giovedì 14 giugno 2012
From "Requiem", by Anna Akhmatova
The word landed with a stony thud
Onto my still-beating breast.
Nevermind, I was prepared,
I will manage with the rest.
I have a lot of work to do today;
I need to slaughter memory,
Turn my living soul to stone
Then teach myself to live again. . .
But how. The hot summer rustles
Like a carnival outside my window;
I have long had this premonition:
A bright day and a deserted house.
[22 June 1939. Summer. Fontannyi Dom]