Poems about love by Anna Akhmatova. Poems about love by Anna Akhmatova You came to the sea, where you saw me
And you thought I was like that too
That you can forget me
And that I will throw myself, begging and sobbing,
Under the hooves of a bay horse.
Or I’ll ask the healers
There's a root in the slander water
And I'll send you a strange gift -
My treasured fragrant scarf.
Damn you. Not a groan, not a glance
I will not touch the damned soul,
But I swear to you by the garden of angels,
I swear by the miraculous icon,
And our nights are a fiery child -
I will never return to you.
July 1921, Tsarskoe Selo
Twenty first. Night. Monday.
The outlines of the capital in the darkness.
Composed by some slacker,
What love happens on earth.
And from laziness or boredom
Everyone believed, and so they live:
Looking forward to dates, afraid of separation
And they sing love songs.
But to others the secret is revealed,
And silence will fall upon them...
I came across this by accident
And since then everything seems to be sick.
She clasped her hands under a dark veil...
She clasped her hands under a dark veil...
“Why are you pale today?” —
Because I am tartly sad
Got him drunk.
How can I forget? He came out staggering
The mouth twisted painfully...
I ran away without touching the railing,
I ran after him to the gate.
Gasping for breath, I shouted: “It’s a joke.
All that has gone before. If you leave, I’ll die.”
Smiled calmly and creepily
And he told me: “Don’t stand in the wind.”
It was stuffy...
It was stuffy from the burning light,
And his glances are like rays.
I just shuddered: this
Might tame me.
He leaned over - he would say something...
The blood drained from his face.
Let it lie like a tombstone
On my life love.
Don't like it, don't want to watch?
Oh, how beautiful you are, damn you!
And I can't fly
And since childhood I was winged.
My eyes are filled with fog,
Things and faces merge,
And only a red tulip,
The tulip is in your buttonhole.
As simple courtesy dictates,
He came up to me, smiled,
Half-affectionate, half-lazy
Touched my hand with a kiss -
And mysterious, ancient faces
Eyes looked at me...
Ten years of freezing and screaming,
All my sleepless nights
I put it in a quiet word
And she said it - in vain.
You walked away and it started again
My soul is both empty and clear.
I stopped smiling
I stopped smiling
The frosty wind chills your lips,
There is one less hope,
There will be one more song.
And this song I involuntarily
I'll give it for laughter and reproach,
Then it hurts unbearably
A loving silence for the soul.
April 1915
Tsarskoe Selo
I'm not asking for your love.
I'm not asking for your love.
She is now in a safe place...
Believe that I am Your bride
I don't write jealous letters.
And these fools need it more
Consciousness full of victory,
Than friendship is light talk
And the memory of the first tender days...
When is happiness worth pennies?
You will live with your dear friend,
And for the satiated soul
Everything will suddenly become so hateful -
On my special night
Do not come. I don't know you.
And how could I help you?
I don't heal from happiness.
In the evening
Music rang in the garden
Such unspeakable grief.
Fresh and sharp smell of the sea
Oysters on ice on a platter.
He told me: “I am a true friend!”
And he touched my dress...
How different from a hug
The touch of these hands.
This is how they pet cats or birds,
This is how slender riders are looked at...
Only laughter in his calm eyes
Under the light gold of eyelashes.
There is a cherished quality in the closeness of people
There is a cherished quality in the closeness of people,
She cannot be overcome by love and passion,—
Let the lips merge in eerie silence,
And the heart is torn to pieces by love.
And friendship is powerless here, and the years
High and fiery happiness,
When the soul is free and alien
The slow languor of voluptuousness.
Those who strive for her are mad, and her
Those who have achieved it are struck with melancholy...
Now you understand why my
The heart does not beat under your hand.
I know you are my reward
I know you are my reward
Over the years of pain and labor,
For the fact that I will give earthly joys
Never gave in
For what I didn't say
To the Beloved: “You are loved.”
Because I haven't forgiven everyone,
You will be my angel...
Song of the last meeting
My chest was so helplessly cold,
But my steps were light.
I put it on my right hand
Glove from the left hand.
It seemed like there were a lot of steps,
And I knew - there are only three of them!
Autumn whispers between the maples
He asked: “Die with me!”
I'm deceived by my sadness
Changeable, evil fate."
I answered: “Dear, dear -
And me too. I will die with you! "
This is the song of the last meeting.
I looked at the dark house.
Only candles were burning in the bedroom
Indifferent yellow fire.
Last toast
I drink to the ruined house,
For my evil life,
For loneliness together,
And I drink to you, -
For the lies of the lips that betrayed me,
For the dead cold eyes,
Because the world is cruel and rude,
For the fact that God did not save.
GUEST
Everything is the same as before. In the dining room window
Fine blizzard snow is falling.
And I myself have not become new,
And a man came to me.
I asked: “What do you want?”
He said: "To be with you in hell."
I laughed: “Oh, you prophesy
We'll probably both be in trouble."
But, raising a dry hand,
He lightly touched the flowers:
"Tell me how they kiss you,
Tell me how you kiss."
And eyes looking dimly
Didn't take it off my ring.
Not a single muscle moved
Enlightened evil face.
Oh, I know: his joy is
It's intense and passionate to know
That he doesn't need anything
That I have nothing to refuse him.
Love conquers deceitfully
Love conquers deceitfully
In a simple, unsophisticated chant.
So recently, it’s strange
You weren't gray and sad.
And when she smiled
In your gardens, in your house, in your field,
Everywhere it seemed to you
That you are free and at liberty.
You were bright, taken by her
And drank her poison.
After all, the stars were larger
After all, the herbs smelled different,
Autumn herbs.
You are always mysterious and new,
I am becoming more obedient to you every day.
But your love, oh stern friend,
Test by iron and fire.
You forbid singing and smiling,
And he forbade praying a long time ago.
If only I could not part with you,
The rest is all the same!
So, alien to earth and heaven,
I live and don't sing anymore,
It's like you're in hell and heaven
He took away my free soul.
December 1917
Everything has been taken away: both strength and love.
Everything has been taken away: both strength and love.
A body thrown into an unloved city
Not happy about the sun. I feel like there's blood
I'm already completely cold.
I don’t recognize the cheerful Muse’s disposition:
She looks and doesn’t say a word,
And he bows his head in a dark wreath,
Exhausted, on my chest.
And only conscience gets worse every day
He is furious: the great one wants tribute.
Covering my face, I answered her...
But there are no more tears, no more excuses.
