SELECTED POEMS OF ANNA AKHMATOVA
To the Muse íÕÚÅ
The Muse my sister looked in my face, íÕÚÁ-ÓÅÓÔÒÁ ÚÁÇÌÑÎÕÌÁ × ÌÉÃÏ,
her gaze was bright and clear, ÷ÚÇÌÑÄ ÅÅ ÑÓÅÎ É ÑÒÏË,
and she took away my golden ring, é ÏÔÎÑÌÁ ÚÏÌÏÔÏÅ ËÏÌØÃÏ,
the gift of the virginal year. ðÅÒ×ÙÊ ×ÅÓÅÎÎÉÊ ÐÏÄÁÒÏË.
Muse! everyone else is happy-- íÕÚÁ! ôÙ ×ÉÄÉÛØ, ËÁË ÓÞÁÓÔÌÉ×ÙÊ ×ÓÅ--
girls, wives, widows--all around! äÅ×ÕÛËÉ, ÖÅÎÝÉÎÙ, ×ÄÏ×Ù...
I swear I'd rather die on the rack ìÕÞÛÅ ÐÏÇÉÂÎÕ ÎÁ ËÏÌÅÓÅ,
than live fettered and bound. ôÏÌØËÏ ÎÅ ÜÔÉ ÏËÏ×Ù.
In time I'll join the guessing-game, úÎÁÀ: ÇÁÄÁÑ, É ÍÎÅ ÏÂÐÙ×ÁÔØ
pluck petals from the daisy's wheel. îÅÖÎÙÊ Ã×ÅÔÏË ÍÁÒÇÁÒÉÔËÕ.
Each creature on this earth, I know, äÏÌÖÅÎ ÎÁ ÜÔÏÊ ÚÅÍÌÅ ÉÓÐÙÔÁÔØ
must suffer love's ordeal. ëÁÖÄÙÊ ÌþÂÏ×ÎÕÀ ÐÌÙÔËÕ.
Tonight I pine for no one, öÇÕ ÄÏ ÚÁÒÉ ÎÁ ÏËÏÛËÅ Ó×ÅÞÕ
alone in my candlelit room; é ÎÉ Ï ËÏÍ ÎÅ ÔÏÓËÕÀ,
but I don't-don't-don't want to know îÏ ÎÅ ÈÏÞÕ, ÎÅ ÈÏÞÕ, ÎÅ ÈÏÞÕ
who's kissing whom. úÎÁÔØ, ËÁË ÃÅÌÕÀÔ ÄÒÕÇÕÀ.
At dawn the mirrors, mocking, will say: úÁ×ÔÒÁ ÍÎÅ ÓËÁÖÕÔÞ ÓÍÅÑÓØ, ÚÅÒËÁÌÁ:
"Your gaze is not bright or clear." "÷ÚÏÒ Ô×ÏÊ ÎÅ ÑÓÅÎ, ÎÅ ÑÒÏË..."
I'll sigh: "The Muse my sister came ôÉÈÏ ÏÔ×ÅÞÕ:"OÎÁ ÏÔÎÑÌÁ
and took the gift of gifts away." âÏÖÉÊ ÐÏÄÁÒÏË."
-Tsarskoe Selo, 1911 -ãÁÒÓËÏÅ óÅÌÏ, 1911
The Last Toast ðÏÓÌÅÄÎÉÊ ÔÏÓÔ
I drink to our ruined house, ñ ÐØÀ ÚÁ ÒÁÚÏÒÅÎÎÙÊ ÄÏÍ,
to the dolor of my life, úÁ ÚÌÕÀ ÖÉÚÎØ ÍÏÀ,
to our loneliness together; úÁ ÏÄÉÎÏÞÅÓÔ×Ï ×Ä×ÏÅÍ
and to you I raise my glass, é ÚÁ ÔÅÂÑ Ñ ÐØÀ,--
to lying lips that have betrayed us,
to dead-cold, pitiless eyes, úÁ ÌÏÖØ ÍÅÎÑ ÐÒÅÄÁ×ÛÉÈ ÇÕÂ,
and to the hard realities: úÁ ÍÅÒÔ×ÙÊ ÈÏÌÏÄ ÇÌÁÚ,
that the world is brutal and coarse, úÁ ÔÏ, ÞÔÏ ÍÉÒ ÖÅÓÔÏË É ÇÒÕÂ,
that God in fact has not saved us. úÁ ÔÏ, ÞÔÏ âÏÇ ÎÅ ÓÐÁÓ.
-1934 -1934
åpigram üÐÉÇÒÁÍÍÁ
Could Beatrice have written like Dante, íÏÇÌÁ ÌÉ âÉÞÅ ÓÌÏ×ÎÏ äÁÎÔ Ô×ÏÒÉÔØ,
or Laura have glorified love's pain? éÌÉ ìÁÕÒÁ ÖÁÐ ÌÀÂ×É ×ÏÓÓÌÁ×ÉÔØ?
