Everything’s changed, nothing has changed
in the strange chill, strange chill of dawn.
I’ve dreamed many dreams over the years
and now I awake – with the years all gone.
Here we go, here I stand in an autumn field
(changed, unchanged, I don’t understand) –
as if I’ve been given my freedom
and my last hope has been torn from my hand.
by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)
a.k.a. Georgy Ivanov
translated by Robert Chandler
To fall ill as one should, deliriously
Hot, meet everyone again,
To stroll broad avenues in the seashore garden
Full of the wind and the sun.
Even the dead, today, have agreed to come,
And the exiles, into my house.
Lead the child to me by the hand.
Long I have missed him.
I shall eat blue grapes with those who are dead,
Drink the iced
Wine, and watch the grey waterfall pour
On to the damp flint bed.
– by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (1922)
– from Anno Domini MCMXXI translation by D. M. Thomas
Neither by cart nor boat
Could you have got here.
On rotten snow
The deep water;
Farmsteads marooned and
Ah! that morose
Soul, that Robinson,
Is so close.
How often can
He inspect sledge and skis,
Return to the divan
To sit and wait for me?
And his short spur grinds
Sheer through the vile
Rug. Now mirrors learn
Not to expect smiles.
– by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (1916)
– from Белая стая (White Flock, 1917) translation by D. M. Thomas