1916. Sevastopol
I rarely think about you
I rarely think about you
And I’m not captivated by your fate,
But the mark is not erased from the soul
A small meeting with you.
I deliberately pass your red house,
Your red house is above the muddy river,
But I know that I worry bitterly
Your sun-drenched peace.
Let it not be you above my lips
Bent down, begging for love,
Let it not be you with golden verses
Immortalized my longings, -
I secretly conjure over the future,
If the evening is completely blue,
And I anticipate a second meeting,
An inevitable meeting with you.
December 9, 1913
The darkest days of the year
They must become light.
I can’t find words to compare -
Your lips are so tender.
Just don’t you dare raise your eyes,
Preserving my life.
They are brighter than the first violets,
And deadly for me.
Now, I realized that there is no need for words,
Snow-covered branches are light...
The bird catcher has already spread out his nets
On the river bank.
December 1913
Tsarskoe Selo
Like a white stone in the depths of a well
Like a white stone in the depths of a well,
One memory lies within me,
I cannot and do not want to fight:
It is torment and it is suffering.
It seems to me that whoever looks closely
He will see him in my eyes immediately.
It will become sadder and more thoughtful
Listening to the sorrowful story.
I know what the gods transformed
People into objects without killing consciousness,
So that wonderful sorrows may live forever.
You have been turned into my memory.
My beloved always has so many requests!
A woman who falls out of love has no requests...
I'm so glad there's water today
It freezes under the colorless ice.
And I will become - Christ, help me! —
On this cover, light and brittle,
And you take care of my letters,
So that our descendants can judge us.
To make it clearer and clearer
You were visible to them, wise and brave.
In your biography
Is it possible to leave spaces?
The earthly drink is too sweet,
The love networks are too dense...
May my name someday
Children read in the textbook,
And, having learned the sad story,
Let them smile slyly.
Without giving me love and peace,
Give me bitter glory.
White Night
The sky is terribly white,
And the earth is like coal and granite.
Under this withered moon
Nothing will shine anymore.
Is that why I kissed you?
Is that why I suffered, loving,
So that now it’s calm and tired
Remember you with disgust?
June 7, 1914
Slepnevo
White night
Oh, I didn't lock the door,
Didn't light the candles
You don’t know how, you’re tired,
I didn't dare to lie down.
Watch the stripes fade
In the sunset darkness the pine needles,
Drunk with the sound of a voice,
Similar to yours.
And know that all is lost
That life is a damned hell!
Oh I was sure
That you will come back.
1911
The swan wind is blowing
The swan wind is blowing,
The sky is blue in blood.
Anniversaries are coming
The first days of your love.
You broke my spell
The years floated by like water.
Why aren't you old?
And what was he like then?
The mysterious spring was still blooming,
The mysterious spring was still blooming,
A transparent wind wandered through the mountains
And the lake turned deep blue -
Church of the Baptist, not made by hands.
You were scared when we first met
And I was already praying for the second one, -
And today it’s a hot evening again...
How low the sun became over the mountain...
You are not with me, but this is not separation,
Every moment is a solemn message to me.
I know that you have such torment,
That you can't say the words.
1917
More about this summer
Excerpt
And she demanded that the bushes
Participated in delirium
I loved everyone who wasn't you
And who doesn’t come to me...
I told the clouds:
“Well, okay, okay, deal with each other.”
And the clouds - not a word,
And the rain pours again.
And in August the jasmine bloomed,
And in September - rose hips,
And I dreamed about you - alone
The culprit of all my troubles.
Autumn 1962. Komarovo
My voice is weak, but my will does not weaken
The insomniac nurse went to others,
I don't languish over gray ash,
And the tower clock has a crooked hand
The arrow doesn't seem lethal to me.
How the past loses power over the heart!
Liberation is near. I'll forgive everything
Watching the beam run up and down
Through wet spring ivy.
He said that I have no rivals
He said that I have no rivals.
For him I am not an earthly woman,
And the winter sun is a comforting light
And the wild song of our native land.
When I die, he will not be sad,
He will not shout, distraught: “Rise up!”
But suddenly he realizes that it is impossible to live
Without sun, body and soul without song.
...What now?
I'm crazy, oh strange boy
I've lost my mind, oh strange boy,
Wednesday at three o'clock!
Pricked my ring finger
A wasp ringing for me.
I accidentally pressed her
And it seemed she died
But the end of the poisoned sting
It was sharper than a spindle.
Will I cry for you, strange one,
Will your face make me smile?
Look! On the ring finger
So beautifully smooth ring.
You can't confuse real tenderness
With nothing, and she is quiet.
You are in vain carefully wrapping
My shoulders and chest are covered in fur.
And in vain are the words submissive
You talk about first love
How do I know these stubborn
Your unsatisfied glances!
LOVE
Then like a snake, curled up in a ball,
He casts a spell right at the heart,
That's all day long like a dove
Coos on the white window,
It will shine in the bright frost,
It will seem like a lefty in the slumber...
But it leads faithfully and secretly
From joy and from peace.
He can cry so sweetly
In the prayer of a yearning violin,
And it’s scary to guess it
In a still unfamiliar smile.
You are my letter, Darling, don’t crumple it.
Read it to the end, friend.
I'm tired of being a stranger
To be a stranger on Your path.
Don't look like that, don't frown angrily.
I am beloved, I am Yours.
Not a shepherdess, not a princess
And I’m no longer a nun -
In this gray, everyday dress,
In worn out heels...
But, as before the burning embrace,
The same fear in the huge eyes.
You are my letter, dear, don’t crumple it,
Don't cry about your cherished lies,
You have it in your poor knapsack
Place it at the very bottom.
You came to the sea where you saw me
You came to the sea, where you saw me,
Where, melting tenderness, I fell in love.
There are shadows of both: yours and mine,
Now they are sad, the sadness of love is hidden.
And the waves float to the shore, as then,
They will not forget us, they will never forget.
And the boat floats, despising the centuries,
Where the river enters the bay.
And there is no end to this and there will never be an end,
Like running to the eternal sun-messenger.
1906
A! it's you again. Not a boy in love,
But a bold, stern, unyielding husband
You entered this house and looked at me.
The silence before the storm is terrible to my soul.
You ask what I did to you
Entrusted to me forever by love and fate.
I betrayed you. And repeat this -
Oh, if you could ever get tired!
So the dead man speaks, disturbing the murderer's sleep,
So the angel of death waits at the fatal bed.
Forgive me now. The Lord taught me to forgive.
My flesh languishes in sorrowful illness,
And the free spirit will already rest peacefully.
