As I'm learning about her, one of the things I enjoy about Anna Akhmatova's poetry is that it contains some of the same, sly sarcasm about romance as do some of Dorothy Parker's poems. It's a sarcasm pointed at the poet, herself, and comes, I think only from true romantics. See if you see the same thing that I do in this poem by Akhmatova:
In the Evening
The music rang out in the garden
With such inexpressible grief.
The oysters in ice on our plates
Smelled fresh and sharp, of the sea.
He told me: "I am your true friend!"
And then he touched my dress.
And how unlike a true caress,
I found the touch of his hands.
As one might stroke a cat or a bird,
Or watch slender equestriennes ride...
Under his light gold lashes
There was nothing but laughter in his too-tranquil eyes.
And the voices of mournful violins
Sang through the drifting smoke:
"Praise heaven above--for the first time
You're alone with the man that you love."
by Anna Akhmatova
March 1913
Translated by Judy Hemschemeyer (and tweaked by Hecate)
From Rosary(1914)
No comments:
Post a Comment