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Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova Books

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Selected poems

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Poems

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Requiem

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Rosary

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White Flock

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“আমার কেউ নয় ওরা যারা দেশ ছেড়ে চলে যায় আমার কেউ নয় ওরা যারা দেশ ছেড়ে চলে যায় শত্রু আর লুটেরার হাতে যায় দেশটাকে ছেড়ে । ওদের প্রথাগত প্রশংসায় আমি কান দিই না খকনও । ওরা সব গাইবে বলে আমার কোনো গান নেই । দেশত্যাগীদের জন্য আমি কষ্ট পাবো চিরকাল। কয়েদির মতো কিংবা যেন আধমরা, যে পথে তোমরা ঘোরো অন্ধকারে, ভবঘুরে দল, তোমার বিদেশি অন্নে তেতোপাতা ভরা। এখানে স্বদেশে রোজ অগ্নিকাণ্ড ঘটেই চলেছে খেয়ে ফেলছে বাকি যৌবন, আমরা এগোই আমাদের থ্যাঁতলানো দেহ কোনো পরোয়া করেনি একটি আঘাতকেও দেয়নি থামিয়ে । জানি পরে কোনোদিন চেতনার আগমন হবে প্রতিটি মুহূর্তের ব্যথাকে তা ন্যায্যতা দেবে। আমরা সবাই এ-জগতের কান্নাহীন লোক । গর্বে বুক ভরে যায় আমাদের । আমরা সাধারণ ।”

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Book:Anna Ahmatova Versei
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“Whether to look for you on earth -- I don't know if you're dead or you live -- Or about you in the evening I should for you, departed, grieve. All is for you: and the daily prayer And the sleeplessness' swooning flame And the white flock of my poems And my eyes' blue violent flame. No one was dearer to me, no one, No one left me this bereft, Not even he who betrayed me to torment, Not even he who caressed, then left.”

LoveDeathPoetryLossHeartbreakSeparationRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“All has been taken: strength as well as love. Into the unloved town the corpse is thrown. It does not love the sun. I fear, that blood Inside of me already cold has grown. I do not recognize sweet Muse's loving taste: She looks ahead and does not let a word pass, And bows a head in the dark garland dressed Onto my chest, exhausted from the haste. And only conscience, scarier with each day, Wants a great ransom and for this abuses. Closing the face, I answer her this way. But there remain no tears and no excuses.”

LovePainDeathPoetryLossHeartbreakRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“In intimacy there exists a line That can't be crossed by passion or love's art -- In awful silence lips melt into one And out of love to pieces bursts the heart. And friendship here is impotent, and years Of happiness sublime in fire aglow, When soul is free and does not hear The dulling of sweet passion, long and slow. Those who are striving toward it are in fever, But those that reach it struck with woe that lingers. Now you have understood, why forever My heart does not beat underneath your fingers.”

LoveHeartArtPoetryPassionSilenceIntimacyRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“How spacious are these squares, How resonant bridges and stark! Heavy, peaceful, and starless Is the covering of the dark. And we walk on the fresh snow As if we were mortal people. That we are together this hour Unseparable -- is it not a miracle? The knees go unwittingly weaker It seems there's no air -- so long! You are my life's only blessing, You are the sun of my song. Now the dark buildings are stirring And I'll fall on earth as they shake -- Inside of my village garden I do not fear to awake. Escape "My dear, if we could only Reach all the way to the seas" "Be quiet" and descended the stairs Losing breath and looking for keys. Past the buildings, where sometime We danced and had fun and drank wine Past the white columns of Senate Where it's dark, dark again. "What are you doing, you madman!" "No, I am only in love with thee! This evening is wide and noisy, Ship will have lots of fun at the sea!" Horror tightly clutches the throat, Shuttle took us at dusk on our turn. The tough smell of ocean tightrope Inside trembling nostrils did burn. "Say, you most probably know: I don't sleep? Thus in sleep it can be" Only oars splashed in measured manner Over Nieva's waves heavy. And the black sky began to get lighter, Someone called from the bridge to us, As with both hands I was clutching On my chest the rim of the cross. On your arms, as I lost all my power, Like a little girl you carried me, That on deck of a yacht alabaster Incorruptible day's light we'd meet.”

