Anna Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova [Art Contrarian]

multiple views of a 1911 poem from Anna Akhmatova's first book, Evening:

[original] 

То змейкой, свернувшись клубком,

У самого сердца колдует,

То целые дни голубком

На белом окошке воркует,

То в инее ярком блеснет,

Почудится в дреме левкоя...

Но верно и тайно ведет

От радости и от покоя.

Умеет так сладко рыдать

В молитве тоскующей скрипки,

И страшно ее угадать

В еще незнакомой улыбке.

[transliteration by Google Translate]

To zmeykoy, svernuvshis' klubkom,

U samogo serdtsa kolduyet,

To tselyye dni golubkom

Na belom okoshke vorkuyet,

To v ineye yarkom blesnet,

Pochuditsya v dreme levkoya . . .

No verno i tayno vedet

Ot radosti i ot pokoya.

Umeyet tak sladko rydat'

V molitve toskuyushchey skripki,

I strashno yeye ugadat'

V yeshche neznakomoy ulybke.

[my literal translation, without conjugation or declension, aided by Google Translate]

Snake, curling tangle,

in of the heart conjures,

that whole days dove

on white window coos,

that in frost bright flash,

seemed in sandman [slumber, doze] wallflowers . . .

but right and secretly leads

from joy and from rest.

Able to so sweetly sob

in prayer yearning violin,

and frightfully its guess

in more unknown smile.

Love [translated by A. S. Kline]

A snake, it coils

Bewitching the heart.

Day after day, coos

A dove on the white sill.

A bright flash in frost,

Drowsy night-scented stock . . .

Yet, sure and secret,

It’s far from peace and joy.

It knows how to weep sweetly

In the violin’s yearning prayer;

And is fearfully divined

In a stranger’s smile.

Love [translated by Judith Hemschemeyer]

Now, like a little snake, it curls into a ball,

Bewitching your heart,

Then for days it will coo like a dove

On the little white windowsill.

Or it will flash as bright frost,

Drowse like a gillyflower . . .

But surely and stealthily it will lead you away

From joy and tranquility.

It knows how to sob so sweetly

In the prayer of a yearning violin,

And how fearful to divine it

In a still unfamiliar smile.

Love [translated by Daniel Weissbort]

Tightly coiled, like a snake it sits
In my very heart, weaving spells
Or murmurs for days on end
Like a dove on my white windowsill.

In the sparkle of hoarfrost a gleam,
In the carnation's slumber a hint,
And secretly, surely it leads
From all joy and peace of mind.

It can sob so seductively, sigh
In the violin's yearning prayer.
And it happens, a stranger's smile
Fills me with a sudden fear.

Love  [translated by Lyudmila Purgina]
As a snake, coiling up in a knot, 
At the very heart she's conjuring. 
Or the whole day she's like tiny dove 
On the window white tender cooing. 
Or she sparkles in hoar-frost bright, 
And in dozing - like a gillyflower... 
But she surely, secretly guides 
You from a pleasure and from a quiet. 
She can sweetly and plaintively cry 
In a prayer of boring violin, 
And is awe now to guess her in smile, 
Yet unknown, though such greeting. 

Love [translated by D. M. Thomas]

Like a tiny snake coiled in a grove

It will charm you and frighten and thrill,

Then for days it will coo like a dove

On your little white windowsill.

It will drowse like a gillyflower,

Then flash like a brilliant hoar-frost . . .

But soon, before you’re aware,

To joy and to peace you’ll be lost.

It knows how to make you tearful

With a yearningly-sweet violin,

And a stranger’s smile — how fearful

As you guess that again it begins . . .