Anna Akhmatova Requiem 1935-1940
Not under foreign skies protection Or saving wings of alien birth – I was then there – with whole my nation – There, where my nation, alas! was.
1961
INSTEAD OF A PREFACE
In the awful days of the Yezhovschina I passed seventeen months in the outer waiting line of the prison visitors in Leningrad. Once, somebody ‘identified’ me there. Then a woman, standing behind me in the line, which, of course, never heard my name, waked up from the torpor, typical for us all there, and asked me, whispering into my ear (all spoke only in a whisper there): “And can you describe this?” And I answered: “Yes, I can.” Then the weak similarity of a smile glided over that, what had once been her face.
April 1, 1957; Leningrad
DEDICATION
The high crags decline before this woe, The great river does not flow ahead, But they’re strong – the locks of a jail, stone, And behind them – the cells, dark and low, And the deadly pine is spread. For some one, somewhere, a fresh wind blows, For some one, somewhere, wakes up a dawn – We don’t know, we’re the same here always, We just hear the key’s squalls, morose, And the sentry’s heavy step alone; Got up early, as for Mass by Easter, Walked the empty capital along To create the half-dead peoples’ throng. The sun downed, the Neva got mister, But our hope sang afar its song. There’s a sentence
In a trice tears flow
Now separated, cut from us, As if they’d pulled out her heart and thrown Or pushed down her on a street stone – But she goes
Reels
Alone at once. Where are now friends unwilling those, Those friends of my two years, brute? What they see in the Siberian snows, In a circle of the moon, exposed? To them I send my farewell salute.
PROLOGUE
In this time, just a dead could half-manage A weak smile – with the peaceful state glad. And, like some heavy, needless appendage, Mid its prisons swung gray Leningrad. And, when mad from the tortures’ succession, Marched the army of those, who’d been doomed, Sang the engines the last separation With their whistles through smoking gloom, And the deathly stars hanged our heads over And our Russia writhed under the boots – With the blood of the guiltless full-covered – And the wheels on Black Maries’ black routes.
1
You were taken away at dawn’s mildness. I convoyed you, as my dead-born child, Children cried in the room’s half-grey darkness, And the lamp by the icon lost light. On your lips dwells the icon kiss’s cold On your brow – the cold sweet
Don’t forget! Like a wife of the rebel of old On the Red Square, I’ll wail without end.
2
The quiet Don bears quiet flood, The crescent enters in a hut.
He enters with a cap on head, He sees a woman like a shade.
This woman’s absolutely ill, This woman’s absolutely single.
Her man is dead, son – in a jail, Oh, pray for me – a poor female!
3
No, ‘tis not I, ‘tis someone’s in a suffer – I was ne’er able to endure such pain. Let all, that was, be with a black cloth muffled, And let the lanterns be got out ... and reign
just Night.
4
You should have seen, girl with some mocking manner, Of all your friends the most beloved pet, The whole Tsar Village’s a sinner, gayest ever – What should be later to your years sent. How, with a parcel, by The Crosses, here, You stand in line with the ‘Three Hundredth’ brand And, with your hot from bitterness a tear, Burn through the ice of the New Year, dread. The prison’s poplar’s bowing with its brow, No sound’s heard – But how many, there, The guiltless ones are loosing their lives now
5
I’ve cried for seventeen long months, I’ve called you for your home, I fell at hangmen’ feet – not once, My womb and hell you’re from. All has been mixed up for all times, And now I can’t define Who is a beast or man, at last, And when they’ll kill my son. There’re left just flowers under dust, The censer’s squall, the traces, cast Into the empty mar
And looks strait into my red eyes And threads with death, that’s coming fast, The immense blazing star.
6
The light weeks fly faster here, What has happened I don’t know, How, into your prison, stone, Did white nights look, my son, dear? How do they stare at you, else, With their hot eye of a falcon, Speak of the high cross, you hang on, Of the slow coming death?
7
THE SENTENCE
The word, like a heavy stone, Fell on my still living breast. I was ready. I didn’t moan. I will try to do my best.
I have much to do my own: To forget this endless pain, Force this soul to be stone, Force this flesh to live again.
Just if not
The rustle of summer Feasts behind my window sell. Long before I’ve seen in slumber This clear day and empty cell.
8
TO DEATH
You’ll come in any case – why not right now, therefore? I wait for you – my strain is highest. I have doused the light and left opened the door For you, so simple and so wondrous. Please, just take any sight, which you prefer to have: Thrust in – in the gun shells’ disguises, Or crawl in with a knife, as an experienced knave, Or poison me with smoking typhus, Or quote the fairy tale, grown in the mind of yours And known to each man to sickness, In which I’d see, at last, the blue of the hats’ tops, And the house-manager, ‘still fearless’. It’s all the same to me. The cold Yenisei lies In the dense mist, the Northern Star – in brightness, And a blue shine of the beloved eyes Is covered by the last fear-darkness.
9
Already madness, with its wing, Covers a half of my heart, restless, Gives me the flaming wine to drink And draws into the vale of blackness.
I understand that just to it My victory has to be given, Hearing the ravings of my fit, Now fitting to the stranger’s living.
