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Splendid Coffin for thoughts and feelings
MickeySchtraus
Some from my favourite poetry or "let me introduce myself"
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 | I'd like to tell you about russian poet Anna Akhmatova. The interesting facts about her life you may find on the Internet. I wanna to give an example of her creative work. unfortunately it's only translations, but I hope you can feel the power of expression: Along the hard crust of deep snows, To the secret, white house of yours, So gentle and quiet – we both Are walking, in silence half-lost. And sweeter than all songs, sung ever, Are this dream, becoming the truth, Entwined twigs’ a-nodding with favor, The light ring of your silver spurs... * * * An as it's going often at love's breaking, The ghost of first days came again to us, The silver willow through window then stretched in, The silver beauty of her gentle branches. The bird began to sing the song of light and pleasure To us, who fears to lift looks from the earth, Who are so lofty, bitter and intense, About days when we were saved together. * * * As a white stone in the well's cool deepness, There lays in me one wonderful remembrance. I am not able and don't want to miss this: It is my torture and my utter gladness. I think, that he whose look will be directed Into my eyes, at once will see it whole. He will become more thoughtful and dejected Than someone, hearing a story of a dole. I knew: the gods turned once, in their madness, Men into things, not killing humane senses. You've been turned in to my reminiscences To make eternal the unearthly sadness. * * * The Grey-Eyed King Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain! The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain. This autumnal evening was stuffy and red. My husband, returning, had quietly said, "He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home; They'd found him under the old oak's dome. I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!... During one night her black hair turned to grey." He found his pipe on a warm fire-place, And quietly left for his usual race. Now my daughter will wake up and rise -- Mother will look in her dear grey eyes... And poplars by windows rustle as sing, "Never again will you see your young king..." 1910 * * * I don't like flowers - they do remind me often Of funerals, of weddings and of balls; Their presence on tables for a dinner calls. But sub-eternal roses' ever simple charm Which was my solace when I was a child, Has stayed - my heritage - a set of years behind, Like Mozart's ever-living music's hum. * * * In the Evening 1913 The garden's music ranged to me With dole that's beyond expression. The frozen oysters smelled with freshness And sharpness of the northern sea. He told me, "I'm the best of friends!", And gently touched my gown's laces. Oh, how differs from embraces The easy touching of these hands. Like that they pet a cat, a bird... Or watch the girls that run the horses.... And just a quiet laughter poses Under his lashes' easy gold. And the distressing fiddles' voice Sings me from haze that's low flowed, "Thank holly heaven and rejoice -- You are first time with your beloved." * * * (2 versions of translation): 1) In human closeness there is a secret edge, Nor love nor passion can pass it above, Let lips with lips be joined in silent rage, And hearts be burst asunder with the love. And friendship, too, is powerless plot, And so years of bliss with noble tends, When your heart is free and known not, The slow languor of the earthy sense. And they who strive to reach this edge are mad, But they who reached are shocked with anguish hard -- Now you know why beneath your hand You do not feel the beating of my heart. 2) 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. * * * Muse 1924 When, in the night, I wait for her, impatient, Life seems to me, as hanging by a thread. What just means liberty, or youth, or approbation, When compared with the gentle piper's tread? And she came in, threw out the mantle's edges, Declined to me with a sincere heed. I say to her, "Did you dictate the Pages Of Hell to Dante?" She answers, "Yes, I did." * * * Music 1958 Something of heavens ever burns in it, I like to watch its wondrous facets' growth. It speaks with me in fate's non-seldom fits, When others fear to approach close. When the last of friends had looked away From me in grave, it lay to me in silence, And sang as sing a thunderstorm in May, As if all flowers began to talk in gardens. * * * 1911 My hands clasped under a veil, dim and hazy… "Why are you so pale and upset?" That’s because I today made him crazy With the sour wine of regret. Can't forget! He got out, astound, With his mouth distorted by pain... I, not touching the railing, ran down, I was running to him till the lane. Fully choked, I cried, “That's a joke -- All that was. You get out, I'll die." And he smiled very calmly, like stroke: "It is windy right here -- pass by." * * * Our Native Earth 1961 There are not any people in the world -- So simple, lofty, tearless -- like us. 1922 We do not carry it in lockets on the breast, And do not cry about it in poems, It does not wake us from the bitter rest, And does not seem to us like Eden promised. In our hearts, we never try to treat This as a subject for the bargain row, While being ill, unhappy, spent on it, We even fail to see it or to know. Yes, this dirt on the feet suits us fairly, Yes, this