабли.