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Requiem Analysis



Author: poem of Anna Akhmatova Type: poem Views: 19


                        Not under foreign skies
                        Nor under foreign wings protected  -
                        I shared all this with my own people
                        There, where misfortune had abandoned us.
                                                           [1961]

INSTEAD OF A PREFACE

During the frightening years of the Yezhov terror, I
spent seventeen months waiting in prison queues in
Leningrad. One day, somehow, someone 'picked me out'.
On that occasion there was a woman standing behind me,
her lips blue with cold, who, of course, had never in
her life heard my name. Jolted out of the torpor
characteristic of all of us, she said into my ear
(everyone whispered there) - 'Could one ever describe
this?' And I answered - 'I can.' It was then that
something like a smile slid across what had previously
been just a face.
[The 1st of April in the year 1957. Leningrad]

DEDICATION

Mountains fall before this grief,
A mighty river stops its flow,
But prison doors stay firmly bolted
Shutting off the convict burrows
And an anguish close to death.
Fresh winds softly blow for someone,
Gentle sunsets warm them through; we don't know this,
We are everywhere the same, listening
To the scrape and turn of hateful keys
And the heavy tread of marching soldiers.
Waking early, as if for early mass,
Walking through the capital run wild, gone to seed,
We'd meet - the dead, lifeless; the sun,
Lower every day; the Neva, mistier:
But hope still sings forever in the distance.
The verdict. Immediately a flood of tears,
Followed by a total isolation,
As if a beating heart is painfully ripped out, or,
Thumped, she lies there brutally laid out,
But she still manages to walk, hesitantly, alone.
Where are you, my unwilling friends,
Captives of my two satanic years?
What miracle do you see in a Siberian blizzard?
What shimmering mirage around the circle of the moon?
I send each one of you my salutation, and farewell.
[March 1940]

INTRODUCTION
[PRELUDE]

It happened like this when only the dead
Were smiling, glad of their release,
That Leningrad hung around its prisons
Like a worthless emblem, flapping its piece.
Shrill and sharp, the steam-whistles sang
Short songs of farewell
To the ranks of convicted, demented by suffering,
As they, in regiments, walked along -
Stars of death stood over us
As innocent Russia squirmed
Under the blood-spattered boots and tyres
Of the black marias.

I

You were taken away at dawn. I followed you
As one does when a corpse is being removed.
Children were crying in the darkened house.
A candle flared, illuminating the Mother of God. . .
The cold of an icon was on your lips, a death-cold
sweat
On your brow - I will never forget this; I will gather

To wail with the wives of the murdered streltsy (1)
Inconsolably, beneath the Kremlin towers.
[1935. Autumn. Moscow]

II

Silent flows the river Don
A yellow moon looks quietly on
Swanking about, with cap askew
It sees through the window a shadow of you
Gravely ill, all alone
The moon sees a woman lying at home
Her son is in jail, her husband is dead
Say a prayer for her instead.

III

It isn't me, someone else is suffering. I couldn't.
Not like this. Everything that has happened,
Cover it with a black cloth,
Then let the torches be removed. . .
Night.

IV

Giggling, poking fun, everyone's darling,
The carefree sinner of Tsarskoye Selo (2)
If only you could have foreseen
What life would do with you -
That you would stand, parcel in hand,
Beneath the Crosses (3), three hundredth in
line,
Burning the new year's ice
With your hot tears.
Back and forth the prison poplar sways
With not a sound - how many innocent
Blameless lives are being taken away. . .
[1938]

V

For seventeen months I have been screaming,
Calling you home.
I've thrown myself at the feet of butchers
For you, my son and my horror.
Everything has become muddled forever -
I can no longer distinguish
Who is an animal, who a person, and how long
The wait can be for an execution.
There are now only dusty flowers,
The chinking of the thurible,
Tracks from somewhere into nowhere
And, staring me in the face
And threatening me with swift annihilation,
An enormous star.
[1939]

VI

Weeks fly lightly by. Even so,
I cannot understand what has arisen,
How, my son, into your prison
White nights stare so brilliantly.
Now once more they burn,
Eyes that focus like a hawk,
And, upon your cross, the talk
Is again of death.
[1939. Spring]

VII
THE VERDICT

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
Of a bright day and a deserted house.
[22 June 1939. Summer. Fontannyi Dom (4)]

