Anna Akhmatova

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16 Akhmatova // A Nation Without Nationalists    John

I am not among those who left our land

I am not among those who left our land

The first line and title... They call to mind images of the exiled. Placing herself in a roll of the speaker within the country, that stayed, that endured. That is sure that she is in the right place. (or was)

to be torn to pieces by our enemies.

This of course is a vulgar image, But what better way to set up this poem? She would choose to stay home. She did not go to fight. "Torn to peices" shows the hopelessness of her situation. They werent merely killed but torn to peices. It almost sounds as if she was disgusted with fact that people could leve the country to be destroyed knowing full well they would die. While she was forced out and had no choice. Or maybe they werent killed so much as their identitites were destroyed and therefore they were torn to peices. By leaving the culture and the world they knew they were destroyed by the outside world, or her "enemies" It says something about how hopeless she feels but yet how she still feels right about her choice to stay...

I don't listen to their vulgar flattery,

I will not give them my poems.

This I love. Her poetry is so much a part of her world. It instills a feeling of suffering and great hurt, but also makes the world turn a sympathetic ear saying "how can this happen" But she doesnt write for the soldiers and the fighters. She doesnt write for the people continuing the bloodshed. She writes for those that chose to stay behind and endure, those such as herself. I am reminded of her Poem about Women waiting outside a jail to hear news of their son or husband because they were taken away. The women would wait outside every day hoping to hear if their son or husband was alive. I wish I knew the name of the poem right now. I was introduced to it through Jorie Graham's poem about it. (Read Jorie Graham every chance you get!) But it is another poem written about the people that suffer in a war besides the soldiers. These are people that choose every day not to fight but yet they still have to feel the pain. So she doesnt write for national pride, she writes for the meek, for the pathetic. She writes so that somebody can hear what they are saying every day. They dont care about what is being fought for, they care about they're sons and husbands.

 

 

But the exile is for ever pitiful to me,

like a prisoner, like a sick man.

But now that she is away from her homeland she is in just as bad a state. She can no longer suffer with her family and friends, a comforting thought when you wonder where they even are.

Your road is dark, wanderer;

It is a step out of the original speaking voice. The voice of fate that condemns someone to a life that others might rejoice at her surviving, but she herself cannot. For she is a refugee of war and cannot return to the place that she knows.

alien corn smells of wormwood.

Another powerful line to end a stanza that talks about the idea that she is a refugee and did not choose to fight but nonetheless she is out away from her homeland. Among everything that is different and therefore she can never be comfortable again.

But here, stupefied by fumes of fire,

The fire of a camp from a refugee or fire from their homes and their crops burning. It has made them silent. in shock.

wasting the remainder of our youth,

There is nothing that a refugee can do. And nothng takes away youth like war. The loss of innocense puts them into that strange place where a child cannot be a child anymore.

we did not defend ourselves

from a single blow.

Christ turns his cheek, and the refugees move on. They didnt even defend. It is the ideals of christianity taken to its grotesque conclusion. If you do not defend yourself then you end up bruised and bloodied. But that is what is called for, or that is all they could do, either way you cannot decide whether to look up to them or to look down on them.

We know that history

will vindicate our every hour...

What a sad statement. The only thing to look to for hope is that history will prove you right. The hope of the hopeless. The ellipses say that there is something more. How will history vindicate them, The same way it vindicated the slaves that endured lifetimes of slavery? It is so sad to look on this being your only hope left. What happiness is found in a hope that none will live to see? You cannot tell a person that they must die today because then their grandchildren will say they died nobly that day. It is such an odd statement to find pride in.

There is no one in the world more tearless,

more proud, more simple than us.

Tearless can be because they cannot cry anymore, or because they choose not to cry over the fate they were dealt. Proud can be because they walked the right path and history will one day say they did or because that is all they can have left of their own heritage. And simple is just what is left. They had nothing to do with the war around them but they suffered. And they did not ask why but merely endured. The life of a Refugee within one sentence.

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16 Akhmatova // A Part...But Not That Part    Scott

Anna Akhmatova in 99 Poems, p. 1

Biography: http://www.odessit.com/namegal/english/ahmatova.htm

I've done quite a few line-by-line readings lately, so I'm just going to select a few lines of this poem that are special to me and then elaborate as much as possible, okay? Thanks.

