"Anna Akhmatova"の名言

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms...

আমি স্বপ্ন দেখি কালো আর স্হায়ী বিচ্ছেদ তোমার সঙ্গে সমানভাবে ভাগাভাগি করে নিই কেনই বা কাঁদা ? আমাকে তোমার হাত ধরতে দাও, কথা দাও তুমি আবার আসবে । তুমি আর আমি যেন উঁচু পর্বতমালা আর পরস্পরের কাছাকাছি যেতে পারি না । কেবল বার্তা পাঠিও মাঝরাতে কোনো সময়ে নক্ষত্রদের দিয়ে ।

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

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.

I am in the middle of it: chaos and poetry; poetry and love and again, complete chaos. Pain, disorder, occasional clarity; and at the bottom of it all: only love; poetry. Sheer enchantment, fear, humiliation. It all comes with love

As the future ripens in the past, so the past rots in the future -- a terrible festival of dead leaves.

This cruel age has deflected me, like a river from this course. Strayed from its familiar shores, my changeling life has flowed into a sister channel. How many spectacles I've missed: the curtain rising without me, and falling too. How many friends I never had the chance to meet.

I’m happy. But some beauty is nonesuch - The gently sloping path across the wood, The wretched bridge that’s just a little skewed And that, for which, I won’t be waiting much.

Flowers, cold from the dew, And autumn's approaching breath, I pluck for the warm, luxuriant braids, Which haven't faded yet. In their nights, fragrantly resinous, Entwined with delightful mystery, They will breathe in her springlike Extraordinary beauty. But in a whirlwind of sound and fire, From her shing head they will flutter And fall—and before her They will die, faintly fragrant still. And, impelled by faithful longing, My obedient gaze will feast upon them— With a reverent hand, Love will gather their rotting remains.

Let my heiress have full rights, Live in my house, sing songs that I composed. Yet how slowly my strength ebbs, How the tortured breast craves air. The love of my friends, my enemies' rancor And the yellow roses in my bushy garden, And a lover's burning tenderness—all this I bestow upon you, messenger of dawn. Also the glory for which I was born, For which my star, like some whirlwind, soared And now falls. Look, its falling Prophesies your power, love and inspiration. Preserving my generous bequest, You will live long and worthily. Thus it will be. You see, I am content, Be happy, but remember me.

মৃত্যুকে জানি তুমি আসবেই । তাহলে এ প্রতীক্ষা কেন ? তোমার জন্য আমি পথ চেয়ে : ফুরিয়ে গিয়েছে সব কাজ। আশার দীপ্র আলো কবে নিভে গেছে । দরোজা রেখেছি খুলে তোমার নামের এক সরল বিস্ময় আসবে তেমন আশায় । অতএব যা-আদল নিতে চাও, নাও : ছুঁড়ে মারো তোমার বিষাক্ত বোমা আমার বাসাকে লক্ষ্য করে, কিংবা পেশাদার খুনি-গুণ্ডার লাঠির ঘায়ে মেরে ফ্যালো, কিংবা কন্ঠে ঠেশে দাও তান্ত্রিক-জ্বরের বিষ-ধোঁয়া, যদি তুমি তাই চাও, ঘুম পাড়াবার গল্প হয়ে অসংখ্য নিরপরাধ যেভাবে তোমায় চেনে, এসো : গুপ্ত পুলিশের নীল টুপিখানা দেখাও আমাকে । ভয়ে কাঠ মুখে রক্ত উবে-যাওয়া কাজের লোকের হাত কাঁপে ; আমার পরোয়া নেই । এনিস নদীর স্রোত বয়ে যায়, মাথার ওপরে জ্বলে উত্তরের তারা আর প্রিয় চোখ জুড়ে পুরোনো নীলাভ আলো শেষতম আতঙ্কের জন্য যশোহীন ।

Instead of wisdom -- experience, bare, That does not slake thirst, is not wet. Youth's gone -- like a Sunday prayer. Is it mine to forget? On how many desert roads have searched I With him who wasn't dear for me, How many bows gave in church I For him, who had well loved me. I've become more oblivious than inviting, Quietly years swim. Lips unkissed, eyes unsmiling -- Nothing will give me back him.

Like a white stone at the bottom of the well, One memory lies in me. I cannot and I do not want to struggle, It is both joy and suffering. I think that anyone who looks into my Eyes will all at once see him. More sad and pensive he'll become That heard the story of this suffering. I know that the gods had turned People to objects, without killing mind, That divine sadness lived eternally. You're turned into my memory, I find.

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.