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The Personal Correspondence Guide Book

 Anna A. Akhmatova


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Ты знаешь, я томлюсь в неволе, I strain against my bonds, and languish
О смерти господа моля. And droop, and pray for death alone,
Но всё мне памятна до боли And yet I still recall with anguish
Тверская скудная земля. Tver's barren soil and skies forlorn,
 
Журавль у ветхого колодца, The run-down, ancient well, the snowy
Над ним, как кипень, облака, Froth of the clouds high overhead,
В полях скрипучие воротца, The creaking gate that opens slowly,
И запах хлеба, и тоска. The sadness, and the smell of bread,
 
И те неяркие просторы, And those pale reaches that the roving
Где даже голос ветра слаб, Wind, hushed and weak of voice, invades,
И осуждающие взоры And too the glances disapproving
Спокойных, загорелых баб. Of suntanned, placid wives and maids.

1913 Translated by Irina Zheleznova
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