I am not among those who left our land (Akhmatova, 99 Poems, p. 1)

 

I am not among those who left our land

to be torn to pieces by our enemies.

I don't listen to their vulgar flattery,

I will not give them my poems.

The author is identified by her poems. They mean more to her, and explain more about her, than anything else in the world. To me, this is a recognition of the power of the written word. It's not surprising that tyrannical rulers want to silence the pens of the great authors of their nation. Oppressive leaders always try to control the newspapers and art of the country. If the poet decides to give away her words, or if she is forced to give them away, there is nothing left for her to say. Art can often influence people more deeply than money, sex, and food. Therefore, art must be completely silenced for one to have true and complete authority over it--just like our natural urges are often silenced to show that we control them. This is an extremely powerful line. It's tough and straightforward. "I will not" is a command to anyone near. "give" points to an impending struggle should anyone decide to challenge the author for her art. She refuses to give it away, someone must try to come and pull it from her. "them" is the enemy, although the enemy remains nameless and faceless. I picture the author writing this poem in a lonely room, trapped and hidden away from the outside world. She is being hunted, yet she still has something to say. She will not give away her poems, but will use the poems to fight back if she can. Poetry is her weapon of choice. The way this line is written, it's as if Akhmatova is sharing a little secret with me...in a whispered voice, she tells me that, no matter what the consequence, she will not give her poems over to the forces of evil. This is because her poems are a source of beauty and peace in the world. They cannot mix well with evil and hatred. Poems go much deeper than religion, race, economic status, etc. and so she refuses to put a label on them and give them away. The author assumes that we are not part of the problem, but part of the solution. As such, she will not give "them" her poems, but she will share them with you and me. In a sense, this is almost like a response to someone else, possibly someone who was telling her to conform or give up her quest for hope. The forces of evil can take away her physical possessions, but she refuses to compromise the place where her poems are found--in the depths of the soul. She will give up a certain part of herself, but not that part that belongs to the soul.

But the exile is for ever pitiful to me,

like a prisoner, like a sick man.

Two weak, vulnerable, and controlled descriptions. The prisoner is held against his will and is treated however badly his captors choose to treat him. He eats when told to eat. He drinks when told to drink. He sleeps when told to sleep. The prison walls are inescapable and cold. Prisoners watch them, waiting for them to fall, but they never do. And so it is with a dictator: the people wait for him, watch him, hope that he falls, but he never seems to--at least not until all signs of life are gone. A prisoner gets all of his possessions taken away from him. The guards hope that physical possessions are what define a man. But Akhmatova will not give away her soul. A sick man, similar to a prisoner, has little control over his life. He becomes alienated from his own body, fighting it for survival. A body is like a homeland, but it goes through many changes when a virus enters the area. Such things--sickness, prison, dictator--aren't natural and people cannot live well confined by them. When health of body is taken away, the mind must fight back as long as it is able.

Your road is dark, wanderer;

There is a path up ahead. But one cannot see what it is or where it leads. Because of the circumstances, the poet will forever find herself wandering the world. Home can never be home again. And the new places of the world will never feel safe or comfortable. Akhmatova has lived through the defining moment of her life. She has seen what the crushing forces of darkness can do when they take control of humanity. Her pathway is forever full of stones and boulders--there will be no more easy travels. I like this line because it seems to stand out from the rest of the poem. The poet is able to see into the future--my future. She is speaking to me directly, telling me to learn from the struggles of her life. I am part of the future of the world, the youth. Therefore, I must look back and see clearly the gross mistakes of the past. Akhmatova appears to speak about the coming of a day of darkness. There will be a new government in her homeland, and she can foretell the doom that is to follow. The land that was once her home and place of worship now belongs to someone else.

alien corn smells of wormwood.

But here, stupefied by fumes of fire,

wasting the remainder of our youth,

we did not defend ourselves

from a single blow.

We know that history

will vindicate our every hour...

