Anna Akhmatova
We allow everything in the one whom we love...

We allow everything in the one whom we love;
when love’s gone that permission goes with it—
I’m happy, my torrent is frozen today,
that it’s trapped beneath transparent ice.

Here I stand and, God help me! I trust
the bright brittle surface will hold.
Save this poem with the rest of my letters,
so those to come can decide for themselves—

unless of course, in the interest
of making it unmistakably clear to posterity
what a strong, wise man you were,
we need to redact a few gaps
into the splendid record of your days?

So, you found the cup of physical love
too sweet not to drink;
so, love’s net was tough enough to snare you;
so, schoolkids will find my name next to yours
someday in a textbook, so what?

So what if they slyly smile,
the ones old enough to read between the lines,
to grasp the sad narrative?
You didn’t give me love, you didn’t leave me peace,
permit me this one bitter little victory.

Translated by Seraphina Powell