I remember only the garden, through, autumn, tender,
And the cries of cranes, and black fields...
Oh, how sweet the earth was to me with you!
1916
I called for death dear
I called death to my dear ones,
And they died one after another.
Oh, woe is me! These graves
Foretold by my word.
How the crows circle, sensing
Hot, fresh blood,
So wild songs, rejoicing,
Mine sent love.
With you I feel sweet and sultry,
You are close, like a heart in my chest.
Give me your hand, listen calmly.
I implore you: go away.
And let me not know where you are,
Oh Muse, don't call him,
Let it be alive, not sung
Not recognizing my love.
1921
High vaults of the church
High vaults of the church
Bluer than the firmament...
Forgive me, cheerful boy,
That I brought you death -
For roses from the round platform,
For your stupid letters,
Because, daring and dark,
He turned dull with love.
I thought: you deliberately -
How do you want to be an adult?
I thought: dark vicious
You can't love like brides.
But everything turned out to be in vain.
When the cold came,
You were already watching dispassionately
Follow me everywhere and always,
As if he was saving up signs
My dislike. Sorry!
Why did you take vows
The path of suffering?
And death stretched out its hands to you...
Tell me what happened next?
I didn't know how fragile the throat is
Under the blue collar.
Forgive me, cheerful boy,
My tortured little owl!
Today I'm leaving the church
It's so hard to go home.
November 1913
Why are you wandering, restless...
Why are you wandering, restless,
Why are you not breathing?
That's right, I got it: it's tightly welded
One soul for two.
You will be, you will be consoled by me,
Like no one ever dreamed of.
And if you offend with a mad word -
It will hurt yourself.
December 1921
Come see me
Come see me.
Come. I am alive. I'm in pain.
No one can warm these hands,
These lips said: “Enough!”
Every evening they bring it to the window
My chair. I see roads.
Oh, am I reproaching you?
For the last bitterness of anxiety!
I'm not afraid of anything on earth,
Turning pale in heavy breaths.
Only the nights are scary because
That I see your eyes in a dream.
And now you are heavy and sad (my love)
And now you are heavy and sad,
Renounced glory and dreams,
But for me irreparably dear,
And the darker, the more touching you are.
You drink wine, your nights are unclean,
What's in reality, you don't know what's in a dream,
But the tormenting eyes are green, -
Apparently, he did not find peace in wine.
And the heart only asks for a quick death,
Cursing the slowness of fate.
More and more often the western wind brings
Your reproaches and your pleas.
But do I dare to return to you?
Under the pale sky of my homeland
I only know how to sing and remember,
And don’t you dare remember me.
So the days go by, multiplying sorrows.
How can I pray to the Lord for you?
You guessed it: my love is like this
That even you couldn't kill her.
Oh life without tomorrow
Oh, life without tomorrow!
I catch betrayal in every word,
And waning love
A star is rising for me.
Fly away so unnoticed
Almost unrecognizable when meeting,
But it's night again. And again the shoulders
In wet languor to kiss.
I wasn't nice to you
You hate me. And the torture lasted
And how the criminal languished
Love full of evil.
It's like a brother. You are silent, angry.
But if we meet eyes -
I swear to you by heaven,
Granite will melt in the fire.
Let's not drink from the same glass
Neither water nor sweet wine,
We won't kiss early in the morning,
And in the evening we won’t look out the window.
You breathe the sun, I breathe the moon,
But we live by love alone.
My faithful, gentle friend is always with me,
Your cheerful friend is with you.
But I understand the fear of the gray eyes,
And you are the culprit of my illness.
We do not keep meetings short.
This is how we are destined to preserve our peace.
Only your voice sings in my poems,
My breath blows in your poems.
Oh there is a fire that dare not
Touch neither oblivion nor fear.
And if you knew how much I love you now
Your dry, pink lips!
One of the brightest, most original and talented poets of the Silver Age, Anna Gorenko, better known to her admirers as Akhmatova, lived a long life full of tragic events. This proud and at the same time fragile woman witnessed two revolutions and two world wars. Her soul was seared by repression and the death of her closest people. The biography of Anna Akhmatova is worthy of a novel or film adaptation, which was repeatedly undertaken by both her contemporaries and the later generation of playwrights, directors and writers.
Anna Gorenko was born in the summer of 1889 in the family of a hereditary nobleman and retired naval mechanical engineer Andrei Andreevich Gorenko and Inna Erazmovna Stogova, who belonged to the creative elite of Odessa. The girl was born in the southern part of the city, in a house located in the Bolshoi Fontan area. She turned out to be the third oldest of six children.
As soon as the baby was one year old, the parents moved to St. Petersburg, where the head of the family received the rank of collegiate assessor and became a State Control official for special assignments. The family settled in Tsarskoe Selo, with which all Akhmatova’s childhood memories are connected. The nanny took the girl for a walk to Tsarskoye Selo Park and other places that were still remembered. Children were taught social etiquette. Anya learned to read using the alphabet, and she learned French in early childhood, listening to the teacher teach it to older children.
The future poetess received her education at the Mariinsky Women's Gymnasium. Anna Akhmatova began writing poetry, according to her, at the age of 11. It is noteworthy that she discovered poetry not with the works of Alexander Pushkin and, whom she fell in love with a little later, but with the majestic odes of Gabriel Derzhavin and the poem “Frost, Red Nose,” which her mother recited.
Young Gorenko fell in love with St. Petersburg forever and considered it the main city of her life. She really missed its streets, parks and Neva when she had to leave with her mother for Evpatoria, and then for Kyiv. Her parents divorced when the girl turned 16.
She completed her penultimate grade at home, in Evpatoria, and finished her last grade at the Kyiv Fundukleevskaya gymnasium. After completing her studies, Gorenko becomes a student at the Higher Courses for Women, choosing the Faculty of Law. But if Latin and the history of law aroused a keen interest in her, then jurisprudence seemed boring to the point of yawning, so the girl continued her education in her beloved St. Petersburg, at N.P. Raev’s historical and literary women’s courses.
Poetry
No one in the Gorenko family studied poetry, “as far as the eye can see.” Only on the side of Inna Stogova’s mother was a distant relative, Anna Bunina, a translator and poetess. The father did not approve of his daughter’s passion for poetry and asked not to disgrace his family name. Therefore, Anna Akhmatova never signed her poems with her real name. In her family tree, she found a Tatar great-grandmother who supposedly descended from the Horde Khan Akhmat, and thus turned into Akhmatova.
