#thirteen lines

burgundy buds burgeoning back

sibilant springs spill secrets so scintillating 

your yellowed yeats yawns, yielding,

to troubled tempests toying through tresses tangled

.

one only obtains oblivion once

knowing now or never

madness makes memories meaningless

and angels accompany an albatross abandoned

.

winds worry wantonly

pallid patience produces personae purposeful

lazing listlessly like lovers’ language lost

forever fallen for feverish fantasies

.

И наконец ты словно произнес

Не так, как те... что на одноколено, —

А так, как тот, кто вырвалсяиз плена

И видит сень священную берез

Сквозь радугу невольныхслез.

И вдруг тебя запела тишина,

И чистым солнцем сумрак озарился,

И мир на миг один преобразился,

И странно изменился вкус вина.

И даже я, кому убийцей быть

Божественного слова предстояло,

Почти благоговейно замолчала,

Чтоб жизнь благословенную продлить.

-

And at the end you pronounced it in such a way,

Not like, the ones who… go down on bended knee, -

But really like the one who escaped from captivity

And sees that sacred shadow of the birch trees

Through the rainbow of his unwanted tears.

And suddenly the silence began to sing your song

And the darkness was enlighted by a sun glow,

And the world in a word was transformed all along,

As oddly changed the taste of wine.

And even I, the murderer who had the wrath

To kill the Divine Word that happened to be set,

I nearly religiously achieved to keep quiet,

So as to let life follow its own blessed path.

Anna Akhmatova

My translation :)

Portrait of the author drawn by A.G Tischler