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It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.
Anna Akhmatova
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Anna Akhmatova
Age: 76 †
Born: 1889
Born: June 23
Died: 1966
Died: March 5
Author
Literary Critic
Literary Scholar
Poet
Translator
Writer
Odesa
Anna Andreyevna Gorenko
Anna Achmatova
Anna Ahmatova
Anna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Gorenko
Anna Andreevna Akhmatova
Smile
Dead
Happy
Peace
Death
Time
Smiled
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Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of your life.
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Now no one will listen to songs. The prophesied days have begun. Latest poem of mine, the world has lost its wonder, Don't break my heart, don't ring out.
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Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.
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I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death, and something else I'd rather not recall just now.
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I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.
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Call me a sinner, Mock me maliciously: I was your insomnia, I was your grief.
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We learned not to meet anymore, We don't raise our eyes to one another, But we ourselves won't guarantee What could happen to us in an hour.
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Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground whisk the lamps away.
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I am not one of those who left the land to the mercy of its enemies. Their flattery leaves me cold, my songs are not for them to praise.
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I have long had this premonition of a bright day and a deserted house
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All that I am hangs by a thread tonight
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Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people.
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No foreign sky protected me, no stranger's wing shielded my face. I stand as witness to the common lot survivor of that time, that place.
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Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.
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The stars of death stood over us. And Russia, guiltless, beloved, writhed under the crunch of bloodstained boots, under the wheels of Black Marias.
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Courage: Great Russian word, fit for the songs of our children's children, pure on their tongues, and free.
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The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.
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... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood, with the bounty and vigilance of the stars, the whole world was his inheritance and he shared it with everyone.
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I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.
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A loss, but who still mourns the breath of one woman, or laments one wife? Though my heart never can forget, how, for one look, she gave up her life.
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