In her early youth, when the girl was studying at the Mariinsky Gymnasium, she met a talented young man, later the famous poet Nikolai Gumilyov. Both in Evpatoria and in Kyiv, the girl corresponded with him. In the spring of 1910, they got married in the St. Nicholas Church, which still stands today in the village of Nikolskaya Slobodka near Kiev. At that time, Gumilyov was already an accomplished poet, famous in literary circles.
The newlyweds went to Paris to celebrate their honeymoon. This was Akhmatova's first meeting with Europe. Upon his return, the husband introduced his talented wife into the literary and artistic circles of St. Petersburg, and she was immediately noticed. At first everyone was struck by her unusual, majestic beauty and regal posture. Dark-skinned, with a distinct hump on her nose, the “Horde” appearance of Anna Akhmatova captivated literary bohemia.
Anna Akhmatova and Amadeo Modigliani. Artist Natalia Tretyakova Soon, St. Petersburg writers find themselves captivated by the creativity of this original beauty. Anna Akhmatova wrote poems about love, and it was this great feeling that she sang all her life, during the crisis of symbolism. Young poets try themselves in other trends that have come into fashion - futurism and acmeism. Gumileva-Akhmatova gains fame as an Acmeist.
1912 becomes the year of a breakthrough in her biography. In this memorable year, not only was the poetess’s only son, Lev Gumilyov, born, but her first collection, entitled “Evening,” was also published in a small edition. In her declining years, a woman who has gone through all the hardships of the time in which she had to be born and create will call these first creations “the poor poems of an empty girl.” But then Akhmatova’s poems found their first admirers and brought her fame.
After 2 years, a second collection called “Rosary” was published. And this was already a real triumph. Fans and critics speak enthusiastically about her work, elevating her to the rank of the most fashionable poetess of her time. Akhmatova no longer needs her husband's protection. Her name sounds even louder than Gumilyov’s name. In the revolutionary year of 1917, Anna published her third book, “The White Flock.” It is published in an impressive circulation of 2 thousand copies. The couple separates in the turbulent year of 1918.
And in the summer of 1921, Nikolai Gumilyov was shot. Akhmatova was grieving the death of her son’s father and the man who introduced her to the world of poetry.
Anna Akhmatova reads her poems to students Since the mid-1920s, difficult times have come for the poetess. She is under close surveillance of the NKVD. It is not printed. Akhmatova’s poems are written “on the table.” Many of them were lost during travel. The last collection was published in 1924. “Provocative”, “decadent”, “anti-communist” poems - such a stigma on creativity cost Anna Andreevna dearly.
The new stage of her creativity is closely connected with soul-debilitating worries for her loved ones. First of all, for my son Lyovushka. In the late autumn of 1935, the first alarm bell rang for the woman: her second husband Nikolai Punin and son were arrested at the same time. They are released in a few days, but there will be no more peace in the life of the poetess. From now on, she will feel the ring of persecution around her tightening.
Three years later, the son was arrested. He was sentenced to 5 years in forced labor camps. In the same terrible year, the marriage of Anna Andreevna and Nikolai Punin ended. An exhausted mother carries parcels for her son to Kresty. During these same years, the famous “Requiem” by Anna Akhmatova was published.
To make life easier for her son and get him out of the camps, the poetess, just before the war, in 1940, published the collection “From Six Books.” Here are collected old censored poems and new ones, “correct” from the point of view of the ruling ideology.
Anna Andreevna spent the outbreak of the Great Patriotic War in evacuation in Tashkent. Immediately after the victory she returned to the liberated and destroyed Leningrad. From there he soon moves to Moscow.
But the clouds that had barely parted overhead—the son was released from the camps—condensed again. In 1946, her work was destroyed at the next meeting of the Writers' Union, and in 1949, Lev Gumilyov was arrested again. This time he was sentenced to 10 years. The unfortunate woman is broken. She writes requests and letters of repentance to the Politburo, but no one hears her.
Elderly Anna Akhmatova After leaving yet another prison, the relationship between mother and son remained tense for many years: Lev believed that his mother put creativity first, which she loved more than him. He moves away from her.
The black clouds over the head of this famous but deeply unhappy woman disperse only at the end of her life. In 1951, she was reinstated in the Writers' Union. Akhmatova's poems are published. In the mid-1960s, Anna Andreevna received a prestigious Italian prize and released a new collection, “The Running of Time.” The University of Oxford also awards a doctorate to the famous poetess.
Akhmatova "booth" in Komarovo At the end of his years, the world-famous poet and writer finally had his own home. The Leningrad Literary Fund gave her a modest wooden dacha in Komarovo. It was a tiny house that consisted of a veranda, a corridor and one room.
All the “furniture” is a hard bed with bricks as a leg, a table made from a door, a Modigliani drawing on the wall and an old icon that once belonged to the first husband.
Personal life
This royal woman had amazing power over men. In her youth, Anna was fantastically flexible. They say she could easily bend over backwards, her head touching the floor. Even the Mariinsky ballerinas were amazed at this incredible natural movement. She also had amazing eyes that changed color. Some said that Akhmatova’s eyes were gray, others claimed that they were green, and still others claimed that they were sky blue.
Nikolai Gumilyov fell in love with Anna Gorenko at first sight. But the girl was crazy about Vladimir Golenishchev-Kutuzov, a student who did not pay any attention to her. The young schoolgirl suffered and even tried to hang herself with a nail. Luckily, he slipped out of the clay wall.
Anna Akhmatova with her husband and son It seems that the daughter inherited her mother’s failures. Marriage to any of the three official husbands did not bring happiness to the poetess. Anna Akhmatova's personal life was chaotic and somewhat disheveled. They cheated on her, she cheated. The first husband carried his love for Anna throughout his short life, but at the same time he had an illegitimate child, about whom everyone knew. In addition, Nikolai Gumilyov did not understand why his beloved wife, in his opinion, not a genius poetess at all, evokes such delight and even exaltation among young people. Anna Akhmatova's poems about love seemed too long and pompous to him.
In the end they broke up.
After the breakup, Anna Andreevna had no end to her fans. Count Valentin Zubov gave her armfuls of expensive roses and was in awe of her mere presence, but the beauty gave preference to Nikolai Nedobrovo. However, he was soon replaced by Boris Anrepa.
Her second marriage to Vladimir Shileiko exhausted Anna so much that she said: “Divorce... What a pleasant feeling this is!”
A year after the death of her first husband, she breaks up with her second. And six months later she gets married for the third time. Nikolai Punin is an art critic. But Anna Akhmatova’s personal life did not work out with him either.
