"Evening hours at the desk
And a page irreparably white
The mimosa calls up the heat of Nice
a large bird flies in a beam of moonlight.
And having braided my hair carefully for the night
as if tomorrow braids will be necessary,
I look out the window, no longer sad,-
at the sea, the sandy slopes.
What power a man has
who doesn't ask for tenderness!
I cannot lift my tired eyes
when he speaks my name."
1913
Anna Akhmatova, translated from orig. Russian
by Jane Kenyon
And a page irreparably white
The mimosa calls up the heat of Nice
a large bird flies in a beam of moonlight.
And having braided my hair carefully for the night
as if tomorrow braids will be necessary,
I look out the window, no longer sad,-
at the sea, the sandy slopes.
What power a man has
who doesn't ask for tenderness!
I cannot lift my tired eyes
when he speaks my name."
1913
Anna Akhmatova, translated from orig. Russian
by Jane Kenyon
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
wheezy_e:
The excerpt is fucking fantastic, I just wanted to drop by & say so. I'm in too much of a stupid rush to stop and read this poem though. Plus there's my built-in poetry problem: I'd have to concentrate on not concentrating and that never works.
kung_fu_tattoo:
Thank you for your concern. It's nice to hear a kind thought every now, and again. As for your story, it's not hard to compliment talent. I'll make it a point to check out anything else I see with your name on it.