I find both hope and sadness within these lines. On the one hand, the author hopes for a better tomorrow. On the other, she recognizes her terrible plight and knows that deep down inside things can never return to form. She looks to the future, hoping, perhaps knowing, that history will prove all modern day actions of evil to be reprehensible. This seems strange to me as well. It's almost like Akhmatova feels that she doesn't belong in her society. She sees things and understands how actions will be perceived in the future, but she doesn't feel that the situation can be changed in her time. The human condition progresses throughout time, but all changes for the good seem to take so very long. The ellipsis at the end of this line indicates the unknown amount of time that all human beings will need before they understand the evils of dictatorship. It's hard to take on society in the way that Akhmatova wants to....she understands that time makes more converts than reason, to borrow a phrase, and it's a bit troubling. How can one convince others that their actions will be seen as vile in years to come? Unfortunately, we usually can't, leaving us alone with our thoughts. Our rage-filled thoughts. Does Akhmatova feel let down by her country? Or are some forms of evil impossible to stop? I think she recognizes that evil enters the world at certain times for unknown reasons, but that it takes the history books to truly attempt to explain how evil forms. Problem is, a writer of history can never see things so clearly while they are still going on.

There is no one in the world more tearless,

more proud, more simple than us.

 

Translated by Richard Mckane in 99 Poems, p. 1)

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16 akhmatova // Contradictions... ?    Jennifer

 

 

 

 

 

Anna Akhmatova is the literary pseudonym of Anna Andreevna Gorenko. Her first husband was Gumilev, and she too became one of the leading Acmeist poets. Her second book of poems, Beads (1914), brought her fame. Her earlier manner, intimate and colloquial, gradually gave way to a more classical severity, apparent in her volumes The Whte Flock (1917) and Anno Domini MCMXXI (1922). The growing distaste which the personal and religious elements in her poetry aroused in Soviet officialdom forced her thereafter into long periiods of silence; and the poetic masterpieces of her later years, A Poem without a Hero and Requiem, were published abroad.

Taken from http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/akhmatova/akhmatova_ind.html

Here is another great site for info on Anna Akhmatova: http://www.odessit.com/namegal/english/ahmatova.htm

 

First of all, I know that we, as readers, are not necessarily supposed to assume that the author is speaking as herself, but this poem seems to come directly from her. I have one major question. Is this Anna Akhmatova speaking to us through poetry?

 

"I am not among those who left our land"

I am not among those who left our land

To be torn to pieces by our enemies.

The speaker is one who stuck with her home, believing in the possession of that soil, even though it were taken over by another. There is a connection with the land here… it reminds me of the stories I have heard of the Irish, who seem to hold their land closer to their hearts than their own kin. There is also a respect for the land, of which only those familiar with it will be successful in their attempts to properly work it.

 

I don’t listen to their vulgar flattery,

I will not give them my poems.

Here is more possession! The speaker owns her poems and only gives them to those people who are worthy of the gift. She will not acknowledge their opinions of her poetry because they can have no opinion of value to her. Their flattery is vulgar and will not move her to more than an increase of disgust in them. They do not respect her home, if her poetry is about that home, their respect can only be feigned.

 

 

But the exile is for ever pitiful to me,

She sees the exile of those people who have left her homeland as sad and pitiful, though they abandoned the land itself. She sees something that they may not see, knowing what they have given up to escape whatever harm the enemies could cause.

 

Like a prisoner, like a sick man,

Your road is dark, wanderer;

Both of these images are of hopeless individuals who cannot help themselves. The prisoner is trapped within a cage, from which he cannot emerge. The sick man is trapped by a disease too small to be comprehended or physically ripped from the body. And the wanderer stands as the metaphor for both situations. Both the prisoner and sick man are traveling down roads of which they cannot see or imagine the end. Their roads are dark and seem without hope.

 

Alien corn smells of wormwood.

The alien corn, the new place is unfamiliar and feels wrong, unusual, disgusting. Those who have been exiled or have exiled themselves are immersed in an alien universe which they cannot comprehend and can never feel at home in. What could be sadder than this? People who have ripped themselves from their own comfort and thrown themselves into an alien world of depression.

 

But here, stupefied by fumes of fire,

Wasting the remainder of our youth,

We did not defend ourselves

From a single blow.

Those who left the land and those who remained are both faced with horrendous existences. One group is in completely new and unfamiliar territory, while another is suffering the guilt of their non-action against those who succeeded in taking over the land. I do not understand the last portion of this stanza. Why did they not defend themselves? I’m guessing that defense was impossible and take-over inevitable, but that is not necessarily the case. Why are they better off for staying on the land if they did nothing to defend themselves, thus handing it to their enemies?

