  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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White Night
by Anna Akhmatova
There will be thunder then. Remember me.
Say ‘ She asked for storms.’ The entire
world will turn the colour of crimson stone,
and your heart, as then, will turn to fire.
That day, in Moscow, a true prophecy,
when for the last time I say goodbye,
soaring to the heavens that I longed to see,
leaving mI haven't locked the door,
Nor lit the candles,
You don't know, don't care,
That tired I haven't the strength
To decide to go to bed.
Seeing the fields fade in
The sunset murk of pine-needles,
And to know all is lost,
That life is a cursed hell:
I've got drunk
On your voice in the doorway.
I was sure you'd come back.
Solitude by
Anna Akhmatova
So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.
Anna Gorenko was born on June 23, 188, into an upper-class family in Odessa, the Ukraine. Anna’s father did not want her to write poetry, he wanted her to go to law school and graduate and not shame the family name. Anna decided to change her penname to Anna Akhmatova, it was her great-grandmothers maiden name. In 1910 Anna married fellow poet and critic Nikolai Gumilev. Shortly after the two married her husband began to travel leaving Anna behind. In 1912 the couple had a son Lev, who Anna left with her parents to raise. She only visited him for the holidays.
Anna’s first publication was Evening's in 1912, followed by, Rosary in 1914. It was well received by the public and Anna became well known as a poet. In 1918 Anna and her husband devoiced. Anna then married Vladimir Shileiko in 1918, whom she divorced in 1928. Her third marriage was to Nikolai Punin, who died in a Siberian labor camp in 1953. After Anna’s first husband was executed in 1921, she had a very hard time finding a publisher. Even though the two had devoiced many people still associated her with him. Her book Anno Domini MCMXXI was published in 1922. It was said that there was an unofficial ban on Akhmatova's poetry from 1925 until 1940. In 1940 she published a book that contained several of her previously published poems. The book only sold a few copies and was eventually taken off the selves. Anna faced heavy censorship of her work for many years. Her most accomplished work, Requiem, was not published in Russia until 1987. Her poem{ Without a Hero was her reaction to her life and her art being restricted.
Anna’s poetry told of her life and of the horror she lived and saw daily. Many of her poems were never published in the Soviet Union. Anna was awarded the Etna-Taormina prize in 1964 and at the age of 76, Akhmatova was chosen president of the Writers' Union. Akhmatova died in Leningrad, where she had spent most of life, on March 5, 1966. After her death Poems of Akhmatova was published in 1967, followed by Twenty Poems of Anna Akhmatova in 1985 and a complete book of Anna’s poetry was published in 1990 The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova
Memory Of Sun
by Anna Akhmatova
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
Grass grows yellower.
Faintly if at all the early snowflakes
Hover, hover.
Water becoming ice is slowing in
The narrow channels.
Nothing at all will happen here again,
Will ever happen.
Against the sky the willow spreads a fan
The silk's torn off.
Maybe it's better I did not become
Your wife.
Memory of sun seeps from the heart.
What is it? -- Dark?
Perhaps! Winter will have occupied us
In the night.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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Smoky Shroud
I sat and watched the leaping flames before me.
The wind sent sparks and ashes whirling skyward.
The dark blue of the hottest fires of Hades:
The RED and ORANGE and YELLOW flames leapt upward,
an orchestra of colors, how they blended,
in harmony with leaves of those same colors,
that graced the ground beneath the towering trees.
The forest still wore COSTUMES of the autumn,
well painted with the palette of the season.
The symphony of sound by the wind blowing,
made brittle, rustling MUSIC in the darkness,
which flowed like black molasses down the mountain:
a dark, forbidding pool, of hell’s creation:
a background for the ghosts, now come to haunt me.
The fire, reflected from the under-belly
of billowing smoke, a ghost with eyes of ember
and LAUGHTER like the banshees in the windstorm:
a HARVEST FESTIVAL of deepest evil.
The flood of black, that great primeval torrent,
implacably shoved forth by some remembrance:
some picture in my mind, demonic semblance.
The shuffling sound of something just behind me,
sent brimstone scents that soured the air around me,
roiled red the haze, that somehow ringed my refuge
and bordered black, time’s shifting, smoky passage.
The staring, shuttered eyes that now surrounded:
the spiraled serpents, slithering from shadows:
the spiraling streams of smoke that shaped my shroud.
Honorable Mentions:
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Poetry: October 28, 2009 Issue [#3354]
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