I was in need of words to describe suffering and then I discovered this poem. 2026 will be the year of Akhmatova for me. Poets of previous years have been Mary Oliver, Bukowski, Milosz, Plath, Li-Young Lee...
Some of my favourite lines:
Not under foreign skies
Nor under foreign wings protected -
I shared all this with my own people
There, where misfortune had abandoned us.
Jolted out of the torpor
characteristic of all of us, she said into my ear
(everyone whispered there) - 'Could one ever describe
this?' And I answered - 'I can.' It was then that
something like a smile slid across what had previously been just a face.
It happened like this when only the dead
were smiling, glad of their release,
That Leningrad hung around its prisons
Like a worthless emblem, flapping its piece.
It isn't me, someone else is suffering. I couldn't.
Not like this.
Everything has become muddled forever -
I can no longer distinguish
who is an animal, who a person
I have a lot of work to do today;
I need to slaughter memory,
Turn my living soul to stone
Then teach myself to live again. . .
To death
You will come anyway - so why not now?
I wait for you; things have become too hard.
Madness with its wings
has covered half my soul
It feeds me fiery wine
And lures me into the abyss.
That's when I understood
While listening to my alien delirium
That I must hand the victory
To it.
But there, where the mother stood silent,
Not one person dared to look.
I have learned how faces fall,
How terror can escape from lowered eyes,
How suffering can etch cruel pages
Of cuneiform-like marks upon the cheeks.
I'd like to name you all by name, but the list
Has been removed and there is nowhere else to look.
I will never forget one single thing. Even in new grief.