A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

Не said I had no rivals, said that I
was not an earthly woman, but to him
the solace of a winter sun, the wild
song of our native country, like a hymn.

And when I die, I know he will not grieve

crying «Come back!» madly, as from a wrong,
but suddenly see — the body cannot live
without the sun, the soul — without a song.

And what of now?

[1960s]

579. Анна Ахматова (1889–1966). «Из памяти твоей я выну этот день…»

Out of your memory I'll snatch this day,
so vou will question, lost, with helpless eyes,
«Where did I see the little wooden house,
the Persian lilac, swallows in the sky?»

The sudden longing of unnamed desires

oh, very often you will call to mind,
searching in pensive cities for a street
uncharted on whatever map you find.

Sight of some letter you did not expect —

sound of a voice at some half-opened gate —
and you'll be thinking, «Here she is herself,
coming to help me in my faithless state».

[1960s]

580. Анна Ахматова(1889–1966). Cadran solaire на Меньшиковом доме

A steamer passes churning up a wake.
Familiar house with its cadran solaire.
Spires gleaming, and reflections of these waves—
nothing on all the Earth to me more fair!

A narrow alley darkens like a crack.

Sparrows alight upon a wire to rest.
Even the salty taste of many strolls
memorized long ago — is also blessed.

[1960s]

581. Анна Ахматова(1889–1966). «Муза ушла по дороге…»

The muse walked away up the trail,
autumnal, narrow and steep.
Large dewdrops were sprinkled over
her dusky legs and feet.

I'd begged her to wait till winter,

to stay with through the fall.
But she answered, «This is a grave here,
How can you breathe at all?»

I wanted to give her a present —

the whitest dove I possessed —
but the bird flew off on its own
after my shapely guest.

I watched her go. I was silent.

She was my only love.
And like a gate to her country
The dawm was shining above.

[1960s]

582. Анна Ахматова (1889–1966). «Почернел, искривился бревенчатый мост…»