Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #annaakhmatova, aggregated by home.social.
(5/6) ... #art -> arrestation #JosephBrodsky (cf 1940) au motif que poète = parasite social -> tribunal de Leningrad condamnation 5 ans de déportation pour «parasitisme» (cf 1920 1953 1964 1972) + fin Khrouchtchev -> début Brejnev.
- Venezuela : diaspora corse -> Psdt Raúl Leoni (cf 1830 1905 1908 1983).
- #JamesRandi fonde le Paranormal Challenge = 10 000 $ offert à qui ...
#poesie La course du #temps d' #AnnaAkhmatova
#year1964 #anthropocene #climate #climat #climatechange #climatecrisis
(8/8) ... pour rencontrer celui qui inspire son exploit : l'écrivain #JulesVerne + envoie des télégrammes pour tenir les lecteurs informés de son avancement (cf 1864 1886 1887 1888 1890).
- Royaume du Portugal : décès Roi -> début règne Roi Carlos 1er (cf 1908).
- Naissance d' #AnnaAkhmatova (cf 1966) #poesie
(12/13) ... éducatif #culture #art (cf 1883 1892 1905 1915 1919 1921 1923 1924 1927).
- Coca Cola cesse de mettre de la cocaïne dans sa boisson -> traitement chimique des feuille de coca pour éliminer cette substance mais toujours autant de #sucre
- création de la ligue PGA Tour pour tournois de #golf (sport populaire en 1929).
- Belgique : naissance d'Audrey Hepburn quasi-voisine d'Anne Frank (cf 19..).
#poesie Requiem d' #AnnaAkhmatova
(14/26) ... Leclerc -> fait 500 km à #velo pour rejoindre le Portugal via Espagne franco-nazie car tous les ports fr contrôlés par nazis -> franchi frontière grâce à l'argent de sa #femme -> Lisbonne : s'envole à Londres pour rejoindre les Forces françaises libres -> rencontre exilé résistant Général De Gaulle son nouveau chef qu'il ne connaissait pas mais dont il avait lu les livres -> ...
#poesie L'églantier fleurit d' #AnnaAkhmatova
Suite 1966 https://mastodon.social/@cobrate/113607309164967539
(2/2)
- décès d' #AnnaAkhmatova (cf 1889) qui avait écrit la #poesie Requiem #art clandestinement durant la terreur stalinienne.
- Naissance de David Chalmers
#year1966 #climat #climate #anthropocene #climatechange #climatecrisis
📖 ANNA AKHMATOVA
Requiem
Traduit du russe par Paul Valet
Les Éditions de Minuit
#annaakhmatova #requiem #poesie #poesierusse #litteraturerusse🇷🇺 #leseditionsdeminuit #lecturedujour
(25/39) ... 1942 1943 1944) élu maire de Limoges, sans les socialistes qui ne voulait pas faire liste commune avec les anciens résistants -> travaille à la reconstruire socialement : vie quotidienne entravée par pénuries de logement/nourriture/chauffage/tuberculose avec tickets de rationnement alimentaire et chômage -> Parti communiste l'exclu de son comité central puis de la fédération communiste de la ...
(3/13) ... envers les artistes #culture #art -> le poète #NikolaïGoumilev, le mari de la poétesse #AnnaAkhmatova + #MikhaïlBoulgakov (cf 1917 1921 1930) #art + #IsaacBabel (cf 1916 1939) #livre + #VsevolodMeyerhold + #OssipMandelstam (cf 1937) #poesie + #MarinaTsvetaïeva (cf 1941) #poeme + #BorisPasternak + #VassiliGrossman (cf 1945 1960) + #AlexandreSoljenitsyne (cf 1941 1955 1956 1958 1962 1979 1995) + commissaire à la formation ...
Willow
By Anna Akhmatova
Translated By Jennifer Reeser
And I matured in peace born of command,
in the nursery of the infant century,
and the voice of man was never dear to me,
but the breeze’s voice—that I could understand .....
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/46726/willow-56d226b418b3e
#NowPlaying I am currently listening to Not With a Lover's Lyre / #AnnaAkhmatova's Recitation of "#TheMuse" by #IrisDeMent from the album #TheTracklessWoods see #spotify https://open.spotify.com/track/1gv7hzQnoFNnjyj12pIfnh
#RussianUkrainian #poet #AnnaAkhmatova born June 11, 1889, Odessa, died 1966 near Moscow, she was short-listed for the #NobelPrize in 1965. The Requiem is one of her acclaimed poems. Please listen when you can.
shhttps://youtube.com/watch?v=vchOX6LGekI&feature=share
Am I submissive? Crazy you must be!
I am submissive to God's will alone.
I do not want the pain or fear, you see;
My husband's the execrable one, our home. A prison.
The floes are clanking and colliding,
The sky’s begun to pale and fade,
I don’t know what it is you’re chiding,
What fault of mine that you upbraid.
If you must punish, go ahead,
But spare me all your heavy sighing,
You don’t want children from my bed
And hate the verses I’ve been writing.
It’s all yours now, and let that be!
My vow of faith was not misplaced.
My life’s been given over to thee,
But I’ll take my sadness to my grave.
From your love, so strange and cryptic,
I cry out, as if in pain.
Yellow-skinned, my health is hectic,
Dragging my feet, I'm like a drain.
Don't invent new songs to teach me,
Songs can never be a cure.
But your claws will never release me
From the grip of consumption's lure.
So that blood from my throat may flow,
To my bed I hasten on,
And to pull the deadly toxin
From my heart, I guzzle down.
