CURRENT MOON

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Sunday Akhmatova Blogging


Anna Akhmatova - You Thought I Was That Type

You thought I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,

Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.

Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.

And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you.

3 comments:

Ellie Finlay said...

Ooh. I wish I'd had that poem about twenty years ago. Yes I do.

Hecate said...

ellie,

You and me, both!

Anonymous said...

Wow! Now that is a curse.