Anna Akhmatova
Posted on Dec 23rd, 2006
by 
jhalifax
jhalifax
the season deepens into the long nights of winter and i am grateful for the words of others that remind me that there is good somewhere, even as government and human fear, greed, hate, and stupidly make the present and future look dubious
On the Road
Though this land is not my own
I will never forget it,
Or the waters of its ocean,
Fresh and delicately icy.
Sand on the bottom is whiter than chalk,
And the air drunk, like wine.
Late sun lays bare
The rosy limbs of the pine trees.
And the sun goes down in waves of ether
In such a way that I can't tell
If the day is ending, or the world,
Or if the secret of secrets is within me again.
--Anna Akhmatova
Translated from the Russian by Jane Kenyon
On the Road
Though this land is not my own
I will never forget it,
Or the waters of its ocean,
Fresh and delicately icy.
Sand on the bottom is whiter than chalk,
And the air drunk, like wine.
Late sun lays bare
The rosy limbs of the pine trees.
And the sun goes down in waves of ether
In such a way that I can't tell
If the day is ending, or the world,
Or if the secret of secrets is within me again.
--Anna Akhmatova
Translated from the Russian by Jane Kenyon
Access: Public
anna akhmatova
July 2008 