[Untitled] shook hands under the dark veil .. .
"Why are pale today?" Because of bitter sadness
I drank binge.
How can we forget? He went staggering,
mouth a grimace of pain ...
courses without touching the railing,
ran after him to the door.
Suffocating, I cried, "It 's been
a joke. If I die you go."
He smiled calmly, cruel
and said "Do not just stand in the wind"
1911
Who is Anna Akhmatova ?
One of the most important poets of the twentieth century Russia.
born in Odessa in 1889, and died in Moscow in 1966.
loses her first husband in 1934 . Shot for counterrevolutionary activity.
For the same reason, also lost many of his poet friends, who end up in Stalinist Gulag.
lost his only son Lev , which in 1938 is jailed awaiting a death sentence. And every morning, for seventeen months, the Akhmatova goes outside the prison to hear from him. [ Requiem, is a poem that comes from this dramatic experience that is shared with hundreds of other mothers]
His poetry was born intimate and sentimental, but time and experience the history that is stolen husband, son and friends, leading to an art that chronicles the sufferings of an entire people.
The regime hindered (obviously) the publication of his work branded pessimism of neurotic and erotic sick, but she survived. His word is still strong and clear. Simple and powerful. Particular, because it tells of his land, his beloved Russia, as well as general mechanisms guess because I'm a bit 'of all countries, all of the abuses. The constant
schemes, remember always, was, is and always will be a natural tendency to silence the arts (writing, acting and singing) and all the places responsible for their dissemination and circulation. Schools, museums, community centers. We also remember that the most beautiful art of all times and all cultures is that which arises in opposition to the schemes, why? It 'more painful, is more conscious. Specific ideas and requires a precise location.
I loved this writer from the start. I was in town for a reason and I do not remember, (actually it was the March 8) someone read his poem "A lot". Since then I never stopped reading and rereading his poetry, I play in my head like something that should not be forgotten ever.
MANY I am your voice, the warmth of your breath,
the reflection of your face,
compartments of beating wings in vain ...
does the same until the end I'm with you.
why you love so greedy
me in my sin, my bad, because
affidaste me blindly
the best of your children;
not because you asked him,
ever, and my empty house forever
Smoky velaste of praise.
And they say: you can not merge more closely,
you can not love more passionately ... How do you want the shadow
detached from the body, as
wants to separate the flesh from the soul,
so now I want to be forgotten.
1922 Lot's wife "Now Lot's wife turned around to look
and became a pillar of salt" Genesis, 19.26. It was the right behind the messenger of God,
huge and bright, the black mountain, but sound
spoke to his wife the anguish:
"It's not too late, you can still see The red towers of your native Sodom, the square where hand, the Court where filavi, empty windows of the other house, where the dear husband gave birth to children " He turned, and bolted to a stranglehold,
could not see his eyes more;
of salt made the diaphanous body,
shook the earth's nimble feet.
Who will this woman crying?
may not seem the slightest loss?
My heart just will never forget those who
life for such a unique look.
1922-24
Last toast
I drink a collapsed house,
to my wretched life, lived in solitude in
two
and drink to you:
lips of deceit betrayed,
the dead cold of your eyes,
a crude and cruel world,
to a God that saved us.
1934
[Untitled] But I warn you that I live
for the last time. Neither
as swallow, or as maple, or as
rush, either as star or as
spring water, or as the sound of bells
upset people, and not
will visit the dreams of others with a groan
insatiable.
1940
RELEASED
Pure Wind rustles the tree
pure snow covers the countryside.
no longer hear the pitch of the enemy,
lies my land.
1945
THE WILLOW
"And the decrepit beam tree" Pushkin I grew up in a silence guilloche,
in an airy room of the new century.
I was not loved the man's voice, but I understood that
wind. I loved
burdock and nettles, and more than any other
a silver willow.
Thankfully, he lived with me
whole life, breathing dreams
weeping branches with my insomnia.
strange thing, now survive. There
protrudes strain,
extraneous items and talk about something other willows
under that sky, in our sky.
I am silent ... as if it were a brother died.
1940
[Untitled]
not your love I wonder.
is now in place convenient.
Stanne but certainly jealous
not write letters to your girlfriend. But
accepts the sage advice:
by to read my verses, to guard
from my portraits,
engaged couples are so polite!
and has more to these scioccherelle
fully enjoy a victory that
luminous words of friendship,
and the memory of the first, sweet days ...
But when the beloved friend
have experienced change of joy and soul
already satisfies all of a sudden seem a burden, do not go to my
nottte triumphant. Do not
conoscco.
And what can I help you?
From happiness I do not heal.
1914
Scanno (Abruzzo) 
"Death will come and will have your eyes" 
"This I remember him telling" 