You are always mysterious and new,
I am more obedient to you with each passing day,
But your love, oh stern friend,
Is an ordeal of iron and fire.
You forbid me to sing and smile,
And long ago prohibited prayer.
If only I could not be parted from you,
The rest is of no consequence!
Love me, cherish and mourn!
Are not all mourners equal before God?
It seems to me that the executioner leads me
down a blue and unfamiliar roadway.
I heard a voice. It called me soothingly,
It spoke to me: "Come here to me,
Leave behind your dull and sinful land,
Leave Russia now and forever.
I will wash the blood from your hands,
I will remove the black shame from your heart,
I will cover your pain of defeats and grievances
With a new name.
All day long, with dry and dismal moans,
A crowd, driven wild by deadly anguish, roams;
Across the river, on the mourning banners,
Skulls leer with grimaces like drunken scorners.
For what I sang and dreamed of, now I see,
My heart torn in two pieces, as though with a shot;
And then, a sudden silence, just like that,
As death sends its patrols out into every street.
The moon’s sliver barely moves
Amid the clouds’ milky streams.
In the palace, a guard up aloof
Glares with anger at clock hands’ gleam.
His unfaithful wife’s on her way,
Her face a mask of thoughts severe,
While he burns with ceaseless dismay
Holding the memory of his lover dear.
What's worse than the torment of bygone days?
It's that in the smoke of sorrows and trials
He touched the blackest and cruelest of sores,
And he could not heal it with all his trials.
There, in the west, the earthly sun still shines,
And its rays illuminate city roofs;
Here, only white houses aimlessly align,
Crow caws, and flocks of ravens fly in loops.
Earth's glory passes like a smoke.
I asked not that it stay forever,
But that while I lived, for lover's folk
Happiness I give and never
Myself untrue: One lives yet, in love
With his friend, the other's bronze likeness
On the square, by snow mantled, will move
No more. My dream has lost its brightness.
Wide and yellow the evening light,
April’s gentle breeze is blowing,
You’ve come, so many years in flight,
And yet, my heart with joy is glowing.
Come sit beside me here, my friend,
And look with happy eyes upon
This blue notebook, which I penned
When I was still a child and young.
Forgive me that I lived in pain,
Without the warmth of the bright sun,
Forgive me that for you again
I mistook someone who wasn’t one.
For what purpose, borne aloft,
Was I cradled in my arms?
For what purpose, was such power
In your blue eyes a blazing charm!
You grew tall and carried on
Singing, drinking to your fill.
In your destroyer, far-off Anatolia,
You were the skipper in full.
On Malakhov's Hill, in front of guns,
They shot the officer, who left
His life on a White Army's run;
For twenty days he didn't rest.
The sweet juniper is breathing,
And in from forest fires,
The cooling breezes come seething,
While soldiers' wives shed tears.
The litanies that once were said,
Were not in vain, it's clear,
The fields are dripping blood red,
Their soil a flood of tears.
Why do you pretend to be
A gust of wind, a stone, a bird,
And smile at me suddenly
Like the flare of a match unheard?
Do not torment me, do not touch!
Let me go back to my care,
A drunken flame zigzags as much
Over the gray wastes of despair.
The Muse appears in a worn-out shift
And sings a mournful song again.
Her miraculous gift
Is in merciless youth and pain.
The year’s most gruesome days must be
Converted into light.
But, O, how your sweet lips to me
Are deathly in their might.
Your eyes I dare not ever raise,
They’re guarding my life’s span.
The violets in their early blaze
Are lighter than their scan.
I have understood, without a word,
The branches’ hoary ply...
The bird traps in the wood have stirred
Along the river’s lie.
But don't try to keep for yourself
What's been given to you by heaven above:
We're destined to scatter, not hoard and shelve,
That's a truth that we all must learn to love.
So go out alone and heal the blind,
And you'll see in a hard hour's frame,
The students' mockery that's unkind,
And the crowds' indifference, both one and the same.
Muse has left me on a journey,
Narrow, autumnal, steep,
Her tanned feet splashed by heavy
Dewdrops, while she walked to keep
Ahead of me, saying: "In this place
A grave is hidden, you must know,
And can you breathe this air of space
And light that on this graveyard glow?
We thought: we are poor, there is nothing,
Each of us has only his work.
And we began to lose things,
Each day brought its own misfortunes,
Until we understood that every day
Was a remembrance day for us.
And we began to write songs
Of the great generosity of God,
And of our former wealth.
I learned how to live a simple, wise life,
To look at the sky and pray to God,
And to walk long before evening comes
To tire out an unnecessary worry.
He loved three things in the world:
white peacocks, evensong,
and old maps of America.
He hated children crying,
and raspberry jam with his tea,
and womanish hysteria...
but I was in love with him.
#AnnaAkhmatova 1910
I know: to pluck a flower means
To hold its beauty in your hands,
To tenderly defile its bloom,
And then to cast it to the winds.
I light a candle late at night
And by myself I'll sit and muse
But I don't want, I don't want, I don't want
To know how others love and choose.
It's frightening to admit, but individuals tend to perceive only what they want and hear only what they desire. They commonly engage in self-talk and usually respond to themselves without paying attention to the speaker.
I was born the year Charlie Chaplin was born, Tolstoy finished The Kreutzer Sonata, the Eiffel Tower was built, and, I believe, T.S. Eliot was born. In that summer of 1889, Paris celebrated the centenary of the French Revolution. On the night I was born, the ancient festival of Ivan Kupala was being celebrated and still is today, June 23rd.
PS T.S. Eliot was born in 1888
