Why, Then, Do We Not Despair?

YOU WILL HEAR THUNDER AND REMEMBER ME
—Anna Akhmatova

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson.
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
When, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

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Today would've been Anna Akhmatova's (Anna Andreevna Gonenko's) 117th birthday.

Other Events for Today:

•••Tonight (6/23), Writers of the New Sun/Escritores del Nuevo Sol presents Dynamic Women in a Double Feature: Come to hear Las Manas, a group of Bay Area women of varied ages and ethnicities who will treat us to their dynamic performance poetry. At the same evening, featured Escritores poet Be Herrera will lead a Circle of Friends poetry reading. Hosted by Felicia Martinez, open mic follows. Location: La Raza Galeria Posada, 1421 ‘R’ St., Sac., 7:30 PM. Cost: $5 or as you can afford. Info: Graciela, 916-456-5323, or www.escritoresdelnuevosol.com.

Website FYI:

Wednesday's post featured a poem by Layne Russell of Redding. Check out whiteowlweb.com, not only to learn more about Layne and her poetry, but also to access the listing of poetry publications she has on there, some of which you'll find familiar. Click on "library" in the menu to the left.

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LET ANY, WHO WILL, STILL BASK IN THE SOUTH
—Anna Akhmatova

You are with me once more, Autumn my friend!
—Annensky

Let any, who will, still bask in the south
On the paradisal sand,
It's northerly here—and this year of the north
Autumn will be my friend.

I'll live, in a dream, in a stranger's house
Where perhaps I have died,
Where the mirrors keep something mysterious
To themselves in the evening light.

I shall walk between black fir-trees,
Where the wind is at one with the heath,
And a dull splinter of the moon will glint
Like an old knife with jagged teeth.

Our last, blissful unmeeting I shall bring
To sustain me here—
The cold, pure, light flame of conquering
What I was destined for.

(Translated by D.M. Thomas)

_______________________

DEATH
—Anna Akhmatova

I

I was on the edge of something
For which there is no precise name...
An insistent drowsiness,
A self-evasion...

2

And I am standing on the threshold of something
That befalls everyone, but at different cost...
On this ship there is a cabin for me
And wind in my sails—and the terrible moment
Of taking leave of my native land.

(Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer)

_______________________

"EVERYTHING IS PLUNDERED..."
—Anna Akhmatova

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
Death's great black wing scrapes the air,
Misery gnaws to the bone.
Why then do we not despair?

By day, from the surrounding woods,
cherries blow summer into town;
at night the deep transparent skies
glitter with new galaxies.

And the miraculous comes so close
to the ruined, dirty houses—
something not known to anyone at all,
but wild in our breast for centuries.

(Translated by Stanley Kunitz with Max Hayward)

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)