 

We know that history

Will vindicate our every hour . . .

The . . . at the end of these two lines implies uncertainty. In other words, the author may hope that history will vindicate or perhaps she feels that history should vindicate, but there is no guarantee that it will.

 

There is no one in the world more tearless,

More proud, more simple than us.

These people are strange. They did not defend their land from takeover, yet are proud. This is a complex poem from the point of view of a complex individual, yet she claims to be simple. She seems horribly sad for those people who are exiled, yet she is tearless. Is the contradiction caused by the loss of control in the homeland? A loss of control for the speaker of the poem? Interesting to say the least.

J

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16. Akhmatova // Waiting for Justice    Tim

In order to avoid redundancy and since Jen and Scott provided pretty complete research, I will add only a picture.

This sketch is by A. Modigliani.

 

I am not among those who left our land

I am not among those who left our land

to be torn to pieces by our enemies.

Akhmatova begins her poem with I am, and I think she is talking about herself. After reading a short biography, it sounds like this is her voice. This also reminds me of the Bible, God saying powerfully "I AM". I'm not sure if this connection is intended, but it came to mind. The way she speaks of our land also reminds me of the Bible and the promised land. To change directions, the first line makes me think of flight, people physically leaving a place, but the sentence does not end, the line leaves me hanging. Sure enough, the second line changes or at least makes me rethink the first. Maybe this doesn't mean to geographically move, but just to allow it to happen. I also think it is interesting that the land is torn to pieces, not the people or anything cultural. The land is so basic to life, it seems so tragic to have the land torn to pieces. At the same time this leaves hope for survival.

 

I don't listen to their vulgar flattery,

I will not give them my poems.

She continues to make this poem very personal; both of these lines begin with "I". She also continues with the negatives, "I don't listen" and "I will not give". Each of these shows her personal protest, she will not comply. She will not give them her art, her voice.

 

 

But the exile is for ever pitiful to me,

like a prisoner, like a sick man.

Again, at first I thought this exile was physical, but now I think it is merely the exile of her poetry. I shouldn't say merely the poetry is of course, her. The way she uses "for ever" is intriguing. Reading the word "for" I look for reason, an answer, but I am lost when I reach "ever". She strongly describes her powerlessness when she is "like a sick man". I am reminded of our discussions of men and the vulnerability of a man who isn't strong.

 

Your road is dark, wanderer;

This line is a turning point in this poem for me. Your- She turns from I to you. I feel like she is talking to me. road- this word carries many meanings. This word reminds me of the journey of my life, makes me think globally of the places I'll go and have gone. The word also makes me think of where I am now. is- now I see she directs me to where I am now, where she has lead me. dark- I see how I don't understand where I am, what surrounds this road. The culture is not my own and I can't understand the setting of this. I also understand this is how she feels, she is surrounded by something foreign in her life. wanderer- she acknowledges that I am a wonderer, I have happened upon her path. I am only here temporarily, she lives her life here.

 

alien corn smells of wormwood.

I still feel there is a kind of duality in what I feel and what she is living. Reading thus far, I feel I have connected to something terrible, some injustice. She feels this way in her own land, in the food she eats isn't her own kind.

 

 

But here, stupefied by fumes of fire,

wasting the remainder of our youth,

we did not defend ourselves

from a single blow.

In this stanza she reminds me that I am not in her world. She moves from her individual efforts, and my place, to the people where she is. They did not get to be a youth, like me. Again, she mentions what did not happen, "we did not defend ourselves". When I think of a youth, I think of exploration, of finding yourself. When she says "wasting the remainder of our youth", I wonder if she means this youth that I think of or a youth spent defending themselves.

 

We know that history

will vindicate our every hour...

She shows us the endurance of her people. Waiting for justice. I like that the word our is inside the word hour.

 

There is no one in the world more tearless,

more proud, more simple than us.

The words she chooses to describe her people are interesting. Tearless: is she describing a stoic quality, or justice among the people? The word simple stands out to me, it reminds me of God and religion (maybe that's just because of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade). I feel here she returns to her beginning "I am", by waiting for this justice it is like having faith in God or even waiting for the second coming. I might be off-base and I can't put my finger on it, but it seems like there is an underlying theme of God here somewhere. Then again, the bio that talked about the acmeist poets said they strive for clarity, not symbolism, so maybe I'm reading into the poem inaccurately.

