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Poetry Month 2016: Anna Akhmatova
The Muse When in the night I await her coming, My life seems stopped. I ask myself: What Are tributes, freedom, or youth compared To this treasured friend holding a flute? Look, she’s coming! She throws off her veil And watches me, steady and long.Read More
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Poetry Month 2016: Rita Brady Kiefer
Staying Power for Anna Akhmatova Even the swallows knew enough to leave, their wings plotting south in a sky sickened by winter. A sea-girl from Petersburg she drove Russian men mad, her song like balalaikas clinging. Even the muse perched on the bar stool beside her longed to be human, seeing her passion for lindens and bone china, her exquisite sex. Once walking to the cabaret she wept for the child she abandoned: I have other women’s dreams to haunt my mirrors.Read More