Lot's Wife and One more...

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.

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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