And nothing of my own past It’ll let me take with self from here (No matter in what pleas I thrust Or how often they appear):
Not awful eyes of my dear son – The endless suffering and patience – Not that black day when thunder gunned, Not that jail’s hour of visitation,
Not that sweet coolness of his hands, Not that lime’s shade in agitation, Not that light sound from distant lands – Words of the final consolations.
10
CRUCIFIXION
Don’t weep for me, Mother,
seeing me in a grave.
I
The angels’ choir sang fame for the great hour, And skies were melted in the fire’s rave. He said to God, “Why did you left me, Father?” And to his Mother, “Don’t weep o’er my grave ”
II
Magdalena writhed and sobbed in torments, The best pupil turned into a stone, But none dared – even for a moment – To sight Mother, silent and alone.
EPILOGUE
I
I’ve known how, at once, shrink back the faces, How fear peeps up from under the eyelids, How suffering creates the scriptural pages On the pale cheeks its cruel reigning midst, How the shining raven or fair ringlet At once is covered by the silver dust, And a smile slackens on the lips, obedient, And deathly fear in the dry snicker rustles. And not just for myself I pray to Lord, But for them all, who stood in that line, hardest, In a summer heat and in a winter cold, Under the wall, so red and so sightless.
II
Again a memorial hour is near, I can now see you and feel you and hear:
And her, who’d been led to the air in a fit, And her – who no more touches earth with her feet.
And her – having tossed with her beautiful head – She says, “I come here as to my homestead.”
I wish all of them with their names to be called; But how can I do that? I have not the roll.
The wide common cover I’ve wov’n for their lot –
>From many a word, that from them I have caught.
Those words I’ll remember as long as I live, I’d not forget them in a new awe or grief.
And if will be stopped my long-suffering mouth – Through which always shout our people’s a mass –
Let them pray for me, like for them I had prayed, Before my remembrance day, quiet and sad.
And if once, whenever in my native land, They’d think of the raising up my monument,
I give my permission for such good a feast, But with one condition – they have to place it
Not near the sea, where I once have been born – All my warm connections with it had been torn,
Not in the tsar’s garden near that tree-stump, blessed, Where I am looked for by the doleful shade,
But here, where three hundred long hours I stood for And where was not opened for me the hard door.
Since e’en in the blessed death, I shouldn’t forget The deafening roar of Black Maries’ black band,
I shouldn’t forget how flapped that hateful door, And wailed the old woman, like beast, it before.
And let from the bronze and unmoving eyelids, Like some melting snow flow down the tears,
And let a jail dove coo in somewhat afar And let the mute ships sail along the Neva.
© Copyright, 2005 Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, February, 2005
My point is not invidious comparison, bad communsim against good liberalism. It's just Mill's point: the reference point for the dark days of 1947 in the US is something like the dark days of the Stalin Purges. if you want to point to the high moments of communism, e..the defense of the Scottsboro defendants, or Stalingrad, you can talk about Dewey defending Trotsksy against Stalin in Mexico, the Battle of the Bulge, Johnson signing Title VII, knowing it would cost him the South, the ACLU standing up for the hated and despised. I don't see why this point is so hard to grasp. Compare bad to bad (no one comes off well) and good to good). Or do you have some problem with Mill's criterion?
--- Doug Henwood <dhenwood at panix.com> wrote:
> [I keep forgetting that this is the 60th anniversary
> of the
> remarkable year 1947, which is kind of when the
> structure of the
> American empire took form. All this happened, and
> there was the
> famous autoworker contract that served as the master
> capital-labor
> accord...]
>
>
<http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/~ucalhist/archives_exhibits/loyaltyoath/
>
> timeline1940_1948.html>
>
> 1947
>
> American President Harry Truman establishes the
> "Truman Doctrine"
> stating as policy worldwide American opposition to
> communism. The
> policy is coupled with Congressional action to send
> military and
> economic aid to Turkey and Greece, where civil wars
> are underway.
>
> George Kennan, writing under a pseudonym in Foreign
> Affairs,
> promulgates the goal of "containment" of the Soviet
> Union, which
> becomes a cornerstone of American foreign policy.
>
> President Truman initiates loyalty oaths for Federal
> employees, and
> the use of such oaths spreads rapidly through public
> and private
> agencies. Many Americans, fearful of the spread of
> communism, start
> or support what are later called "witch hunts" for
> suspected
> communists in American society.
>
> The Marshall Plan is instituted, providing massive
> American economic
> and military aid to western Europe to rebuild war
> damaged countries
> and strengthen anti-communist governments.
>
> Civil war continues in Greece, but American and
> British aid,
> including military advisers, starts to erode the
> advance of communist
> forces. The Chinese Communists make military gains
> against the
> Nationalists. In Hungary, a short-lived democratic
> government ends as
> Soviet occupation forces install a one-party
> communist government.
>
> The Central Intelligence Agency is created in the
> United States.
>
> [text of Truman loyalty executive order:
>
<http://coursesa.matrix.msu.edu/~hst203/documents/loyal.html>]
> ___________________________________
>
http://mailman.lbo-talk.org/mailman/listinfo/lbo-talk
>
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