I set the style for women's speech. ñ ÎÁÞÉÌÁ ÖÅÎÝÉÎ ÇÏ×ÏÒÉÔØ...
God help me shut them up again! îÏ âÏÖÅ, ËÁË ÉÈ ÚÁÍÏÌÞÁÔØ ÚÁÓÔÁ×ÉÔØ!
-1960 -1960
Willow é×Á
I was raised in checkered silence á Ñ ÒÏÓÌÁ × ÕÚÏÒÎÏÊ ÔÉÛÉÎÅ,
in the cool nursery of the young century. ÷ ÐÒÏÈÌÁÄÎÏÊ ÄÅÔÓËÏÊ ÍÏÌÏÄÏÇÏ ×ÅËÁ.
Human voices did not touch me, é ÎÅ ÂÙÌ ÍÉÌ ÍÎÅ ÇÏÌÏÓ ÞÅÌÏ×ÅËÁ,
it was the wind whose voice I heard. á ÇÏÌÏÓ ×ÅÔÒÁ ÂÙÌ ÐÏÎÑÔÅÎ ÍÎÅØ
I favored burdocks and nettles, ñ ÌÏÐÕÈÉ ÌÀÂÉÌÁ É ËÒÁÐÉ×Õ,
but dearest to me was the silver willow, îÏ ÂÏÌØÛÅ ×ÓÅÈ ÓÅÒÅÂÒÑÎÕÀ É×Õ.
my long companion through the years, é, ÂÌÁÇÏÄÁÒÎÁÑ, ÏÎÁ ÖÉÌÁ
whose weeping branches óÏ ÍÎÏÊ ×ÓÀ ÖÉÚÎØ, ÐÌÁËÕÞÉÍÉ ×ÅÔ×ÑÍÉ
fanned my insomnia with dreams. âÅÓÓÏÎÎÉÃÕ Ï×ÅÉ×ÁÌÁ ÓÎÁÍÉ.
Oddly, I have survived it:: é --ÓÔÒÁÎÎÏ! -- Ñ ÅÅ ÐÅÒÅÖÉÌÁ.
out there a stump remains. Now other willows ôÁÍ ÐÅÎØ ÔÏÒÞÉÔ, ÞÕÖÉÍÉ ÇÏÌÏÓÁÍÉ
with alien voies intone äÒÕÇÉÅ É×Ù ÞÔÏ-ÔÏ ÇÏ×ÏÒÑÔ
under our skies. ðÏÄ ÎÁÛÉÍÉ, ÐÏÄ ÔÅÍÉ ÎÅÂÅÓÁÍÉ.
And I am silent...as though a brother had died. é Ñ ÍÏÌÞÕ...ëÁË ÂÕÄÔÏ ÕÍÅÒ ÂÒÁÔ.
-1940 -1940
Courage íÕÖÅÓÔ×Ï
We know what trembles on the scales, íÙ ÚÎÁÅÍÞ ÞÔÏ ÎÙÎÅ ÌÅÖÕÔ ÎÁ ×ÅÓÁÈ
and what we must stell ourselves to face. é ÞÔÏ ÓÏ×ÅÒÛÁÅÔÓÑ ÎÙÎÅ.
The bravest hour strikes on our clocks: þÁÓ ÍÕÖÅÓÔ×Ï ÐÒÏÂÉÌ ÎÁ ÎÁÛÉÈ ÞÁÓÁÈ.
may courage not abandon us! é ÍÕÖÅÓÔ×Ï ÎÁÓ ÎÅ ÐÏËÉÎÅÔ.
Let bullets kill us -- we are not afraid, îÅ ÓÔÒÁÛÎÏ ÐÏÄ ÐÕÌÑÍÉ ÍÅÒÔ×ÙÍÉ ÌÅÞØ,
nor are we bitter, though our housetops fall. îÅ ÇÏÒØËÏ ÏÓÔÁÔØÓÑ ÂÅÚ ËÒÏ×Á,--
We will preserve you, Russian speech, é ÍÙ ÓÏÈÒÁÎÉÍ ÔÅÂÑ, ÒÕÓÓËÁÑ ÐÅÞØ,
from servitude in foreign chains, ÷ÅÌÉËÏÅ ÒÕÓÓËÏÅ ÓÌÏ×Ï.
keep you alive, great Russian word, ó×ÏÂÏÄÎÙÍ É ÞÉÓÔÙÍ ÔÅÂÑ ÐÒÏÎÅÓÅÍ,
fit for the songs of our children's children, é ×ÎÕËÁÍ ÄÁÄÉÍ, É ÏÔ ÐÌÅÎÁ ÓÐÁÓÅÍ
pure on their tongues, and free. îÁ×ÅËÉ!
-23 February 1942 -23 ÆÅ×ÒÁÌÑ 1942
All of the above poems were translated by Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward.
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