crunch on the teeth suits us just, And we trample it nightly and daily -- This unmixed and non-structural dust. But we lay into it and become it alone, And therefore call this earth so freely -- my own. * * * Reading 'Hamlet' 1 The lot by the graves was a dusty hot land; The river behind -- blue and cool. You told me, "Well, go to a convent, Or go marry a fool..." Princes always say that, being placid or fierce, But I cherish this speech, short and poor -- Let it flow and shine through a thousand years, Like from shoulders do mantles of fur. 2 And, as if in wrong occasion, I said, "Thou," else... And an easy smile of pleasure Lit up dear face. From such lapses, told or mental, Every cheek would blaze. I love you as forty gentle Sisters love and bless. * * * "They Didn't Meet Me..." 1913 They didn't meet me, roamed, On steps with lanterns bright. I entered quiet home In murky, pail moonlight. Under a lamp's green halo, With smile of kept in rage, My friend said, "Cinderella, Your voice is very strange..." A cricket plays its fiddle; A fire-place grew black. Oh, someone took my little White shoe as a keep-sake, And gave me three carnations, While casting dawn eyes --. My sins for accusations, You couldn't be disguised. And heart hates to believe in The time, that's close too, When he will ask for women To try on my white shoe. * * * The Victory 1943-19452 Over a pier, the first beacon inflamed -- The vanguard of other sea-rangers; The mariner cried and bared his head; He sailed with death beside and ahead In seas, packed with furious dangers. 3 By our doors Great Victory stays ... But how we'll glory her advent? Let women lift higher the children! They blessed With life mid a thousand thousands deaths -- Thus will be the dearest answered. * * * 1959 You'll live, but I'll not; perhaps, The final turn is that. Oh, how strongly grabs us The secret plot of fate. They differently shot us: Each creature has its lot, Each has its order, robust, -- A wolf is always shot. In freedom, wolves are grown, But deal with them is short: In grass, in ice, in snow, -- A wolf is always shot. Don't cry, oh, friend my dear, If, in the hot or cold, From tracks of wolves, you'll hear My desperate recall. * * * True love's memory, You are heavy! In your smoke I sing and burn, And the rest -- is only fire To keep the chilled soul warm. To keep warm the sated body, They need my tears for this Did I for this sing your song, God? Did I take part of love for this? Let me drink of such a poison, That I would be deaf and dumb, And my unglorious glory Wash away to the final crumb. * * * They're on the way, the words of love and freedom, They're flying faster than the moment flies And I am in stage fright before singing - My lips have grown colder than ice. But soon that place, where, leaning to the windows The tender birches make dry rustling sound, The voices will be ringing of the shadows And roses will in blackened wreaths be wound. And further onward still -- the light is generous Unbearably as though ‘t were red hot wine.. And now the wind, all redolent and heated, In perfect vigor has enflamed my mind. * * * Oh, this was a cold day In Peter's wonderful town! The shadow grew dense, and the sundown Like purple fire lay. Let him not want my eyes fair Prophetic and never-changing All life long verse he'll be catching - My conceited lips' empty prayer. * * * How can you look at Nieva, How can on the bridges you rise? With a reason I'm sad since the time You appeared before my eyes. Sharp are black angels' wings, The last judgment is coming soon, And raspberry fires, like roses, In the white snow bloom. * * * 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! * * * How I love, how I loved to stare At the ironclad shores, On the balcony, where forever No foot stepped, not mine, not yours. And in truth you are -- a capital For the mad and luminous us; But when over Nieva sail Those special, pure hours And the winds of May fly over You past the iron beams You are like a dying sinner Seeing heavenly dreams * * * 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. * * * Yellow and fresh are the lanterns, Black is the road of the garden at sea. I am very calm. Only please, do not Talk about him with me. You're tender and loyal, we'll be friends.. Have fun, kiss, together grow old.. And light months above us will fly like feathers, Like stars made of snow and as cold. * * * All promised him to me: The heaven's edge, dark and kind, And lovely Christmas sleep And multi-ringing Easter wind, And the red branches of a twig, And waterfalls inside a park, And two dragonflies On rusty iron of a bulwark. And I could not disbelieve, That he'll befriend me all alone When on the mountain slopes I went Along hot pathway made of stone. * * * Every evening I receive A letter like a bride To my friend I give Response late at night. "I'll be guest of the white death On my journey down. You, my tender one, don't do Harm to anyone." And there stands a giant star Between two wood beams, With such calmness promising To fulfil your dreams. * * * 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. * * * 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. * * * She came up. I did not show my worry, Calmly looking outside the windows. She sat down, like ceramic idol In a long-ago-chosen pose. To be happy -- is well-accustomed, But attentive -- is harder just might. Or the dark shadow has been overpowered After many a jasmine March night? Tiring din of the