Barbara Hamby: Reading Can Kill You
Yes was Da, which is so much more Yes than Yes
but with a twinge of Nyet, and it was winter, a freezing Siberian
blizzard with days that began at ten and ended at two
John Balaban: Anna Akhmatova Spends the Night on Miami Beach
What killed her was the talk, the empty eyes,
which made her long for the one person in ten thousand
who could say her name, who could take her home,
giving her a place between Auden and Apollinaire
Mary Jane White: “A Late Reply” by Anna Akhmatova
Distract me, my native fields,
From all that has happened to me,
The abyss that swallowed my loved ones
Valerie Duff: Russian Chapter
Deserters call and wave their sacks
at the carriage bound for Petersburg.
Marina Tsvetaeva: Thank God for the Rich
For their root, putrid and loose,
For their weeping-wound from the cradle,
For their perplexing habit of taking
More from my pocket into their pocket.
Chris Moran: After Reading Akhmatova
What can I name my grief, again, today?
A nickel frozen in the sidewalk?
A tumbling paper bag?
Anna Akhmatova: Lot’s Wife
“It’s not too late, you can still look back
at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed.”
Yana Djin: “Days are so slow, adoni, so slow”
Days are so slow, adoni, so slow, each moment like eternity spreads and lingers In the dusk leaves like golden suns shiver and glow, and you lie still, watch the … Continue reading
Yana Djin: Sheep
I saw as they led my children away. To slaughter. One by one. I saw the sharp terror in the eyes of my daughter. As the master grabbed her by … Continue reading
Anna Akhmatova: I am not one of those who left the land
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.
Vox Populi 