Portrait of Akhmatova, by Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin; image care of Wikimedia Commons.
If last week’s dose of pub-lit was a long and thoughtful rumination on the mythic breadth of history, then this week’s takes us on a chilling turn to Russia in the midst of a dark poetic winter. Few places, I think, have as unique an engagement with poetry (or literature in general) as Russia. While all nations have had their historic drifts between passions and themes, few can claim to have gone through a period of such rigid and destructive clamp-down as they.
The period I speak of is, of course, the time of the Soviet Union. While I seek to make no political judgements here, I do feel right in making creative ones – and I think our spotlighted poet tonight, one Anna Akhmatova, would feel justified in doing so as well.
Akhmatova is a fascinating sample of a poet. In her, you can see the true transformation of time – of the advent and change of style that only life can stir. Akhmatova was a modernist poet, known before the communist revolution largely for short lyric poems that entranced the nation, and made her one of the most popular poets of the age – a time many refer to as Russia’s “Silver Age.”
On the one hand, she befriended such other writers as Boris Pasternak. Yet she also lived through World War II, and the madness of a 900 day siege in the city of Leningrad. She married three times, divorcing twice, and losing the third to the horrors of a labor camp.
And that was what sadly came to define her life: horror. She watched as friends and family died, fled, or were executed – yet she remained. Her work was condemned by the government, but still she remained, choosing to remain as witness to the horrors around her. And her work changed with them. What was short and musical twisted into intricate and structured tragedies – like the piece we present tonight.
“Poem without a Hero” was originally dedicated to all those friends and countrymen that died at Leningrad (St. Petersburg). Though it was not published until after her death, Akhmatova began it in 1940, and proceeded to work on it for twenty years, considering it the major work of her life. Today, it is one of her longest and most well known works, and regarded as one of the finest poems of the twentieth century.
The translations, given below, were performed by Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward.
Poem without a Hero
I have lit my treasured candles,
one by one, to hallow this night.
With you, who do not come,
I wait the birth of the year.
Dear God!
the flame has drowned in crystal,
and the wine, like poison, burns
Old malice bites the air,
old ravings rave again,
though the hour has not yet struck.
Dread. Bottomless dread…
I am that shadow on the threshold
defending my remnant peace.
Let the gossip roll!
What to me are Hamlet’s garters,
or the whirlwind of Salome’s dance,
or the tread of the Man in the Iron Mask?
I am more iron than they.
Prince Charming, prince of the mockers —
compared with him the foulest of sinners
is grace incarnate…
That woman I once was,
in a black agate necklace,
I do not wish to meet again
till the Day of Judgement.
Are the last days near, perhaps?
I have forgotten your lessons,
prattlers and false prophets,
but you haven’t forgotten me.
As the future ripens in the past,
so the past rots in the future —
a terrible festival of dead leaves.
All the mirrors on the wall
show a man not yet appeared
who could not enter this white hall.
He is no better and no worse,
but he is free of Lethe’s curse:
his warm hand makes a human pledge.
Strayed from the future, can it be
that he will really come to me,
turning left from the bridge?
From childhood I have been afraid
of mummers. It always seemed
an extra shadow
without face or name
had slipped among them…
You…
you are as old as the Mamre oak,
ancient interrogator of the moon,
whose feigned groans cannot take us in.
You write laws of iron.
Creature of special tastes,
you do not wait for gout and fame
to elevate you
to a luxurious jubilee chair,
but bear your triumph
over the flowering heather,
over wildernesses.
And you are guilty of nothing: neither of this,
that, nor anything..
Besides
what have poets, in any case, to do with sin?
They must dance before the Ark of the Covenant
or die! But what am I trying to say?
In the black sky no star is seen,
somewhere in ambush lurks the Angel of Death,
but the spices tongues of the masqueraders
are loose and shameless
A shout:
“Make way for the hero!”
Ah yes. Displacing the tall one,
he will step forth now without fail
and sing to us about holy vengeance…
There is no death, each of us knows —
it’s banal to say.
I’ll leave it to others to explain.
Is this the visitor from the wrong side
of the mirror? Or the shape
that suddenly flitted past my window?
Is it the new moon playing tricks,
or is someone really standing there again
between the stove and the cupboard?
This means that gravestones are fragile
and granite is softer than wax.
Absurd, absurd, absurd! From such absurdity
I shall soon turn gray
or change into another person.
why do you beckon me with your hand?
For one moment of peace
I would give the peace of the tomb.
~Anna Akhmatova
dVerse 
Hi Chris,
At the risk of sounding crotchety, I actually think it’s okay to make some political judgments here–what Akhmatova and Mandelstam and other poets went through on the political side was horrible.
