Witness to the international and domestic chaos of the first half of the twentieth century, Anna Akhmatova (1888-1966) chronicled Russia's troubled times in poems of sharp beauty and intensity. Her genius is now universally acknowledged, and recent biographies attest to a remarkable resurgence of interest in her poetry in this country. Here is the essence of Akhmatova - a landmark selection and translation, including excerpts from "Poem with a Hero."
|Publisher:||Houghton Mifflin Harcourt|
|Edition description:||Bilingual Edition Eng/Russ|
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.56(d)|
Table of Contents
All Of Moscow Is Soaked With Verses And, In Books, I Always Liked Around My Neck Are Rosary Strands As For Saying Goodbye, We Don't Know How As I Die, I Long For Immortality As If Through A Straw, You Drink My Soul Beyond The Lake, The Moon's Stopped In Space Boris Pasternak The Breakup: 1 The Breakup: 2 Broad And Yellow Is The Evening Light Cinque: 3 Cleopatra Dante A Doer Of Nothing, I Came Here-why Not?
Don't Threaten Me With A Terrible Fate During Each Day-today, Tomorrow- Earthly Fame's Like Smoke, I Guess- Fear, Fingering Objects In The Dark The First Long-range Artillery Shell In Leningrad Fisherman Housewarming: The Betrayal Housewarming: The Guests Housewarming: The Hostess Housewarming: The Tryst I Asked A Nearby Cuckoo To Say I Called Deathdown On The Heads Of Those I Cherished I Hear The Oriole's Voice, Clear And Distressed I Learned A Simple And Wise Existence I Live Like A Cuckoo In A Clock I Pressed My Hands Together Under Cover I See On The Customs House A Faded Flag If The Lunar Horror Splashes Around In 1940: 1 In 1940: 2 To Londoners In 1940: 5 In Memory Of Mikhail Bulgakov In The Woods Inscription On A Portrait It Seems That The Voice We Humans Own It's Not With A Lover's Lyre, Not At All The Last Rose The Last Toast Late At Night. Monday, The Twenty-third Like A White Stone In The Depths Of A Well Listening To Singing The Loss Of True Feelings And Words Renders Us Lot's Wife Masquerade In The Park Memories Of The Sun Fade As My Heart Grows Numb- Midnight Verses: 1, Pre-spring Elegy Midnight Verses: 2, The First Warning Midnight Verses: 3, Through The Looking-glass Midnight Verses: 4, Thirteen Lines Midnight Verses: 5, The Call Midnight Verses: 6, Night Visit Midnight Verses: 7, And The Last One Midnight Verses: Instead Of A Dedication Midnight Verses: Instead Of An Afterword The Muse Music My Voice Is Weak, My Will Doesn't Weaken Though On The Hard Crests Of The Snowdrifts That Lead One Travels Straight Ahead, The Other Over The Water Prayer Pusscat, Watch Out, An Embroidered Owl Quatrain Sequence (1) Quatrain Sequence (2) Quatrain Sequence (3) Quatrain Sequence: My Name Quatrain Sequence: To My Poems Requiem Requiem: 3 Requiem: 4 Requiem: 5 Requiem: Dedication Requiem: Epilogue 1 Requiem: Epilogue 2 Requiem: Instead Of A Preface Requiem: Introduction A Ruddy Youth Wandered Forlornly Around Seaside Sonnet The Secrets Of The Craft: 3, Muse The Secrets Of The Craft: 6, The Last Poem The Secrets Of The Craft: 7, Epigram The Secrets Of The Craft: 9, To Osip Mandelstam The Smell Of Inanimate Things And Flowers Song About Songs The Song Of The Final Meeting The Souls Of All My Loved Ones Are On High Stars Suddenly It Was Quiet Everywhere The Tale Of The Black Ring: 1 The Tale Of The Black Ring: 2 The Tale Of The Black Ring: 3 There's A Sacred Limit To Any Closeness They Didn't Bring Me A Letter Today This Craft Of Ours, Sacred And Bright The Three Autumns The Three Things He Loved Most In Life To The Memory Of A Poet: 1 To The Memory Of A Poet: 2 To The Muse Voronezh We're Heavy Drinkers Here, And Women Of Loose %morals- When A Person Dies When The Moon Is Lying On The Window Sill Where Nothing Is Needed, I Walk Like A Child While Reading Hamlet Why Are You Wandering Around So Wild Roses Are Blooming (from A Burned Notebook) Wild Roses Are Blooming: 4, First Little Song Wild Roses Are Blooming: 6, The Dream Wild Roses Are Blooming: 8 Wild Roses Are Blooming: 9, In The Broken Mirror The Willow You Can Look Straight Into My Room
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Akhmatova's poetry is wonderful. It is to Kunitz's credit that he provides a bilingual edition of the book.His translations, however, are not wonderful. If I didn't know Russian, I would flip through this book and be utterly bemused as to why anyone thinks Anna Akhmatova is even a remotely good poet. Of course, she really is one of the greatest poets in the history of Russian literature (and one of my favorites too).To his credit, Kunitz does acknowledge that translating Akhmatova is a very tough task. Since Akhmatova doesn't really use gimmicks in her poetry, it's really difficult to translate, especially because certain formal elements of her poetry are very hard to mimic in English without completely altering the general sense of the poetry.But one could go on forever about why translation is hard, and that doesn't really get to the problem here. There are many times when Akhmatova writes a few lines that form a totally clear sentence. Kunitz translates this into contorted English syntax that makes the speaker spend a long time figuring out what he's even trying to say. That's completely, completely antithetical to the spirit of Akhmatova's poetry, which is generally piercing in its clarity. As near as I can tell, the main motivation of this is to preserve the formal structure of the poetry. Any translation that chooses to completely destroy the sense and feeling of a poem in order to vaguely mimic the rhyme scheme is, I think, truly misguided.Other, better translations of Akhmatova exist (and, I think, are in print). Any interested reader would be well advised to find them.(A)