Sunday Akhmatova Blogging

Here's another of Akhmatova's poems that I like. It's a translation by D.M.Thomas that I've tweaked a bit.


Willow

In the young century's cool nursery,
In its checkered silence, I was born.
I didn't care for the voices of men,
But the wind's voice -- now that I understood.
The burdocks and the nettles fed my soul,
But I loved the silver willow best of all.
And, grateful for my love, it lived
All its life with me, and with its weeping
Branches fanned my insomnia with dreams. But
--Surprisingly enough!--I have outlived
It. Now, a stump's out there. Under these skies,
Under these skies of ours, are other
Willows, and their alien voices rise.
And I am silent . . . As though I'd lost a brother.
1940