I agree she’s a great poet. It’s incredibly difficult to imagine how these people survived at all–often memorizing all their poems because they were afraid to write them down (and have them found.) I guess, I should say that it’s amazing that the work survived–except that it’s so good, and was so important to people. Thanks for bringing her up. I should read a lot more of it.
K.
Oh you’re not being crotchety my friend. I perhaps could have worded that all better – I certainly agree that what they went through, what so many people went through in their nation at that time was an absolute horror…I merely meant that the political side of things was not the focus of this article. It was the person, her struggles, her story, and the work that came of it, that was the focus.
You’re quite right – it is amazing many of these works survived at all, and I have nothing but respect for those that managed to persevere in the face of such opposition. These Russian poets, particularly of that time period, were truly a breed all their own…
Yes, I knew you didn’t mean it that way.
But thanks for focusing on her. I really should read more of Akmatova and the others too. The one you posted is great, but I tend to like shorter works better, because ot my own limitations–I can understand and absorb them better. K.
I agree. I am in awe of people who can say masses in few words.
this is a fascinating article chris.. business-wise i was lucky to meet the one or other russian and they’re fascinating people with a different view on life and much depth. enjoyed your spotlight on anna very much and this poem sure is a masterpiece in many ways. thanks chris for the awesome work you’re doing with pretzels & bullfights – really broadens my horizon..
Thank you for sharing! I have enjoyed reading your article! The poem is really wonderful; now I would like to read more of her works!
Cheers,
Dark, heavy stuff, Chris. For me, it illustrates how poetry is born of a socio-political structure, and, perhaps, how it can influence it. Interesting also how the cold, dark climate impacts the writer. On a side note, Stanley Kunitz was one of my all-time favorite poets. I didn’t know he was involved in translation as well. An extraordinary human being.
Such a heroine she was! I am glad of the opportinity to read this wonderful and disturbing poem.
I wonder how huge a treasury of Russian poems we have yet to encounter, both old and new… I really enjoyed reading this, and I LOVED the poem.
i agree with victoria…not only is the poet shaped by their surroundings but notices it and engages their surroundings…it is her story and the story of others as well…some really slippery lines along the way and nice word play too…i enjoyed it i am sure more than many did the situation at the time…
Thank you, Chris for introducing me to this remarkable Russian poet. Yhe background you give us throws a whole new light on the poetry of that time and place.
Thank you Chris I enjoyed learning of her beautiful work. ~ Rose
Thanks Chris. Up until now I have been familiar with the poets whom you’ve posted. I can read French enough to understand the poetry of it without too much aid of translation and almost can manage the same in Spanish. I took one semester of Russian in college and got through the alphabet, numbers and days of the week which doesn’t help much at all. So much of poetry is in the layering, in the nuances (at least in my work I hope it is) so I’ve not read any Russian poetry. Of course I am acquainted with the masterpiece novels but I have known nothing of their poetry.
Like Claudia I have several Russian friends and they are passionate about poetry. I think they have the same difficulties with ours. It’s almost unnoticed how much of a nation/culture’s history and sacrifice is inherent in its language. They don’t understand English speaking cultural references and I think the same for English readers of theirs. Having said that, I found the above piece profound and deeply personal. Thank you for introducing me to her!
Gay, if you like French music, you’ll have to given a listen to the playlist on my blog. It features a few blow-your-mind songs in French. I think you’d enjoy their soulful dance.
Chris,
This is tremendous! Thanks for the wonderful article and the translated poem. I am always suspicious of translations — one never knows (unless one speaks both the source and target languages) what was left out and/or what was added. One also deals with a potential loss of musicality and watering down of original poetic devices. (No rhymes or fixed meter here but translation of non-free verse poems almost always sacrfice some level of quality, not matter how skilled and poetic the translator is.) That said, this reads very nicely and I think it’s likely that much of the intent came across nicely in the translation.
This is a powerful statement, Chris: “but still she remained, choosing to remain as witness to the horrors around her”
And of Anna’s poem, these are my favorite lines:
“and the wine, like poison, burns
Old malice bites the air,
old ravings rave again,”
“That woman I once was,
in a black agate necklace,
I do not wish to meet again”
“From such absurdity
I shall soon turn gray
or change into another person.”
Thanks Chris–she is one of my favorite translated poets, and she translates well,, because she is so clear and passionate, I think. She had a very hard life, watching all her personal world destroyed. She began writing in a literary golden age, and had to see all that destroyed also, yet she persisted. Thank you for highlighting yet another author more people should read, and I should read more often.
This is exciting and I love it when this happens. Somehow I missed this post but today while researching a poem I want to write on value pluralism I found a connection between Isaiah Berlin (a magnificent philosopher) and Anna Akhmatova. This lead me to look for a version of Poem Without a Hero on the web and here I find it in my poetic home away from home! Thank you Chris, you made my day!