T.L. Morrisey

Wednesday, September 20, 2023

Untitled Poem, -- to Natalya Rykova by Anna Akhmatova

 

Anna Akhmatova



Everything has been plundered, betrayed, sold out,

The wing of black death has flashed,

Everything has been devoured by starving anguish,

Why, then, is it so bright?


The fantastic woods near the town

Wafts the scent of cherry blossoms by day,

At night new constellations shine

In the transparent depths of the skies of July --


And how near the miraculous draws

To the dirty, tumbledown huts . . .  

No one, no one knows what it is,

But for centuries we have longed for it. 


June 1921

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