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16. Akhmatova// A venutian crater is all you get    Adam

http://dybka.home.mindspring.com/jill/akhmatova/akhmat.html

I hope the above inserts work, because Anna's story is truly fascinating and i hope you guys get a chance to read through this site. Wow.

Let's get into Akhmatova's poem "I am not among those who left our land"

(** a special message: I have been a firm believer in exegesis, but here I have had a change of heart, because this poem actually magnified in meaning for me after i had read a brief bio. on Anna.)

Pay attention to the pronouns. (Who is she talking to?)

"I am not among those who left our land

to be torn to pieces by our enemies."

She is speaking on two levels, about two different wars with two different enemies and lands. More obvious is the violent war between countries and rival peoples. Here the enemies are the outsiders and the land is mother Russia (who loves "droplets of blood"). BUT, the other war is one of literary censorship and internal oppression. Her books were banned and she was censored. Now the enemy moves within the countries borders, it is the leaders (Stalin,Lenin). The land that she has not abandoned is literary integrity. She is remaining true to her beliefs. She is not fleeing the country or changing her style like so many of her fellow scholars did in fear.

"I don't listen to their vulgar flattery,

I will not give them my poems."

If we were stuck with the first reading about the physical war, we would have a conflict of pronoun and previous noun, that is "their" and "them" do not seem to refer to "enemies", because why would the Germans be flattering her? The second reading makes more sense. The Bolshevik leaders flatter the people by building their sense of importance as communists in that "mad experiment" following the revolution. Of course, it is vulgar because they achieve flattery through terror. She will not give them her poems, meaning she will not cheapen her art to speak for their causes, she will not betray her trade, she will not be the voice they wanted her to be. (I hope this poem was written post 1917, or else this interpretation sucks!)

"But the exile is for ever pitiful to me,

like a prisoner, like a sick man."

The exile, i think, is the ban of her poetry. She is exiled from her art. She is removed as the voice of her people. She is distanced, though not literally, from the people she wants to help. She is imprisoned. But why a sick man? why not a sick woman?

"Your road is dark, wanderer;"

She is talking to those who have sold out, to those who have gone to the dark side of using poetry to spread tyrranical propoganda, rather than to question it. Darth Vaders of communist Russia...

"alien corn smells of wormwood."

ALIEN - The poets she is addressing have betrayed themselves, they are aliens to their own selves. A strong word (implications of Bertolt Brecht's Entfremdungs-Effekt - meaning: you have died to yourself the moment you neglect to question and challenge the surrounding reality. The world is what you make it.) .

CORN- To me, a hallow nutrient, a filler food, something on the side, no substance. There is no artistic sustenance in the false literature these poets have turned to. This is the empty nutrition, the hallow reality, that the Bolsheviks wanted to feed the masses

SMELLS OF - Smell is the most vulgar of senses, the one most adapted to sense the foul, the rank, the evil, the rotten things that surround us.

WORMWOOD - Heavy implications. Dictionary.com tells us this plant is sometimes refered to as "old man" (see "like a sick man" above). Wormwood is bitter. It is used to make absinthe, and in fact the greek word is "absinthion", meaning "undrinkable", Anna could not stomach a betrayal of her art. Absinthe is toxic, and can produce hallucinations, and is in general a nasty habit. Extremely bad for one's health.

"But here, stupefied by fumes of fire,

wasting the remainder of our youth,

we did not defend ourselves

from a single blow."

Circle the pronouns in this poem and you will switch from "I" to "them" to "your" and now to "we". Who is we? We is those who did not sell out? Note the term stupefied used right below wormwood. Also, i think that "we" did not defend "ourselves" because that would mean succombing to the use of poetry as propoganda. And it is touching to think of "we" as her husband and/or her son, because her husband was executed as an innocent poet and her son was imprisoned three times.

"We know that history

will vindicate our every hour...

There is no one in the world more tearless,

more proud, more simple than us."

