Days Ago I came across the work of Anna Akhmatova. I reproduce below some biographical notes from Wikipedia:
Andreevna Anna Akhmatova was the pen name of Anna Andreyevna Gorenko (Bolshoi Fontan, June 11, 1889 - Moscow, March 5, 1966 ) was a Russian poet ; did not like the title of poet , so I prefer being called poet, is masculine.
wife was from 1910 to 1918 Nikolai Gumilev. He was a member of the Guild of Poets, a group acmeista founded and led by her husband. Composed his first opera, "Evening" , in 1912, which followed "The Rosary" in 1914, both characterized by an intimate delicacy. "The flock White (1917 )," Plantain " (1921 ), "Anno Domini MCMXXI " (1922 ) sono raccolte di versi ispirate dal nostalgico ricordo dell'esperienza biografica, che spesso assumono quasi la cadenza di una preghiera.
Dopo la fucilazione del marito nel 1921 , seguì una lunga pausa indotta dalla censura , che la poetessa ruppe nel 1940 con "Il salice" e "Da sei libri", raccolte dalle quali emerge un dolore derivato dalla costante ricerca della bontà degli uomini. Il figlio Lev fu imprigionato fra il 1935 e il 1940 nel periodo delle grandi purghe staliniane .
Expelled from the Union of Soviet Writers in 1946 on charges of aestheticism and political disengagement, however, was able to be rehabilitated in 1955 , published in 1962 work which had already been working since 1942, the "Poem without a hero", a nostalgic reminder of past Russian drama that reworked by the new vision of history involves, and through a transfiguration of Space and Time in a conception of pure end.
Below I report some poems
shook hands under the dark veil ...
(From "Evening")
Strinsi le mani sotto il velo oscuro...
“Perché oggi sei pallida?”
Perché d’agra tristezza
l’ho abbeverato fino ad ubriacarlo.
Come dimenticare? Uscì vacillando,
sulla bocca una smorfia di dolore...
Corsi senza sfiorare la ringhiera,
corsi dietro di lui fino al portone.
Soffocando, gridai: “E’ stato tutto
uno scherzo. Muoio se te ne vai”.
Lui sorrise calmo, crudele
e mi disse: “Non startene al vento.”
(1911)
La porta è socchiusa
(From "Evening")
The door is ajar,
breath of fresh lime ...
on the table, forgotten,
a whip and a glove.
yellow circle of light ...
I listen to the hiss.
Why did you go away?
do not understand ... Bright and happy
tomorrow morning.
This life is wonderful,
Be therefore wise heart.
You are prostrate, knock
deader more slowly ...
You know, I read
that souls are immortal.
(1911)
(From "Anno Domini")
Ah, you thought you could forget
and you throw it, praying and crying,
under the hooves a bay.
or take a call on water sprouts
witches enchanted
and send you the gift of a handkerchief scented
terrible and fatal.
Be damned.
or not will rise to almost groans with the damned soul looks, but I swear
on paradise, and sull'ebbrezza
miraculous icon of our nights burning:
never come back as a you.
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