LoveLifePoetryPassionSecretEscapeCityRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“Let my heiress have full rights, Live in my house, sing songs that I composed. Yet how slowly my strength ebbs, How the tortured breast craves air. The love of my friends, my enemies' rancor And the yellow roses in my bushy garden, And a lover's burning tenderness—all this I bestow upon you, messenger of dawn. Also the glory for which I was born, For which my star, like some whirlwind, soared And now falls. Look, its falling Prophesies your power, love and inspiration. Preserving my generous bequest, You will live long and worthily. Thus it will be. You see, I am content, Be happy, but remember me.”

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Book:The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova
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“This city by the fearsome river Was my crib blessed and dear And a solemn wedding bed Which the garlands for the head Your young cherubs held above - A city loved with bitter love. The subject of my prayers Were you, moody, calm, and austere. There first the groom came to me Having shown me the pathway holy, And that sad muse of mine Led me like one blind. * II * December 9, 1913 The darkest days of the year Must become the most clear. I can't find words to compare - Your lips are so tender and dear. Only to raise your eyes do not dare, Keeping the life of me. They're lighter than vials premier, And deadlier for me. I understand now, that we need no words, The snowed branches are light, and more, The birdcatcher, to catch birds, Has laid nets on the rivershore.”

LovePainPoetryLossSilenceRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“Lying in me, as though it were a white Stone in the depths of a well, is one Memory that I cannot, will not, fight: It is happiness, and it is pain. Anyone looking straight into my eyes Could not help seeing it, and could not fail To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet Than if he were listening to some tragic tale. I know the gods changed people into things, Leaving their consciousness alive and free. To keep alive the wonder of suffering, You have been metamorphosed into me.”

PoetryFateMemoryMetamorphosisRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“Black road wove ahead of me, Drizzling rain fell, To accompany me Someone asked for a spell. I agreed, but I forgot To see him in light of day, And then it was strange To remember the way. Like incense of thousand censers Flowed the fog And the companion bothered The heart with a song. Ancient gates I remember And the end of the way -- There the man who went with me "Forgive," did say. He gave me a copper cross Like my brother very own And everywhere I hear the sound Of the steppe song. Here I am at home like home -- I cry and I am in rue Answer to me, my stranger, I am looking for you!”

HomePoetryRegretForgivenessCrossRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“Not thus, from cursed lightness having disembarked, I look with worry on the chambers dark? Already used to ringing high and raw, Already judged not by the earthly law, I, like a criminal, am being drawn along To place of shame and execution long. I see the glorious city, and the voice most dear, As though there is no secret grave to fear, Where day and night, in heat and in cold bent, I must await the Final Judgment...”

PoetryCrimeJudgmentCityEndRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“It seems as though the voice of man Will never sound in this place, But only wind from age of stone Is knocking on black gates. It seems to me that I alone Have kept good health under this sky, Because of this, that first I sought To drink the deadly wine. Parting, Evening and slanting, Downward goes my way. Yesterday in love still, "Don't forget" you prayed. Now there's only shepherds' Cry, and glancing winds, And the worried cedars Stand by clear springs.”

PoetryLossHealthWineRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“All year long you are close to me And, like formerly, happy and young! Aren't you tortured already By the traumatized strings' dark song? Those now only lightly moan That once, taut, loudly rang And aimlessly they are torn By my dry, waxen hand. Little is necessary to make happy One who is tender and loving yet, The young forehead is not touched yet By jealousy, rage or regret. He is quiet, does not ask to be tender, Only stares and stares at me And with blissful smile does he bear My oblivion's dreadful insanity.”

PoetryRegretPatienceInsanityRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“He was jealous, fearful and tender, He loved me like God's only light, And that she not sing of the past times He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" And I buried the joyous songbird Behind a round well near a tree. I promised that I would not mourn her. But my heart turned to stone without choice, And it seems to me that everywhere And always I'll hear her sweet voice.”

LovePoetryLossPossessionObsessionMourningRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“I remember you only rarely And your fate I do not view But the mark won't be stripped from my soul Of the meaningless meeting with you. Your red house I avoid on purpose, Your red house murky river beside, But I know, that I am disturbing Gravely your heart-pierced respite. Would it weren't you that, on to my lips pressing, Prayed of love, and for love did wish, Would it weren't you that with golden verses Immortalized my anguish. Over future I do secret magic If the evening is truly blue, And I divine a second meeting, Unavoidable meeting with you.”

LovePoetryFearSecretMagicLongingObsessionRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“In the sleep to me is given Our last eden of stars up high City of clean water towers, Golden Bakchisarai There behind a colored fencing By the pensive water stalled Village of the Tsar's gardens With rejoicing we recalled. And the eagles of Catherine Suddenly recognized - it's that! He had flown to valley bottom From the ornate bronze-clad gate. That the song of parting heartache In the memory longer lives, The dark-bodied mother autumn Brought to me the redding leaves And she sprinkled on her soles Where we parted in the sun And from where for land of shadows You had left, my soothing one.”

LovePoetryLossBeautyMemoryPartingRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“The first ray -- as the blessing of the Lord -- Across the face of the beloved did creep, Who, sleeping, went a little pale, And then again more tightly went to sleep. It seemed that warmth of ray of sun Appeared to him just like a kiss. And long with these my lips I have not touched The tan strong shoulder or the dear lips. And now, the deceased spirits in my long Disconsolate wandering along the way, I am now flying toward him as a song And I caress him with a morning ray.”

LovePainDeathPoetryLossSeparationChildRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“Ah! It is you again. You enter in this house Not as a kid in love, but as a husband Courageous, harsh and in control. The calm before the storm is fearful to my soul. You ask me what it is that I have done of late With given unto me forever love and fate. I have betrayed you. And this to repeat -- Oh, if you could one moment tire of it! The killer's sleep is haunted, dead man said, Death's angel thus awaits me at deathbed. Forgive me now. Lord teaches to forgive. In burning agony my flesh does live, And already the spirit gently sleeps, A garden I recall, tender with autumn leaves And cries of cranes, and the black fields around. How sweet it would be with you underground!”

LovePainPoetryFearGuiltAffairBetrayalToxicRussian
Author:Anna Akhmatova
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“ক্লিওপেট্রা ( আমি বাতাস ও আগুন - শেকসপিয়ার ) অ্যান্টনির মরা ঠোঁটে আগেই ও খেয়েছিল চুমো সিজারের পায়ে পড়ে হাঁটু গেঁযে নিয়েছিল কেঁদে চাকরেরা বিশ্বাসঘাতক । মিইয়ে আসা গাঢ় অন্ধকারে ওকে হেরে যেতে দেখে রোমের ইগলপাখি উল্লাসে বাজাচ্ছে ভেঁপুভেরি । ওর কমনীয় রূপে বাঁধা শেষতম লোকটি ঘরে ঢোকে ঋজু ও রাজকীয় । নিজেরি রানির সামনে তোতলায় : “দাসি-গোলামের মতো হাঁটাবে তোমাকে রাজপথে, কেননা বিজয়ী !” শুনেও ও শুয়ে থাকে, হাঁসের মতন গ্রীবা, শান্ত গরিমায় ! ভোর হলে শেকলে বাঁধবে ওর ছেলেমেয়েদের । সামান্য প্রেম পৃথিবীতে রয়ে গেছে ওর : এও লোকটির সাথে রসিকতা । তারপর ছেড়ে দেবে শেষ করুণার মতো বিষধর শ্যামল বুকের মাঝে আলতো হাতে কালো জীবটাকে ।”

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Book:Antologia Poética
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