Russian Poets

ANNA AKHMATOVA

Anna Akhmatova. Artist O. Della Vos-Kardovskaya (oil), 1915

While preparing my next chapter about Anna Akhmatova, I decided to introduce you to one of her yearly poems:

WHITE NIGHT

Ah, I didn’t lock the door,

I didn’t burn the candle,

You don’t know how tired,

I couldn’t decide to lie down.

To watch how feeble the stripes

In the branches at the dark of sunset,

To be drunk from the sound of the voice,

Resembling yours.

And to know that everything is lost,

That life — the damned hell!

Oh, I was sure,

That you come back.

1911

Белой Ночью

Ах, дверь не запирала я,

Не зажигала свеч,

Не знаешь, как, усталая,

Я не решалась лечь.

Смотреть, как гаснут полосы

В закатном мраке хвой,

Пьянея звуком голоса,

Похожего на твой.

И знать, что все потеряно,

Что жизнь—проклятый ад!

О, я была уверена,

Что ты придешь назад.

So-called “white nights” take place in Petersburg from the middle of May to the middle of June, when the city doesn’t even need electrical light. It is the most beautiful, most romantic time in the city. City, especially youth, live on the streets and embankments of the Neve River, walking and dancing amid the magical illusion of a fairy tale.

But for the heroine of the young Akmatova poem, this mysterious night transformed her life into “damn hell.”

Enjoy her poetry. And if anyone would like to join me in translating her poetry, you are very welcome!

Thank you! Spasibo! Спасибо!