Second prize
Brian Droitcour
(excerpts)
for Anna Akhmatova
Thrown outward, thrown outward,
Both—arms.
Cast prostrate! —Trample, horseman!
May my spirit, burst from my ribs—to Thee,
Born—
As no mortal woman!
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No Muse ever stood
At my cradle and cooed,
No Muse ever took me for strolls.
No Muse ever warmed up my hands in the winter
Or cooled off my feverish brow.
No Muse ever pushed away locks from my eyes,
No Muse ever took me to play in the fields.
No Muses, no dark-colored tresses, no baubles,
No fables, —only two wings of flax,
Short, on a winged brow.
Armored torso.
Plumed.
He would not lean over
To kiss me good night.
He would not lament
My broken doll
All my birds—he set free,
Then—not sparing his spurs,
Upon a red steed—between the blue peaks
Of a thundering mountain of ice!
13 — 17 January 1921
Translated by Brian Droitcour
The entry may be further revised by the translator.
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