Deputy People's Commissar of Education Lunacharsky Punin, who sheltered the homeless Akhmatova after a divorce, also did not make her happy. The new wife lived in an apartment with Punin’s ex-wife and his daughter, donating money to a common pot for food. Son Lev, who came from his grandmother, was placed in a cold corridor at night and felt like an orphan, always deprived of attention.
Anna Akhmatova’s personal life was supposed to change after a meeting with pathologist Garshin, but just before the wedding, he allegedly dreamed of his late mother, who begged him not to take a witch into the house. The wedding was cancelled.
Death
The death of Anna Akhmatova on March 5, 1966 seems to have shocked everyone. Although she was already 76 years old at that time. And she had been ill for a long time and seriously. The poetess died in a sanatorium near Moscow in Domodedovo. On the eve of her death, she asked to bring her the New Testament, the texts of which she wanted to compare with the texts of the Qumran manuscripts.
They rushed to transport Akhmatova’s body from Moscow to Leningrad: the authorities did not want dissident unrest. She was buried at the Komarovskoye cemetery. Before their death, the son and mother were never able to reconcile: they did not communicate for several years.
At his mother’s grave, Lev Gumilyov laid out a stone wall with a window, which was supposed to symbolize the wall in the Crosses, where she carried messages to him. At first there was a wooden cross on the grave, as Anna Andreevna requested. But in 1969 a cross appeared.
Monument to Anna Akhmatova and Marina Tsvetaeva in Odessa The Anna Akhmatova Museum is located in St. Petersburg on Avtovskaya Street. Another one was opened in the Fountain House, where she lived for 30 years. Later, museums, memorial plaques and bas-reliefs appeared in Moscow, Tashkent, Kyiv, Odessa and many other cities where the muse lived.
Poetry
- 1912 – “Evening”
- 1914 – “Rosary”
- 1922 – “White Flock”
- 1921 – “Plantain”
- 1923 – “Anno Domini MCMXXI”
- 1940 – “From six books”
- 1943 – “Anna Akhmatova. Favorites"
- 1958 – “Anna Akhmatova. Poems"
- 1963 – “Requiem”
- 1965 – “The Running of Time”
And not just any khan, but Akhmat, the last khan of the Golden Horde, a descendant of Genghis Khan. This popular myth began to be created by the poetess herself back in the late 1900s, when the need arose for a literary pseudonym (Akhmatova’s real name is Gorenko). “And only a seventeen-year-old crazy girl could choose a Tatar surname for a Russian poetess...” Lydia Chukovskaya recalled her words. However, such a move for the Silver Age was not so reckless: the time demanded artistic behavior, vivid biographies and sonorous names from new writers. In this sense, the name Anna Akhmatova perfectly met all the criteria (poetic - it created a rhythmic pattern, two-foot dactyl, and had an assonance on “a”, and life-creative - it had a flair of mystery).
As for the legend about the Tatar Khan, it was formed later. The real genealogy did not fit into the poetic legend, so Akhmatova transformed it. Here we should highlight the biographical and mythological plans. The biographical one is that the Akhmatovs were actually present in the poetess’s family: Praskovya Fedoseevna Akhmatova was a great-grandmother on her mother’s side. In the poems, the line of kinship is a little closer (see the beginning of “The Tale of the Black Ring”: “I received rare gifts from my Tatar grandmother; / And why was I baptized, / She was bitterly angry”). The legendary plan is associated with the Horde princes. As researcher Vadim Chernykh showed, Praskovya Akhmatova was not a Tatar princess, but a Russian noblewoman (“The Akhmatovs are an old noble family, apparently descended from service Tatars, but Russified a long time ago”). There is no information about the origin of the Akhmatov family from Khan Akhmat or from the Khan’s family of Chingizids in general.
Myth two: Akhmatova was a recognized beauty
Anna Akhmatova. 1920s RGALI Many memoirs indeed contain admiring reviews of the appearance of the young Akhmatova (“Of the poets... Anna Akhmatova is most vividly remembered. Thin, tall, slender, with a proud turn of her small head, wrapped in a flowery shawl, Akhmatova looked like a giant... It was impossible to pass by her, without admiring her,” recalled Ariadna Tyrkova; “She was very beautiful, everyone on the street looked at her,” writes Nadezhda Chulkova).
Nevertheless, those closest to the poetess assessed her as a woman who was not fabulously beautiful, but expressive, with memorable features and a particularly attractive charm. “...You can’t call her beautiful, / But all my happiness is in her,” Gumilyov wrote about Akhmatova. Critic Georgy Adamovich recalled:
“Now, in memories of her, she is sometimes called a beauty: no, she was not a beauty. But she was more than a beauty, better than a beauty. I have never seen a woman whose face and entire appearance stood out everywhere, among any beauties, for its expressiveness, genuine spirituality, something that immediately attracted attention.”
Akhmatova herself assessed herself this way: “All my life I could look at will, from beauty to ugly.”
Myth three: Akhmatova drove a fan to suicide, which she later described in poetry
This is usually confirmed by a quote from Akhmatova’s poem “High vaults of the church...”: “High vaults of the church / Bluer than the firmament... / Forgive me, cheerful boy, / That I brought you death...”
Vsevolod Knyazev. 1900s poetrysilver.ru All this is both true and untrue at the same time. As researcher Natalia Kraineva showed, Akhmatova really had “her own” suicide - Mikhail Lindeberg, who committed suicide because of unhappy love for the poetess on December 22, 1911. But the poem “High Vaults of the Church...” was written in 1913 under the impression of the suicide of another young man, Vsevolod Knyazev, who was unhappily in love with Akhmatova’s friend, dancer Olga Glebova-Sudeikina. This episode will be repeated in other poems, for example in “”. In “Poem Without a Hero,” Akhmatova will make Knyazev’s suicide one of the key episodes of the work. The commonality of the events that happened with her friends in Akhmatova’s historiosophical concept could later be combined into one memory: it is not without reason that in the margins of the autograph of the “ballet libretto” for the “Poem” there appears a note with Lindeberg’s name and the date of his death.
Myth four: Akhmatova was haunted by unhappy love
A similar conclusion arises after reading almost any book of poetry by the poetess. Along with the lyrical heroine, who leaves her lovers of her own free will, the poems also contain a lyrical mask of a woman suffering from unrequited love (“”, “”, “Today they didn’t bring me a letter ...”, “In the evening”, the cycle “Confusion”, etc. .d.). However, the lyrical outline of books of poetry does not always reflect the biography of the author: the beloved poetess Boris Anrep, Arthur Lurie, Nikolai Punin, Vladimir Garshin and others reciprocated her feelings.
