Анне Ахматовой
Language: Russian (Русский)
Our translations: ENG FRE ITA
О Муза плача, прекраснейшая из муз!
О ты, шальное исчадие ночи белой!
Ты чёрную насылаешь метель на Русь,
И вопли твои вонзаются в нас, как стрелы.
И мы шарахаемся, и глухое: ох!
Стотысячное -- тебе присягает. Анна
Ахматова! Это имя -- огромный вздох,
И в глубь он падает, которая безымянна.
Мы коронованы тем, что одну с тобой
Мы землю топчем, что небо над нами-то же!
И тот, кто ранен смертельной твоей судьбой,
Уже бессмертным на смертное сходит ложе.
В певучем граде моём купола горят,
и Спаса светлого славит слепец бродячий . . .
И я дарю свой колокольный град,
- Ахматова! - И сердце свое в придачу.
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Note on TransliterationsText Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sergey Rybin) , "To Anna Akhmatova", copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Anna Akhmatova", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Ad Anna Achmatova", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: John Versmoren
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 103
To Anna Akhmatova
Language: English  after the Russian (Русский)
Oh muse of lamentation, the finest of all muses!
Oh you, fierce fiend of the white night!
You summon a black snowstorm upon Russia,
And your cries thrust into us, like arrows.
And we stumble aside, and a stifled; “oh!”- of a hundred thousand
Sounds like a pledge of allegiance to you.
Anna Akhmatova! This name is a colossal sigh,
Which falls inside, into to the nameless depth.
We are crowned by the fact that we trample the same earth as you,
And that the sky above us is the same!
And he who is wounded by your deadly misfortune,
Already immortal, descends upon his death bed.
In my all-singing town the domes are shining bright,
And The Holy Redeemer is glorified by a vagrant holy fool.
I gift to you my bell-ringing town, Anna Akhmatova,
And my own heart in addition.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2020 by Sergey Rybin, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2020-09-16
Line count: 16
Word count: 142