"The Guest"

two translations

THE GUEST

All is just as before: against windows
Drifting snow swirls, beats and beats.
And I haven’t changed myself either,
Yet a man has visited me. 

I asked him: "What do you wish for?"
He replied: " To be with you in hell."
I laughed:” You might bring misfortune
To us both, foretelling so well”.

But he only touched the flowers,
 Lightly, with his dry hand: 
"Tell me how you are kissed by others,
Tell me how you kiss them back."

He kept looking at the ring on my finger,
Never turning away his dull gaze.
Not one muscle stirred in the slightest
In enlightened and evil face.

Oh, I know: his only solace— 
Is to see, with tense, hungry eyes, 
That there’s nothing of mine he desires,
That I’ve nothing I could him deny.

****

THE GREY-EYED KING

Glory to you, inescapable pain!
The grey-eyed king died yesterday.

The autumn evening was stuffy and red, 
My husband, coming home, calmly said:

 “They found him after hunting, you know, 
He lay there dead where the old oaks grow.

I feel for the queen. So young, taken away…
She’s gone white from sorrow just in a day”

Finished his supper, found his pipe, 
Left for his usual work shift at night. 

I will now wake up my little girl
Look in her grey eyes, hold onto her.

And poplars rustle outside the door,
“Your king is nowhere on Earth anymore…”.


****

by Anna Akhmatova

*the translations are mine

Nota Bene:

* “The Grey Eyed King” was written in 1910; “The Guest”, in 1914.

I discovered Akhmatova when I was 14 or so, myself in (an unrequited) love, this time with someone who had beautiful grey eyes.

Soon, I knew the little book “Evening” by heart, - the first collection of Akhmatova’s poetry . As for “The Grey-Eyed King”, I sang it to myself, as several other poems from the same book.

(I had an annoying, given my lack of musical ear, habit, to sing some favorite poems out loud. I had a good memory back then; I think the number of poems I knew by heart could be easily a thousand, not a meager couple hundreds I might be able to recite now.)

Interestingly, when re-reading “The Grey-Eyed King”, I saw it as much more sinister. Indeed, read it attentively- and you just might find a murder ballad.

“The Guest” appears in the second Akhmatova’s poetry collection, “Rosary”.

You can find the originals here (“The Guest”) and here (“The Grey-Eyed King”).

** For all the seeming simplicity, or maybe precisely because of it, I found it incredibly hard to translate Akhmatova. Her poetry has some crystal, economic quality; if it was an interior- strange comparison, I know,- it’d have a lot of so-called negative space, perfectly balanced. What’s left unsaid carries almost the same weight- and is utmost important for the whole.

Translating this simple, but sparkling, luminous sharpness, where not one word is redundant, where nothing reads as an embellishment, but as necessity, turned out to be a very humbling experience.

As usual, your comments and critique are welcomed, with all my heart.

When I translate, I never, ever look at the works of others, as then I usually become intimidated and decide not to translate at all. But here, already after I was done, I stumbled upon another translation of “The Guest”- and, surprisingly, felt slightly better about my work. There’s a first for everything, I guess. On the other hand, I imagine Akhmatova must be translated so widely, I could have easily stumbled upon some other version, and deprive you of this post.

***It’s hard to stop rambling, somehow, but я, нечеловеческим усилием воли, ограничусь by expressing my deep gratitude to Larisa Rimerman who prompted me to even dare thinking of translating Akhmatova’s poetry; and to Portia, Paul Wittenberger, and others, supporting my deep love for poetry - and for feeling humbled :)

I am being both utterly exhausted in every possible meaning of the word, ill and whatnot - and having a(nother) birthday. I unexpectedly got tons of warm, wonderful wishes, heaps of flowers, and other reminders of life. So. To life!

And thank you for being in mine. Thank you.

Be safe wherever you are, dear readers; graceful spring to you and yours, and miracles, big and small.

Yours,

AA

art found on Pinterest; I looked for, but couldn’t establish, the author.