Myth five: Gumilyov is Akhmatova’s only love
Anna Akhmatova and Nikolai Punin in the courtyard of the Fountain House. Photo by Pavel Luknitsky. Leningrad, 1927 Tver Regional Library named after. A. M. Gorky Akhmatova's marriage to the poet Nikolai Gumilyov. From 1918 to 1921, she was married to Assyriologist Vladimir Shileiko (they officially divorced in 1926), and from 1922 to 1938 she was in a civil marriage with art critic Nikolai Punin. The third, never officially formalized marriage, due to the specifics of the time, had its own strangeness: after separation, the spouses continued to live in the same communal apartment (in different rooms) - and moreover: even after Punin’s death, while in Leningrad, Akhmatova continued to live with his family.
Gumilyov also remarried in 1918 - to Anna Engelhardt. But in the 1950s-60s, when “Requiem” gradually reached readers (in 1963 the poem was published in Munich) and interest in Gumilyov, banned in the USSR, began to awaken, Akhmatova took on the “mission” of the poet’s widow (Engelhardt also time was also no longer alive). A similar role was played by Nadezhda Mandelstam, Elena Bulgakova and other wives of departed writers, keeping their archives and taking care of posthumous memory.
Myth six: Gumilyov beat Akhmatova
Nikolai Gumilev in Tsarskoe Selo. 1911 gumilev.ru This conclusion was made more than once not only by later readers, but also by some of the poets’ contemporaries. No wonder: in almost every third poem the poetess admitted the cruelty of her husband or lover: “...My husband is an executioner, and his house is a prison,” “It doesn’t matter that you are arrogant and evil...”, “I marked with charcoal on the left side / The place where to shoot, / To release the bird - my longing / On the deserted night again. / Cute! your hand will not tremble. / And I won’t have to endure it for long...”, “, / with a double folded belt” and so on.
The poet Irina Odoevtseva in her memoirs “On the Banks of the Neva” recalls Gumilyov’s indignation about this:
“He [the poet Mikhail Lozinsky] told me that students were constantly asking him whether it was true that out of envy I prevented Akhmatova from publishing... Lozinsky, of course, tried to dissuade them.
<…>
<…>Probably you, like all of them, repeated: Akhmatova is a martyr, and Gumilyov is a monster.
<…>
Lord, what nonsense!<…>…When I realized how talented she was, even to my own detriment, I constantly put her in first place.
<…>
How many years have passed, and I still feel resentment and pain. How unfair and vile this is! Yes, of course, there were poems that I did not want her to publish, and quite a lot. At least here:
My husband whipped me with a patterned one,
Double folded belt.
After all, think about it, because of these lines I became known as a sadist. They started a rumor about me that, having put on a tailcoat (and I didn’t even have a tailcoat then) and a top hat (I actually had a top hat), I was whipping with a patterned, double-folded belt not only my wife, Akhmatova, but also my young fans, having previously stripped them naked.”
It is noteworthy that after the divorce from Gumilyov and after the marriage to Shileiko, the “beatings” did not stop: “Because of your mysterious love, / I screamed as if in pain, / I became yellow and fitful, / I could barely drag my feet,” “And in the cave the dragon has / No mercy, no law. / And there’s a whip hanging on the wall, / So that I don’t have to sing songs” - and so on.
Myth seventh: Akhmatova was a principled opponent of emigration
This myth was created by the poetess herself and is actively supported by the school canon. In the fall of 1917, Gumilev considered the possibility of moving abroad for Akhmatova, which he informed her about from London. Boris Anrep also advised leaving Petrograd. Akhmatova responded to these proposals with a poem known in the school curriculum as “I had a voice...”.
Admirers of Akhmatova’s work know that this text is actually the second part of a poem, less clear in its content - “When in the anguish of suicide...”, where the poetess talks not only about her fundamental choice, but also about the horrors against which a decision is made.
“I think I can’t describe how painfully I want to come to you. I ask you - arrange this, prove that you are my friend...
I am healthy, I really miss the village and think with horror about winter in Bezhetsk.<…>How strange it is for me to remember that in the winter of 1907 you called me to Paris in every letter, and now I don’t know at all whether you want to see me. But always remember that I remember you very well, I love you very much, and that without you I’m always somehow sad. I look with sadness at what is happening in Russia now; God is severely punishing our country.”
Accordingly, Gumilyov’s autumn letter is not a proposal to go abroad, but a report at her request.
After the impulse to leave, Akhmatova soon enough decided to stay and did not change her opinion, which can be seen in her other poems (for example, “You are an apostate: for the green island ...”, “Your spirit is darkened by arrogance ...”), and in the stories of contemporaries . According to memoirs, in 1922, Akhmatova again had the opportunity to leave the country: Arthur Lurie, having settled in Paris, persistently calls her there, but she refuses (in her hands, according to Akhmatova’s confidant Pavel Luknitsky, there were 17 letters with this request) .
Myth eight: Stalin was jealous of Akhmatova
Akhmatova at a literary evening. 1946 RGALI The poetess herself and many of her contemporaries considered the appearance of the 1946 Central Committee resolution “On the magazines “Zvezda” and “Leningrad”,” where Akhmatova and Zoshchenko were defamed, as a consequence of an event that occurred at one literary evening. “It’s me who earns the decree,” Akhmatova said about a photograph taken at one of the evenings held in Moscow in the spring of 1946.<…>According to rumors, Stalin was angry at the ardent reception that Akhmatova received from her listeners. According to one version, Stalin asked after some evening: “Who organized the rise?” recalls Nika Glen. Lydia Chukovskaya adds: “Akhmatova believed that... Stalin was jealous of her ovation... The standing ovation was due, according to Stalin, to him alone - and suddenly the crowd gave an ovation to some poetess.”
As noted, all memories associated with this plot are characterized by typical reservations (“according to rumors,” “believed,” and so on), which is a likely sign of speculation. Stalin’s reaction, as well as the “quoted” phrase about “getting up,” do not have documentary evidence or refutation, so this episode should be considered not as the absolute truth, but as one of the popular, probable, but not fully confirmed versions.
