Sep 2017
"Love" By: Anna Akhamtova
Любовь
То змейкой, свернувшись клубком,
У самого сердца колдует,
То целые дни голубком
На белом окошке воркует,
То в инее ярком блеснёт,
Почудится в дреме левкоя...
Но верно и тайно ведёт
От радости и от покоя.
Умеет так сладко рыдать
В молитве тоскующей скрипки,
И страшно её угадать
В ещё незнакомой улыбке.
(Translation)
Love
First, as a serpent, it’ll cast its spell
Next to your heart, curled up.
Then, it’ll come as a dove, as well,
Cooing for days, nonstop.
In the frost, it’ll show itself curtly,
Or in the drowsing field of carnations…
To escort you covertly and firmly
Away from all rest and elation.
In the prayer of a violin yearning,
So sweetly, it’ll sob for a while,
And how frightening it is to discern it
In a yet unfamiliar smile.
Translated by: Andrey Kneller
Любовь
То змейкой, свернувшись клубком,
У самого сердца колдует,
То целые дни голубком
На белом окошке воркует,
То в инее ярком блеснёт,
Почудится в дреме левкоя...
Но верно и тайно ведёт
От радости и от покоя.
Умеет так сладко рыдать
В молитве тоскующей скрипки,
И страшно её угадать
В ещё незнакомой улыбке.
(Translation)
Love
First, as a serpent, it’ll cast its spell
Next to your heart, curled up.
Then, it’ll come as a dove, as well,
Cooing for days, nonstop.
In the frost, it’ll show itself curtly,
Or in the drowsing field of carnations…
To escort you covertly and firmly
Away from all rest and elation.
In the prayer of a violin yearning,
So sweetly, it’ll sob for a while,
And how frightening it is to discern it
In a yet unfamiliar smile.
Translated by: Andrey Kneller
I do not own this writing nor do I claim to own this writing. This is a poem from another one of my favorite Russian poets if you haven't guessed her name is Anna Akhamtova. I did not translate this poem into English so sorry if the translation is off. But I love how she used her words to show how love is. Sorry that I keep saying the name of the original author but I just don't want to take credit for something that isn't mine.