VIII
TO DEATH

You will come anyway - so why not now?
I wait for you; things have become too hard.
I have turned out the lights and opened the door
For you, so simple and so wonderful.
Assume whatever shape you wish. Burst in
Like a shell of noxious gas. Creep up on me
Like a practised bandit with a heavy weapon.
Poison me, if you want, with a typhoid exhalation,
Or, with a simple tale prepared by you
(And known by all to the point of nausea), take me
Before the commander of the blue caps and let me
glimpse
The house administrator's terrified white face.
I don't care anymore. The river Yenisey
Swirls on. The Pole star blazes.
The blue sparks of those much-loved eyes
Close over and cover the final horror.
[19 August 1939. Fontannyi Dom]

IX

Madness with its wings
Has covered half my soul
It feeds me fiery wine
And lures me into the abyss.

That's when I understood
While listening to my alien delirium
That I must hand the victory
To it.

However much I nag
However much I beg
It will not let me take
One single thing away:

Not my son's frightening eyes -
A suffering set in stone,
Or prison visiting hours
Or days that end in storms

Nor the sweet coolness of a hand
The anxious shade of lime trees
Nor the light distant sound
Of final comforting words.
[14 May 1940. Fontannyi Dom]

X
CRUCIFIXION

Weep not for me, mother.
I am alive in my grave.

1.
A choir of angels glorified the greatest hour,
The heavens melted into flames.
To his father he said, 'Why hast thou forsaken me!'
But to his mother, 'Weep not for me. . .'
[1940. Fontannyi Dom]

2.
Magdalena smote herself and wept,
The favourite disciple turned to stone,
But there, where the mother stood silent,
Not one person dared to look.
[1943. Tashkent]

EPILOGUE

1.
I have learned how faces fall,
How terror can escape from lowered eyes,
How suffering can etch cruel pages
Of cuneiform-like marks upon the cheeks.
I know how dark or ash-blond strands of hair
Can suddenly turn white. I've learned to recognise
The fading smiles upon submissive lips,
The trembling fear inside a hollow laugh.
That's why I pray not for myself
But all of you who stood there with me
Through fiercest cold and scorching July heat
Under a towering, completely blind red wall.

2.
The hour has come to remember the dead.
I see you, I hear you, I feel you:
The one who resisted the long drag to the open window;
The one who could no longer feel the kick of familiar
soil beneath her feet;
The one who, with a sudden flick of her head, replied,

'I arrive here as if I've come home!'
I'd like to name you all by name, but the list
Has been removed and there is nowhere else to look.
So,
I have woven you this wide shroud out of the humble
words
I overheard you use. Everywhere, forever and always,
I will never forget one single thing. Even in new
grief.
Even if they clamp shut my tormented mouth
Through which one hundred million people scream;
That's how I wish them to remember me when I am dead
On the eve of my remembrance day.
If someone someday in this country
Decides to raise a memorial to me,
I give my consent to this festivity
But only on this condition - do not build it
By the sea where I was born,
I have severed my last ties with the sea;
Nor in the Tsar's Park by the hallowed stump
Where an inconsolable shadow looks for me;
Build it here where I stood for three hundred hours
And no-one slid open the bolt.
Listen, even in blissful death I fear
That I will forget the Black Marias,
Forget how hatefully the door slammed and an old woman
Howled like a wounded beast.
Let the thawing ice flow like tears
From my immovable bronze eyelids
And let the prison dove coo in the distance
While ships sail quietly along the river.
[March 1940. Fontannyi Dom]

FOOTNOTES

1 An elite guard which rose up in rebellion
   against Peter the Great in 1698. Most were either
   executed or exiled.
2 The imperial summer residence outside St
   Petersburg where Ahmatova spent her early years.
3 A prison complex in central Leningrad near the
   Finland Station, called The Crosses because of the
   shape of two of the buildings.
4 The Leningrad house in which Ahmatova lived.


First published Sasha Soldatow Mayakovsky in Bondi
BlackWattle Press 1993 Sydney.


Translated by Sasha Soldatow

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| Posted on 2010-05-02 | by a guest


.: :.