Myth ninth: Akhmatova did not love her son
Anna Akhmatova and Lev Gumilev. 1926 Eurasian National University named after. L. N. Gumileva And that's not true. There are many nuances in the complex history of Akhmatova’s relationship with Lev Gumilyov. In her early lyrics, the poetess created the image of a negligent mother (“...I am a bad mother”, “...Take away both the child and the friend...”, “Why, abandoning the friend / And the curly-haired child...”), in which there was a share of biography: childhood and Lev Gumilyov spent his youth not with his parents, but with his grandmother, Anna Gumileva; his mother and father only occasionally visited them. But at the end of the 1920s, Lev moved to the Fountain House, to the family of Akhmatova and Punin.
A serious disagreement occurred after Lev Gumilyov returned from the camp in 1956. He could not forgive his mother, as it seemed to him, her frivolous behavior in 1946 (see myth eight) and some poetic egoism. However, it was precisely for his sake that Akhmatova not only “stood for three hundred hours” in prison lines with the transfer and asked every more or less influential acquaintance to help with the release of her son from the camp, but also took a step contrary to any selfishness: stepping over her convictions for the sake of her son’s freedom Akhmatova wrote and published the series “Glory to the World!”, where she glorified the Soviet system When Akhmatova’s first book after a significant break was published in 1958, she covered pages with poems from this cycle in the author’s copies..
In recent years, Akhmatova has repeatedly told her loved ones about her desire to restore her previous relationship with her son. Emma Gerstein writes:
“...she told me: “I would like to make peace with Leva.” I replied that he probably wanted this too, but was afraid of excessive excitement for both her and himself when explaining. “There’s no need to explain,” Anna Andreevna quickly objected. “He would come and say: ‘Mom, sew on a button for me.’”
Probably, the feelings of a disagreement with her son greatly accelerated the death of the poetess. In the last days of her life, a theatrical performance unfolded near Akhmatova’s hospital room: her relatives were deciding whether or not to let Lev Nikolaevich see his mother, whether their meeting would bring the poetess’s death closer. Akhmatova died without making peace with her son.
Myth tenth: Akhmatova is a poet, she cannot be called a poetess
Often discussions of Akhmatova’s work or other aspects of her biography end in heated terminological disputes - “poet” or “poetess”. Those arguing, not without reason, refer to the opinion of Akhmatova herself, who emphatically called herself a poet (which was recorded by many memoirists), and call for the continuation of this particular tradition.
However, it is worth remembering the context of the use of these words a century ago. Poetry written by women was just beginning to appear in Russia, and was rarely taken seriously (see the typical titles of reviews of books by women poets in the early 1910s: “Women’s Handicraft”, “Love and Doubt”). Therefore, many women writers either chose male pseudonyms (Sergei Gedroits Pseudonym of Vera Gedroits., Anton Krainy The pseudonym under which Zinaida Gippius published critical articles., Andrey Polyanin The name taken by Sofia Parnok to publish criticism.), or wrote on behalf of a man (Zinaida Gippius, Polixena Solovyova). The work of Akhmatova (and in many ways Tsvetaeva) completely changed the attitude towards poetry created by women as an “inferior” movement. Back in 1914, in a review of “The Rosary,” Gumilyov made a symbolic gesture. Having called Akhmatova several times a poetess, at the end of the review he gives her the name of a poet: “That connection with the world that I spoke about above and which is the lot of every true poet, Akhmatova has almost achieved.”
In the modern situation, when the merits of poetry created by women no longer need to be proven to anyone, in literary criticism it is customary to call Akhmatova a poetess, in accordance with generally accepted norms of the Russian language.
A. A. Akhmatova worked in a very difficult time, a time of catastrophes and social upheavals, revolutions and wars. Poets in Russia in that turbulent era, when people forgot what freedom was, often had to choose between free creativity and life.
But, despite all these circumstances, poets still continued to work miracles: wonderful lines and stanzas were created. The source of inspiration for Akhmatova was the Motherland, Russia, which was desecrated, but this made it even closer and dearer. Anna Akhmatova could not emigrate, because she knew that only in Russia could she create, that it was in Russia that her poetry was needed: “I am not with those who abandoned the earth
To be torn to pieces by enemies.
I don't listen to their rude flattery,
I won’t give them my songs.”
But let's remember the beginning of the poetess's path. Her first poems
appeared in Russia in 1911 in the magazine "Apollo", and the following year the poetry collection "Evening" was published. Almost immediately, Akhmatova was ranked by critics among the greatest Russian poets. The whole world of Akhmatova’s early, and in many ways later, poetry was connected with A. Blok. Blok's muse was married to Akhmatova's muse. The hero of Blok's poetry was the most significant and characteristic "male" hero of the era, while the heroine of Akhmatova's poetry was a representative of "female" poetry. It is from the images of Blok that the hero of Akhmatov’s lyrics largely comes. Akhmatova in her poems appears in an infinite variety of women's destinies: lovers and wives, widows and mothers, cheating and abandoned. Akhmatova showed in art the complex history of the female character of the advanced era, its origins, breakdown, and new formation. That is why in 1921, at a dramatic time in her life and in everyone’s life, Akhmatova was able to write the lines that were astonishingly updated:
"Everything was stolen, betrayed, sold,
The wing of the black death flashed,
Everything is devoured by hungry melancholy -
Why did we feel light?"
So, in a certain sense, Akhmatova was also a revolutionary poet.
But she always remained a traditional poet, who placed herself under the banner of Russian classics, first of all, Pushkin. The development of Pushkin's world continued throughout his life.
There is a center that, as it were, brings the rest of the world of poetry to itself; it turns out to be the main nerve, idea and principle. This is Love.
The element of the female soul inevitably had to begin with such a declaration of love. In one of her poems, Akhmatova called love the “fifth season of the year.” The feeling, in itself acute and extraordinary, receives additional acuteness, manifesting itself in extreme, crisis expression - a rise or fall, a first meeting or a completed break, mortal danger or mortal melancholy, which is why Akhmatova gravitates so much towards a lyrical short story with the unexpected, often whimsical and capricious. the end of the psychological plot and to the unusualness of the lyrical ballad, eerie and mysterious (“The City Has Disappeared,” “New Year’s Ballad”). Usually her poems are the beginning of a drama, or only its climax, or even more often the finale and ending. And here she relied on the rich experience of Russian not only poetry, but also prose:
"Glory to you, hopeless pain,
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.
..............................
...And outside the window the poplars rustle:
Your king is not on earth."
Akhmatova’s poems carry a special element of love-pity:
"Oh no, I didn't love you,
Burned with sweet fire,
So explain what power
In your sad name."
The world of Akhmatova’s poetry is a tragic world. Motifs of misfortune and tragedy are heard in the poems “Slander”, “The Last”, “After 23 Years” and others.
