‘O there are words . . .’
‘I hear the oriole’s always grieving voice . . .’
‘Now no-one will be listening to songs . . .’
‘The cuckoo I asked . . .’
‘Why is our century worse than any other? . . .’
‘They wiped your slate . . .’
Bezhetsk
‘To earthly solace . . .’
‘I’m not of those who left . . .’
‘Blows the swan wind . . .’
‘To fall ill as one should . . .’
‘Behind the lake . . .’
Rachel
Lot’s Wife
To an Artist
The Last Toast
* ‘Dust smells of a sun-ray . . .’
‘Some gaze into tender faces . . .’
Boris Pasternak
Voronezh
* Imitation from the Armenian
Dante
Cleopatra
Willow
* In Memory of Mikhail Bulgakov
‘When a man dies . . .’
* ‘Not the lyre of a lover . . .’
Way of all the Earth
Courage
‘And you, my friends . . .’
* ‘That’s how I am . . .’
Three Autumns
‘The souls of those I love . . .’
‘The fifth act of the drama . . .’
‘It is your lynx eyes, Asia . . .’
In Dream
‘So again we triumph! . . .’
‘Let any, who will, still bask in the south . . .’
from Northern Elegies: The Fifth
The Sixth
Seaside Sonnet
Fragment
Summer Garden
‘In black memory . . .’
‘Could Beatrice write . . .’
Death of a Poet
The Death of Sophocles
Alexander at Thebes
Native Soil
There are Four of Us
* ‘If all who have begged help . . .’
Last Rose
* ‘It is no wonder . . .’
‘What’s war? What’s plague? . . .’
In Memory of V. C. Sreznevskaya
‘You will hear thunder and remember me . . .’
* Poems not published in the collection but written in the same epoch.
Introduction
‘Who can refuse to live his own life?’ Akhmatova once remarked in answer to some expression of sympathy. Her refusal not to live her life made of her one of those few people who have given dignity and meaning to our terrible century, and through whom and for whom it will be remembered. In relation to her, the politicians, the bureaucrats, the State torturers, will suffer the same fate that, in Akhmatova’s words, overtook Pushkin’s autocratic contemporaries: ‘The whole epoch, little by little . . . began to be called the time of Pushkin. All the . . . high-ranking members of the Court, ministers, generals and non-generals, began to be called Pushkin’s contemporaries and then simply retired to rest in card indexes and lists of names (with garbled dates of birth and death) in studies of his work. . . . People say now about the splendid palaces and estates that belonged to them: Pushkin was here, or Pushkin was never here. All the rest is of no interest to them.’
Pushkin was the closest of the friends she did not meet even once in her life. He helped her to survive the 1920s and 30s, the first of Akhmatova’s long periods of isolation and persecution. Dante, too, was close. And there were friends whom she could meet, including Mandelstam and Pasternak, whose unbreakable integrity supported her own. But no-one could have helped, through thirty years of persecution, war, and persecution, if she had not herself