These last lines fit great into my theory, because she did outlive her persecuters, and she was vindicated, as she is the most famous Russian poet of her time. Her pure art survived and transcended the whole messy century, that is, she never spoke anything except what she believed in (except for a few poems written for Stalin in an attempt to get her innocent son out of jail.) She has no regrets, she stayed true to her heart. But, although her art survived, did it do any good? This is the question. Marxist, feminist, and Brechtian literary theories would have us believe that art can prevent the greusome tragedies of life, but she seemed powerless to stop Stalin's terror. Her art survived, but did it ever put up a fight? Is it futile, impotent,...? She was vindicated, but history still happened as bad as it did.

p.s.- they named a crater on Venus after her.

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16.Akhmatova // Exiled to her homeland    Joanna

"I am not among those who left our land"
        by Anna Akhmatova

    I am not among those who left our land
    to be torn to pieces by our enemies.
From the very first line, this poem rings with power and pride.  "I am not among those..." Akhmatova declares.  She did not leave her homeland in the face of opposition or give herself over to the mercy of the people of other lands.  Her loyalty to her people and her country is evident.
    I don't listen to their vulgar flattery,
    I will not give them my poems.
These lines contain amazing imagery.  I love the contrast in "vulgar flattery".  I imagine that neighboring countries are opening their doors to Akhmatova's people, setting up refugee camps to protect them from the current situation in their own country.  But her pride in her own people will not let Akhmatova accept their hospitality.  She finds their flattery vulgar and refuses to believe they are sincere.  "I will not give them my poems" she says.  She refuses to let these foreigners benefit from her art- she will not write poetry on their turf, so that they cannot gain anything from her hard work.
    But the exile is for ever pitiful to me,
    like a prisoner, like a sick man.
Yet despite everything, Akhmatova is still in exile.  She is an exile within the boundaries of her homeland, because she and her people have no control over their own fate and the fate of their country.  The images of the prisoner and the sick man depict a sense of helplessness that comes from this loss of control.  Akhmatova and her people have been made the victims of every whim of those in power.
   Your road is dark, wanderer;
    alien corn smells of wormwood.
Now she is addressing the wanderer, one who has left their homeland.  She knows that the wanderer's road is even harder, even darker than her own, because the wanderer cannot gain strength from the comfort of their homeland.  Even the corn in other countries has a bitter smell.
    But here, stupefied by fumes of fire,
    wasting the remainder of our youth,
    we did not defend ourselves
    from a single blow.
But Akhmatova is becoming numb to the violence and the injustice of her situation- the fumes of the fire.  As she endures each day, she feels that there is no meaning in the way she is spending the "remainder of her youth".  She feels weak and helpless, and she cannot defend herself o what she believes in from her attackers.   This is a striking contrast with the pride in the first stanza- she is so proud of her choice not to flee, yet she feels that her life has become futile.
    We know that history
    will vindicate our every hour . . .
"We" indicates the unity and identity of Akhmatova's people despite the hardship they must endure.  "know" is filled with assurance.  This is not a guess or a wish, but the inevitable.  "that history"  History is always connected to us- nothing in the present could ever have happened without history- there is an unbreakable link between the two.  "will" Again, this word gives me a feeling of assurance, that the speaker knows what is about to happen.   "vindicate"  At first this word did not seem to fit, since the definition that pops into my head first is "to get revenge".  But I looked "vindicate" up, and it can also mean "to clear of blame".  To Akhmatova, it is inevitable that anyone who looks at history- the events that lead up to the current situation- will see that the name of her people is clear of blame.  They are only victims.  "our"  Again, this word has a sense of unity, of belonging together.  This is not just about Akhmatova, but her people as well.   "every hour . . ."  Every injustice, every humiliating and painful moment will be understood through history.  They will be neither forgotten nor blamed for their situation.
    There is no one in the world more tearless,
    more proud, more simple than us.
What an interesting choice of adjectives- tearless, proud, and simple.  Why tearless?   It seems that Akhmatova's people are suffering in silence, with the faith that in time, the injustices they endure will be exposed.  Or maybe it is connected with the next word- pride- which is expressed throughout the poem.  Perhaps they are just too proud to show those in power that they are suffering.  And finally, simple.   Their requests are very simple- all they want is to life in freedom in their own homeland.

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Akhmatova    Tim

I found this wav of Akkmatova reading an excerpt of one of her poems.

The link is on this page: http://dybka.home.mindspring.com/jill/akhmatova/poetry.html . This is the parent page: http://dybka.home.mindspring.com/jill/akhmatova/

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