domingo, 31 de julio de 2011

i wrung my hands

I wrung my hands under my dark veil...
"Why are you pale,what makes you reckless?"
—Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.

I'll never forget.He went out,reeling;
his mouth was twisted,desolate...
I ran downstairs,not touching the banisters,
and followed him as far as the gate.

And shouted,choking: "I meant it all
in fun.Don't leave me,or I'll die of pain."
He smiled at me —oh so calmly,terribly—
and said:"Why don't you get out of the rain?"

Anna Akhmatova

sábado, 23 de julio de 2011

we don't know how to say goodbye

We don't know how to say goodbye,
We wander on,shoulder to shoulder
Already the sun is going down
You're moody,and I am your shadow.
Let's step inside a church,hear prayers,masses for the dead
Why are we so different from the rest?
Outside in the graveyard we sit on a frozen branch.

That stick in your hand is tracing
Mansions in the snow in which we will always be together.

Anna Akhmatova

martes, 19 de julio de 2011


oh,tell me how to cure myself of irony,the gaze
that sees but doesn't penetrate

tell me how to cure myself of silence

A. Zagajewski

miércoles, 13 de julio de 2011

where love and death do not exist

*If we breathe too deeply,we can hear
each other's pains.

*My blood
is howling like a wolf in love.

*Two people cheered up by their own heart
are selling the light of the night
to my unknown wound.

Rhea Cristina