In the light of Mark_W’s adventure with the prose of Anna Akhmatova, I’ve decided to put some of my absolute fav’s on blogger. Considering most of my readers are what I can only describe as “Contemporary natural-born philosophers,” the first poem I will post should raise a few delighted eyebrows even if you generally do not like poetry. I hope you enjoy!
Lot’s Wife
And the just man trailed God’s messenger,
His huge, light shape devoured the black hill.
But uneasiness shadowed his wife and spoke to her:
‘It’s not too late, you can look back still
At the red towers of Sodom, the place that bore you,
The square in which you sang, the spinning-shed,
At the empty windows of the upper storey
Where children blessed your happy marriage-bed.’
Her eyes that were still turning when a bolt
Of pain shot through them, were instantly blind;
Her body turned into transparent salt,
And her swift legs were rooted to the ground.
Who mourns one woman in a holocaust?
Surely her death has no significance?
Yet in my heart she never will be lost,
She who gave up her life to steal one glance.
-Anna Akhmatova 1922-24
Mark, this should please you and give you a taste of who Akhmatova was. Other readers, you may enjoy the tone.
Untitled
He loved three things alone:
White peacocks, evensong,
Old maps of America.
He hated children crying,
And raspberry jam with his tea,
And womanish hysteria.
…And he had married me.
-Anna Akhmatova 1911
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
2 comments:
Susie,
Cool, I really liked both of these - I'm definately becoming an Ahkmatova fan!
I'll pop back and say more in a day or so, but I need to spend a few hours looking for cars now, as mine caught fire yesterday, irritatingly enough (not in catastrophic or horrendously dangerous way, happily, but enough to ruin it, probably...)
Mark_W
I seem to be distracted again from looking for another car! :-) Never mind.
The more I read Lot’s Wife, the more I like it: the thought that a last glance at a city, “the place that bore you”, and the where “children blessed your happy marriage bed”, is worth even death and deserving of ‘never being lost’, is I think, very moving.
To dive off at a tangent regarding the second poem, [though at least still tying in to the word "lost" :-)]the line about "Old maps of America" reminds me of something I saw in the Tate Modern in London once - it was called "Lost America", and it was simply a large scale atlas map of America, but with every town or city or feature except those with the word "Lost" in the name removed. I'm sometimes a bit old fashioned when it comes to "modern art", but I really liked this [or, at least, I spent ages staring at it feeling vaguely sad and moved... :-)]
Mark_W
Post a Comment