In the years of repression, the most difficult trials, when her husband is shot and her son ends up in prison, creativity will become the only salvation, “the last freedom.” The muse did not abandon the poet, and she wrote the great "Requiem".
Thus, life itself was reflected in Akhmatova’s work; creativity was her life.
And Nna Akhmatova wrote about herself that she was born in the same year as Charlie Chaplin, Tolstoy’s “Kreutzer Sonata” and the Eiffel Tower. She witnessed the change of eras - she survived two world wars, a revolution and the siege of Leningrad. Akhmatova wrote her first poem at the age of 11 - from then until the end of her life she did not stop writing poetry.
Literary name - Anna Akhmatova
Anna Akhmatova was born in 1889 near Odessa into the family of a hereditary nobleman, retired naval mechanical engineer Andrei Gorenko. The father was afraid that his daughter’s poetic hobbies would disgrace his family name, so at a young age the future poetess took a creative pseudonym - Akhmatova.
“They named me Anna in honor of my grandmother Anna Egorovna Motovilova. Her mother was a Chingizid, the Tatar princess Akhmatova, whose surname, not realizing that I was going to be a Russian poet, I made my literary name.”
Anna Akhmatova
Anna Akhmatova spent her childhood in Tsarskoe Selo. As the poetess recalled, she learned to read from Leo Tolstoy’s “ABC,” and began speaking French while listening to the teacher teach her older sisters. The young poetess wrote her first poem at the age of 11.
Anna Akhmatova in childhood. Photo: maskball.ru
Anna Akhmatova. Photos: maskball.ru
Gorenko family: Inna Erasmovna and children Victor, Andrey, Anna, Iya. Photo: maskball.ru
Akhmatova studied at the Tsarskoye Selo Women's Gymnasium “at first it’s bad, then it’s much better, but always reluctantly”. In 1905 she was home schooled. The family lived in Yevpatoria - Anna Akhmatova’s mother separated from her husband and went to the southern coast to treat tuberculosis that had worsened in children. In the following years, the girl moved to relatives in Kyiv - there she graduated from the Fundukleevsky gymnasium, and then enrolled in the law department of the Higher Women's Courses.
In Kyiv, Anna began to correspond with Nikolai Gumilyov, who courted her back in Tsarskoe Selo. At this time, the poet was in France and published the Parisian Russian weekly Sirius. In 1907, Akhmatova’s first published poem, “On His Hand There Are Many Shining Rings...”, appeared on the pages of Sirius. In April 1910, Anna Akhmatova and Nikolai Gumilev got married - near Kiev, in the village of Nikolskaya Slobodka.
As Akhmatova wrote, “No other generation has had such a fate”. In the 30s, Nikolai Punin was arrested, Lev Gumilyov was arrested twice. In 1938, he was sentenced to five years in forced labor camps. About the feelings of the wives and mothers of “enemies of the people” - victims of repressions of the 1930s - Akhmatova later wrote one of her famous works - the autobiographical poem “Requiem”.
In 1939, the poetess was accepted into the Union of Soviet Writers. Before the war, Akhmatova’s sixth collection, “From Six Books,” was published. “The Patriotic War of 1941 found me in Leningrad”, - the poetess wrote in her memoirs. Akhmatova was evacuated first to Moscow, then to Tashkent - there she spoke in hospitals, read poetry to wounded soldiers and “greedily caught news about Leningrad, about the front.” The poetess was able to return to the Northern capital only in 1944.
“The terrible ghost pretending to be my city amazed me so much that I described this meeting of mine with him in prose... Prose has always seemed to me both a mystery and a temptation. From the very beginning I knew everything about poetry - I never knew anything about prose.”
Anna Akhmatova
"Decadent" and Nobel Prize nominee
In 1946, a special Resolution of the Organizing Bureau of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks was issued “On the magazines “Zvezda” and “Leningrad” - for “providing a literary platform” for “unprincipled, ideologically harmful works.” It concerned two Soviet writers - Anna Akhmatova and Mikhail Zoshchenko. They were both expelled from the Writers' Union.
Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin. Portrait of A.A. Akhmatova. 1922. State Russian Museum
Natalia Tretyakova. Akhmatova and Modigliani at an unfinished portrait
Rinat Kuramshin. Portrait of Anna Akhmatova
“Zoshchenko portrays the Soviet order and Soviet people in an ugly caricature, slanderously presenting Soviet people as primitive, uncultured, stupid, with philistine tastes and morals. Zoshchenko’s maliciously hooligan portrayal of our reality is accompanied by anti-Soviet attacks.
<...>
Akhmatova is a typical representative of empty, unprincipled poetry, alien to our people. Her poems, imbued with the spirit of pessimism and decadence, expressing the tastes of the old salon poetry, frozen in the positions of bourgeois-aristocratic aesthetics and decadence, “art for art’s sake,” which does not want to keep pace with its people, harm the education of our youth and cannot be tolerated in Soviet literature".Excerpt from the Resolution of the Organizing Bureau of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks “On the magazines “Zvezda” and “Leningrad”
Lev Gumilyov, who after serving his sentence volunteered to go to the front and reached Berlin, was again arrested and sentenced to ten years in forced labor camps. All his years of imprisonment, Akhmatova tried to achieve the release of her son, but Lev Gumilyov was released only in 1956.
In 1951, the poetess was reinstated in the Writers' Union. Having never had her own home, in 1955 Akhmatova received a country house in the village of Komarovo from the Literary Fund.
“I didn’t stop writing poetry. For me, they represent my connection with time, with the new life of my people. When I wrote them, I lived by the rhythms that sounded in the heroic history of my country. I am happy that I lived during these years and saw events that had no equal.”
Anna Akhmatova
In 1962, the poetess completed work on “Poem without a Hero,” which she wrote over 22 years. As the poet and memoirist Anatoly Naiman noted, “Poem without a Hero” was written by the late Akhmatova about the early Akhmatova - she recalled and reflected on the era she found.
In the 1960s, Akhmatova's work received wide recognition - the poetess became a Nobel Prize nominee and received the Etna-Taormina literary prize in Italy. Oxford University awarded Akhmatova an honorary doctorate of literature. In May 1964, an evening dedicated to the 75th anniversary of the poetess was held at the Mayakovsky Museum in Moscow. The following year, the last lifetime collection of poems and poems, “The Running of Time,” was published.
The illness forced Anna Akhmatova to move to a cardiological sanatorium near Moscow in February 1966. She passed away in March. The poetess was buried in the St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral in Leningrad and buried at the Komarovskoye cemetery.
Slavic professor Nikita Struve