WEEP NOT FOR ME
Do not weep for me when I no longer dwell among the wonders of the earth; for my larger self is free, and my soul rejoices on the other side of pain...on the other side of darkness.
Do not weep for me, for I am a ray of sunshine that touches your skin, a tropical breeze upon your face, the hush of joy within your heart and the innocence of babes in mothers arms.
I am the hope in a darkened night. And, in your hour of need, I will be there to comfort you. I will share your tears, your joys, your fears, your disappointments and your triumphs.
Do not weep for me, for I am cradled
in the arms of God. I walk with the angels, and hear the music beyond the stars.
Do not weep for me, for I am within you;
I am peace, love, I am a soft wind that caresses the flowers. I am the calm that follows a raging storm. I am an autumns leaf that floats among the garden of God, and I am pure white snow that softly falls upon your hand.
Do not weep for me, for I shall never die, as long as you remember me...
with a smile and a sigh.
© Joe Fazio

| Posted on 2009-10-06 | by a guest


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| Posted on 2009-02-23 | by a guest


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| Posted on 2009-02-23 | by a guest


.: :.

(This is only an analysis of stanzas 5&6)
Anna Akmatova is trying to say that if you don't take a good hard look at yourself every so often, you can slowly turn into a monster without even realising. It says that sometimes people go so far that they cannot be saved and we must simply let them go and allow them to do what they please, even if it is bad for them. It shows that people often forgt about what has happened in the past and ignore it as if history is not important at all. It talks about how quickly time can pass and that we need to cherish every moment of it and use it wisely. She is tryng to say that Tom Moyle plays way too much Halo and he really needs to get a girlfriend. She is also trying to say that Jayed Hansen needs to either marry his computer or get over it. She is trying to say that death is absolute, however it can be peacefu aswell.

| Posted on 2009-02-23 | by a guest


.: First 30 :.

Cultural Significance and Theme in the Opening of “Requiem”
“I shared all this with my people
There, where misfortune had abandoned us” (3)
Stalin’s reign brought enormous troubles to the Russian people. In his paranoia, Stalin sent a large portion of the Russian population into labor camps where an estimated 12 million died (White).
Anna Akhmatova witnessed all of this; indeed, her son died in one of these fabled “Gulags”. Much of Akhmatova’s writing deals with this turbulence and the collective plight of Russia from the Russian Revolution through Stalin’s time in office. The opening sections of “Requiem” by Anna Ahkmatova describe the dilemma of the people of Russia using the author’s personal experience with these terrors; these contribute to the author’s theme: the expression of suffering offers hope.
The context and theme of this extract have significant historical importance as well as spiritual and emotional magnitude. The passage’s context involves a distinctly human and expressive series of events, Akhmatova’s life and Russia’s collective troubles. Any reader, in order to better understand their own life and the world they live on, should understand both the context of “Requiem” and the poems commentary on the events which surrounded its creation. Therefore, the scholarly would do well to know this poem.
Akhmatova’s poetry deals largely with her own nation and era and her many experiences within them. Her preoccupation with prisons (6), (18), (19), (24), (37) and isolation (32) stem from her sons imprisonment, and the great extent to which Russian’s were imprisoned in her life. Anna’s use of the title “Requiem”, a funeral song, ties into the deaths which she has witnessed: her son’s death and the death of three husbands all at the hands of the communists. On the whole, many Russians experienced death from 1920 to 1950.
The opening four lines of “Requiem” describe the author’s presence in the troubled time period. Akhmatova contrasts herself with those who “left the land” to live “under foreign skies” (1) and to hide under the “wings” of foreign nations. Akhmatova’s word choice of “skies” and “wings” while describing those who fled metaphorically compares the exiles to birds which fly away at the first sign of turmoil. Her use of the phrase “under foreign wings protected” (2) especially brings to mind the image of a mother bird, some compassionate foreign nation, protecting its frightened young, the exiles. This metaphor portrays those who left as cowardly.
Akhmatova shifts, in the next two lines, and contrasts herself with those who left. Her use of first person perspective while she states “I shared all this with my own people” generalizes the personal emotions which she later expresses to those of the Russian people as a whole. “There” (4) Anna intends to mean Russia. Though, logically, the phrase “misfortune had abandoned use” (4) would mean the people of Russia had been left by misfortune and were therefore fortunate; the phrase almost certainly means “fortune had abandoned us” which would refer to the oppression and difficulties of the era. Discrepancies in word meaning between the English and Russian language could account for this. Akhmatova’s tone, in these first four lines, shows compassion for those who stayed in Russia and apathy for those who left. Her attitude generates the theme: The cowardly, who flee at the prospect of revolution, are weak and those who remain are sup

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