Newly reaped ears of early wheat
lie in level rows;
fingertips tremble, pressed against
fingers fragile as themselves.
by Осип Эмильевич Мандельштам (Osip Emilyevich Mandelshtam. His surname is commonly latinised as Mandelstam)
(1909)
translated by James Greene
And it seemed to me that there were fires
Flying till dawn without number,
And I never found out things – those
Strange eyes of his – that colour?
Everything trembling and singing and
Were you my enemy or my friend,
Winter was it or summer?
by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova)
(1959)
from Седьмая книга (The Seventh Book)
translation by D. M. Thomas
We know what trembles in the scales,
What has to be accomplished.
The hour for courage. If all else fails,
With courage we are not unfurnished.
What though the dead be crowded, each to each,
What though our houses be destroyed? –
We will preserve you, Russian speech,
Keep you alive, great Russian word.
We will pass you to our sons and heirs
Free and clean, and they in turn to theirs,
And so forever.
by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova)
(23 February 1942)
from Седьмая книга (The Seventh Book)
translation by D. M. Thomas
Rambling At The Bridge Head 