Short Akhmatova Poems

I used to wonder
Who is the lady pictured?
She must run this site.
Then I saw a photograph
Of Anna Akhmatova...

I used to think the famous Russian poet, often pictured in Team PS blogs, was a member of staff, lol

For Harry and Mandy’s Curiosity contest...

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...inspired by M by Seamus Heaney


Her cranium, its bumps and hollows
cradles secrets stored beneath,
neurons firing, never tiring
of their journeys to belief.

Thin vibrations mold, embolden,
prophecies, cunabula
suffuse the soul, engage the spirit
of the tortured Akhmatova....

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...inspired by 'M' by Seamus Heaney


The cranium, its bumps and hollows
cradle secrets stored beneath,
neurons firing, never tiring
of their journeys to belief.

Thin vibrations mold, embolden
prophecies, cunabula,
imagine then the soul and spirit
of the wondrous Akhmatova!...

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...dedicated to the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova.

Her cranium, its bumps and hollows, 
cradles secrets stored beneath, 
neurons firing, never tiring 
of their journeys to belief. 

Thin vibrations mold, embolden, 
prophecies, cunabula 
suffuse the soul, engage the spirit 
of the tortured Akhmatova....

Read More

...dedicated to the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova.

Her cranium, its bumps and hollows, 
cradles secrets stored beneath, 
neurons firing, never tiring 
of their journeys to belief. 

Thin vibrations mold, embolden, 
prophecies, cunabula 
suffuse the soul, engage the spirit 
of the tortured Akhmatova....

Read More

Could you be my dream more rarely,
because we so often meet,
but temple of dark's seen barely 
with sadness of yours that's sweet.
And Seraph's laud is not sweeter 
than flattery of your lips. 
And name of my own does glitter
for you in this calm eclipse.

P.S. The poem is written under the influence of Anna Akhmatova....

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With serpent it's woven in clew
near heart it makes sorcery truly,
with pigeon all days it is new,
It's cooing in white window newly.

Then in a bright frost it will spark,
In slumber of gillyflower
it will show itself, it is mark
of gladness and peace and good hour.

I know it is crying so sweet
in violin's pray longing style
And it's scary to find out its weep
again and again in new smile.

P.S. This is my translation of poem by Anna Akhmatova...

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for Anna Akhmatova

This is easy living
Waiting for the Muse to arrive
whispering sweet lullabies
into my plume

You may get a bout
of insomnia, or
wake up before sunrise, or
stay up into

the wee hours
of the night
But it's all part
of the scenario,

the mysterious existence
that transforms the mundane
into kaleidoscopic dreams,
magnificent realities

consolidated onto parchment
or logged into your laptop,
into the realm
of earthly concrete....

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