Anna Akhmatova
I’ve come to take your place, sister...

I’ve come to take your place, sister,
here in the woods, by the bonfire.

Your hair’s gone gray, your eyes
have dulled and dimmed from tears.

Bird song doesn’t speak to you now,
you don’t notice the stars, or even
the thunderless summer lightning.

It’s been long since you danced, or even heard
the beat of the tambourine.
I know you find the silence frightening.

I’ve come to take your place, sister,
here in the forest of romance,
here at the bonfire of passion,
to take your place, as well I can;
I could be your younger sister.

“To take my place, you say?
To bury me, to dig my grave!
You’ve brought no shovel, nor need you one.
All you have in your hands is a flute—
you’ve magic enough to do it with music—
nor can I blame you, I’ve done as much.
What truly pains me though is the way
my songs somehow lost their force
back then. They’re gone forever.
He never hears me now.

“Go, put on my dress, forget
my dread. It doesn’t concern you yet.
Let the wind play with your curls;
if it blew through lilacs, it couldn’t convey
a more persuasive perfume.
You’ve come a hard road, worked long to arrive;
an enlightenment awaits you here as well.”

She went her way, gave way,
allowed the other to take her place.
Like a blind woman then, she felt her way,
haphazardly, tentatively
plodding down the narrow, unfamiliar path.
It seemed to her she was led,
as though hands held up a torch in the dark,
as though she moved to the beat
of some unseen tambourine—

as though she herself shone bright
as a white raised flag of surrender,
as though she blazed a warning as strong
as a lighthouse beam.

Translated by Seraphina Powell