conversations, Yellow chandelier's lifeless light And the glimmer of crafty gadgets Underneath the arm raised and light. My companion looks at her with hope And to her flashes a smile.. O my happy and wealthy heir, Read from my will. * * * Why do you pretend to be A wind, a bird, or a stone? Why do you smile at me From the sky with a sudden dawn? Do not torment me, do not touch! Leave me to wise cares, away! The inebriated flame sways Over dried-up marshes gray. And Muse in a torn kerchief Sings disconsolate and at length. In harsh and youthful anguish Is her miraculous strength. * * * To say goodbye we don't know - It's already nearing night, We are walking shoulder to shoulder, You are pensive and I am quiet We'll walk into church, we'll witness The singing, the wedding, the cross, Not seeing each other, we'll exit.. Why are things not working for us? Or we'll sit on the pressed-down snow In a cemetery, lightly sigh, And you with your stick paint the palace Where together we'll be for all time. * * * Bow of moon I see, I see Through dense canopy of groves, Level sound I hear, I hear Of the free horse's hooves. What? And you don't want to sleep, In a year could you forget Me, nor are you used to find Empty and unmade your bed? Not with you then do I speak Through sharp cries of hunting birds, Not in your eyes do I look From white pages full of words? Why you circle, like a thief At the quiet habitat? Or recall the verdict and Wait for me alive like that? I'm asleep. In dense dark, moon Threw a blade just like a dart. There is knocking. In this way Beats my warm and precious heart. * * * We noiselessly walked through the house, Not waiting for anything. They showed me way to the sick man, And I did not recognize him. He said, "Now let God have the glory" And became more thoughtful and blue. "It's long time that I hit the road, I've only been waiting for you. So you bother me in my fever, I keep those words from you. Tell me: can you not forgive me?" And I said, "I can do." It seemed, that the walls were shining From floor to the ceiling that day. Upon the silken blanket A withered arm lay. And the thrown-over predatory profile Became horribly heavy and stark, And one could not hear the breathing Through the bitten-up lips turned dark. But suddenly the last bit of strength Came alive in the eyes of blue: "It is good that you released me, Not always kind were you." And then the face became younger, And I recognized him once more. And then I said, "Holy Father, Accept a slave of yours." * * * Sleep I know that you dreamed of me, That's why I could not sleep. The muddy light had turned blue And showed me the path to keep. You saw the queen's garden, White palace, luxurious one, And the black patterned fence Before resounding stone perron. You went, not knowing the way, And thinking, "Faster, faster! If only to find her now, Not wake before meeting her." And the janitor at the red gate Shouted at you, "Where to, alack!" The ice crackled and broke, Underfoot, water went black. "This is the lake, and inside There's an island," thus thought you. And then suddenly from the dark Appeared a fire hot-blue. Awakening, you did moan In harsh light of a nasty day, And then at once you called For me loudly by my name. * * * He walked over fields and over village, And asked people from afar: "Where is she, where is the happy glimmer Of her eyes that are gray stars? Here the final days of spring Come along, in turbid fire. Still more frequent, still more tender Are the dreams I have of her." And he came in the dark city In the quiet evening time He was thinking then of Venice And of London all the same. At the church both tall and dark Stepped on shining stairs' granite And he prayed then of the coming Meeting with his first delight. And above the altar made of gold Flamed away the garden of God's rays: "Here she is, here is the happy glimmer Of gray joyous stars that are her eyes." * * * From memory of you I will remove that day, So that your helpless-foggy look will ask this: Where did I see the Persian lilac bush, The swallows and the wooden house? Oh, how often will you recollect The sudden angst of the uncalled desires And in the pensive cities you did seek That street which was not on the map entire! Upon the sound of voice behind an open door, Upon the sight of every accidental letter, You will remember: "Here has she herself Come to assist my disbelief unfettered." * * * I see capital through the flurry On this Monday night twenty-first. Some do-nothing has made up the story That love exists on the earth. And from laziness or from boredom All believed, and thus they live: Wait for meeting, fear the parting, And sing songs of love. But to others opens a secret And upon them descends a still.. I by accident came upon this And since then am as if I'm ill. * * * Yes, I had loved them, those meetings of the nights - Upon small table a glass filled with ice, Above black coffee thick and smelly steam, From the red heater heavy winter heat, The stinging mirth of literary parable And first look of the friend, helpless and terrible. * * * Not mystery and not sadness, Not the wise will of fate - These meetings have always given Impression of fight and hate. And I, having guessed your coming's Minute and circumstance, In the bent arms the slightly Tingling feeling did sense. And with dry fingers I mangled The colorful tablecloth.. I understood even then How small was this earth. |  |
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