Quotes from Anna Akhmatova

That is why we love this city – Dark and stern, and full of water, And we love our separations, And brief moments when we meet.

I drink to our ruined house, to the dolor of my life, to our loneliness together; and to you I raise my glass, to lying lips that have betrayed us, to dead-cold pitiless eyes, and to the hard realities; that the world is brutal and coarse, that God, in fact, has not saved us.

But on that pale hand is no ring of mine, To no one will I give it, ever. The new moon's golden beam forged it for me, And slipping it on in my sleep, whispered to me entreatingly; 'Treasure this gift, be proud of the dream!' I won't give the ring to anyone, ever.

I, like a river, Have been diverted by the ruthless era. My life was switched. It flows Into another channel, past strange lands, And I no longer recognize my shores.

A solitary sorceress: her shadow is still visible on the eve of the new moon.

In those years only the dead smiled, Glad to be at rest: And Leningrad city swayed like A needless appendix to its prisons.

But at this moment he surely 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.

The angel of God, having secretly Betrothed us one winter day, Watches over our carefree lives With fixed, darkening eyes Because of this we love the sky, Keen air, the fresh wind And the blackening branches Behind the iron fence. Because of this we love the stern Dark city with its many waterways. And we love our partings, And our brief meetings.

You will not live again. You will not rise from the snow Twenty-eight holes from the bayonet Five from the gun. I have made a shroud for my friend, Sad cloth. She loves, loves blood This Russian earth.

Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violet But gold - smells of nothing. Mignonette smells of water Love smells of apples And now we know Blood smells of blood.

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.

God is unkind to gardeners and reapers. Slanted rain coils and falls from up high And the wide raincoats catch water, That once had reflected the sky. In underwater realm are fields and meadows And the free currents sing a lot, Plums rupture on bloated branches And grass strands, lying down, rot. And through the dense and watery net I see your darling face, A quiet park, a round porch And a Chinese arbour-place.

Oh, quantos espetáculos perdi, quantas vezes o pano ergueu-se e caiu sem mim. Quantos de meus amigos nunca encontrei uma só vez em toda a minha vida, (...)

Three things in this world he loved: Evensong, white peacocks And worn maps of America. He didn't like crying children, Tea with raspberry jam Or hysterical women. And I was his wife.

Muse When at night I wait for her to come, Life, it seems, hangs by a single strand. What are glory, youth, freedom, in comparison with the dear welcome guest, a flute in hand? She enters now. Pushing her veil aside, she stares through me with her attentiveness. I question her: 'And were you Dante's guide, dictating the Inferno?' She answers: 'Yes.

He never asks for endearment, all quiet, Only gazes at me all the time, And he bears with a blissful smile This distressing oblivion of mine.

Let love become the gravestone That lies upon my life.

These tiresome talks and debates, Lifeless chandelier's yellowish daze, And the flicker of elegant plates Near the graceful hand, slightly raised

Place down the poison right before me To take my voice out of my chest And wash away my shameful glory Into the gleaming nothingness.

Love conquers, deceitful and slow, With a soft amateurish refrain. So strange to think – not long ago You weren't dejected and gray.

Now mirrors learn not to expect smiles.

All ten years of my trepidations, Each and every sleepless night, I placed them all in a quiet word And I voiced it – in vain, unsure. You walked off and with order restored, My soul was empty and pure. ~ Confusion

There are Four of Us I have turned aside from everything, from the whole earthly store. The spirit and guardian of this place is an old tree-stump in water. We are brief guests of the earth, as it were, and life is a habit we put on. On paths of air I seem to overhear two friendly voices, talking in turn. Did I say two?...There by the east wall's tangle of raspberry, is a branch of elder, dark and fresh. Why! It's a letter from Marina. November 1962 (in delirium)

In Dream Black and enduring separation I share equally with you. Why weep? Gove me your hand, promise me you will come again. You and I are like high mountains and we can't move closer. Just send me word at midnight sometime through the stars. 1946