The guest by Anna Akhmatova [translation below]


Александру Блоку

Я пришла к поэту в гости.
Ровно полдень. Воскресенье.
Тихо в комнате просторной,
А за окнами мороз.
И малиновое солнце
Над лохматым сизым дымом…
Как хозяин молчаливый
Ясно смотрит на меня!
У него глаза такие,
Что запомнить каждый должен;
Мне же лучше, осторожней,
В них и вовсе не глядеть.
Но запомнится беседа,
Дымный полдень, воскресенье
В доме сером и высоком
У морских ворот Невы.

Январь 1914


The Guest

The blizzard beats with snow
On my windows, as before.
I have not become new,
Yet a visitor is at my door.
I asked, “What do you want?”
“To be in hell with you.”
I laughed, “Oh, you will spell
For both of us misfortune.”
But, lifting his lean hand,
He lightly touched the flowers.
“Tell me, how are you kissed?
How do you kiss the others?”
His dull and watchful eyes
Stayed anchored on my ring.
A bitter glow lit his face,
Unmoving, lucid, still.
Oh, this I know. His joy
Is knowing, with passion,
There’s nothing that he needs,
That I’ll deny him nothing.

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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