Shrill poems of Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova did not like being called a poet, and insisted that she - a poet. Because the poet - a vocation, a state of mind that does not depend on gender. And she, like a true poet, lived through a lot: the persecution, the terrible years of repression, war ... But this fragile woman has always been lyrical, wise, chant the eternal values ​​of love and beauty. Probably, it helped Akhmatova in the most difficult moments of inner strength to maintain and leave a bright trace in the history of literature and culture.

June 23, the birthday of one of the most talented women of the twentieth century, Website recalls the verses of a poet.

***

Clasped her hands under the dark veil ...
"Why are you pale today?»
- Because I tart sadness
I fed him drunk.

How to forget? He came, staggering,
Painfully twisted mouth ...
I ran away, without touching the railing,
I ran after him to the gate.

Panting, I shouted: "Joke
All that was. Go, I die. »
He smiled quietly and terribly
And he said to me: "Do not stand in the wind».



***

I have learned to live simply and wisely,
Watch the sky and pray to God,
And long before the night wandering,
To tire unnecessary alarm.

When rustle in the ravine mugs
And niknet bunch of mountain ash yellow-red,
I compose poems funny
On the life of perishable, perishable and beautiful.

I'm coming back. Licking my hand
Fluffy cat purrs sweetly,
And the bright lights fire
At the pinnacle of the lake sawmill.

Only rarely penetrates the stillness
Creek storks congregate on the roof.
And if you knock on my door,
I think I did not even hear.



***

Twenty first. Night. Monday.
Contours of the capital in the mist.
Composed as some slacker,
What is love on earth.

And from laziness or boredom
All they believe and live:
They are waiting for appointments, fear of separation
And sing love songs.

But other open secret,
And rest on their silence ...
I stumbled on it by accident
And since then, everything seemed sick.



***

And the stone word fell
In my still living breast.
Nothing, because I was ready.
I handle it somehow.
I have a lot of things today:
It is necessary to kill the memory until the end,
It is necessary that the soul petrified,
We must learn to live again.
Or else ... Hot summer rustling
Like a holiday outside my window.
I have long had a presentiment of this
Light day and empty house.
(From the poem "Requiem») em>



***

Wide and yellow evening light,
Gently the April coolness.
You're late for many years,
Still, I'm glad you.

These sit close to me,
Look merry eyes:
Here is the blue notebook - With my children's poems.

I'm sorry that I lived grieving
And the sun was happy enough.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry that for you
I took too many.



***

There are people in the vicinity of a treasured trait,
She did not go love and passion, - Let eerie silence merge mouth
And my heart is torn apart by love.

And friendship is powerless and the year
High fire and happiness,
When the soul is free and alien
Languor sluggishness voluptuousness.

Aspiring to her mad, and her
Reached - amazed anguish ...
Now you understand why my
No heart beats under your hand.

***

Share your favorite poem in the comments!



via adme.ru