05-20-2016, 06:28 PM
(for Anna Akhmatova)
You’ll see my body, ages past,
drawn to itself in strident winds,
at the center of the raging
conflagration we called ours.
When I start down the avenue
lined with our history's truth,
I trust that you will guard with
care the ashes I can't claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown, nurse the memories we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, the dank cells held none, only sweat, congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future we did not have.
Let the moon illuminate your way to sun swept field,
a calm sea welcome you.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with their human load, we met
to console each other, understanding that Russian speech
was our only true homeland. Dementia thrived in our suffering.
Only the corpses smiled, frozen grins, chains finally unfastened;
our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.
I am working on the annhiliation of all emotion. I am weaving a dark shawl
to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke, behind bars,
out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mind.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood
for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt,
where the shrill cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(rev 2)
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories.
I remember the words you all spoke out of desolation,
just as I have remembered your faces and movements
peculiar to each of you. I will remember this forever,
even through new sorrows it will be there for me to return to
when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my brain.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea,
nor in Litenyi, but there in front of the steel doors
where I stood for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt.
Where the almost ecstatic cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(rev. 1)
You’ll see my body,
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.
When I travel the road
lined with testimony,
I trust you will guard
the ashes I cannot claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown,
nurse the bitterness we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held
only sweat and congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future
we did not have. Let the moon guide you home
to that field that lies by the wide open arms of a calm sea
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death.
We dead met in the dark to console each other.
All of understood that Russian speech was our only true homeland.
Only the dead smiled, permanent grins, chains finally unfastened.
Dementia was epidemic among us from the effect our sentences had on us.
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.
You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead, everything covered with black fabric;
there were no lights then, pure night.
Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo the day you told me you would be a translator.
You told a joke in French and explained it in Russian. Your smile was triumph.
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mouth.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the almost ecstatic cries of an old woman
still echo through us. I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(original)
You’ll see my body,
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.
When I travel the road
lined with our testimony,
I trust you will guard
the ashes I can't claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown,
nurse the memories of bitterness we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held none,
only sweat, congealed blood, a sovereign despair.
When you look at the moon you look into the future
we did not have. Let the moon circle you home
to that field beyond pain, wide open arms of a calm sea
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death.
We dead met in the maelstrom to console each other, understanding
that Russian speech, our only true homeland, persevered in our beyond,
Only the dead smiled, frozen grim grins, chains finally unfastened.
Sentences, suffering, raised an epidemic of dementia among us.
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.
You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead sweat, everything covered with black fabric;
there were no lights then, pure night.
Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo, playful, so intelligent. Animals or humans,
the cruelty was the same, the same unconscious thrust of menace.
I am working on the annhiliation of memory, the discard
of all emotion, let it boil in its own useless juices,
then I'll pick myself up into the heights I remember as life.
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mouth, I will be remembered in this way.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the shrill almost ecstatic cries of an old woman
still echo through us. I will cry icy tears from bronze eyelids and I will welcome the ships
coming up the Neva. The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
You’ll see my body, ages past,
drawn to itself in strident winds,
at the center of the raging
conflagration we called ours.
When I start down the avenue
lined with our history's truth,
I trust that you will guard with
care the ashes I can't claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown, nurse the memories we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, the dank cells held none, only sweat, congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future we did not have.
Let the moon illuminate your way to sun swept field,
a calm sea welcome you.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with their human load, we met
to console each other, understanding that Russian speech
was our only true homeland. Dementia thrived in our suffering.
Only the corpses smiled, frozen grins, chains finally unfastened;
our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.
I am working on the annhiliation of all emotion. I am weaving a dark shawl
to protect our memories. I remember the words you all spoke, behind bars,
out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces and movements.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mind.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood
for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt,
where the shrill cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(rev 2)
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories.
I remember the words you all spoke out of desolation,
just as I have remembered your faces and movements
peculiar to each of you. I will remember this forever,
even through new sorrows it will be there for me to return to
when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my brain.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea,
nor in Litenyi, but there in front of the steel doors
where I stood for hundreds of hours and no one slid open the bolt.
Where the almost ecstatic cries of an old woman still echo through us.
I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(rev. 1)
You’ll see my body,
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.
When I travel the road
lined with testimony,
I trust you will guard
the ashes I cannot claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown,
nurse the bitterness we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held
only sweat and congealed blood.
When you look at the moon you look into the future
we did not have. Let the moon guide you home
to that field that lies by the wide open arms of a calm sea
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death.
We dead met in the dark to console each other.
All of understood that Russian speech was our only true homeland.
Only the dead smiled, permanent grins, chains finally unfastened.
Dementia was epidemic among us from the effect our sentences had on us.
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.
You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead, everything covered with black fabric;
there were no lights then, pure night.
Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo the day you told me you would be a translator.
You told a joke in French and explained it in Russian. Your smile was triumph.
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mouth.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the almost ecstatic cries of an old woman
still echo through us. I will welcome the ships coming up the Neva.
The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.
(original)
You’ll see my body,
on ancient winds,
at the center of constraints
we knew as ours.
When I travel the road
lined with our testimony,
I trust you will guard
the ashes I can't claim.
Survivors, now in different corners unknown,
nurse the memories of bitterness we felt then.
Weather now holds promises, dank cells held none,
only sweat, congealed blood, a sovereign despair.
When you look at the moon you look into the future
we did not have. Let the moon circle you home
to that field beyond pain, wide open arms of a calm sea
welcome you into an expanse unthought of for us then.
Remember metal on metal before we were fully awake
there in the sodden keep, the thud and crunch, threnody
of soldiers’ boots, shouts, and fearsome cries of the tortured.
Black Marias careened with its human load, destination death.
We dead met in the maelstrom to console each other, understanding
that Russian speech, our only true homeland, persevered in our beyond,
Only the dead smiled, frozen grim grins, chains finally unfastened.
Sentences, suffering, raised an epidemic of dementia among us.
Our proud Russia could do nothing but writhe under the Jack-boots.
You might as well have been a corpse when they took you at dawn,
I trailed along in mourning, over childrens’ wails, a candle at the icon of Mary.
Deathly cold your forehead sweat, everything covered with black fabric;
there were no lights then, pure night.
Lev my son, I was seventeen months before the moving altar at the feet
of póker faced butchers, trying to get word of you. I saw your face
as it was there in Tsarskoe Selo, playful, so intelligent. Animals or humans,
the cruelty was the same, the same unconscious thrust of menace.
I am working on the annhiliation of memory, the discard
of all emotion, let it boil in its own useless juices,
then I'll pick myself up into the heights I remember as life.
I am weaving a dark mantle to protect our memories. I remember the words
you all spoke out of desolation, just as I have remembered your faces
and each distinct movement peculiar to each of you.
I will remember this forever, even through new sorrows, it will be there,
for me to return to when I want to summon you, my dearest friends;
together you moan and scream through my mouth, I will be remembered in this way.
Erect my monument not anywhere near the sea nor in Litenyi,
but there in front of the steel doors where I stood for hundreds of hours
and no one slid open the bolt. Where the shrill almost ecstatic cries of an old woman
still echo through us. I will cry icy tears from bronze eyelids and I will welcome the ships
coming up the Neva. The Russian word escaped from captivity will last forever.