Anna Akhmatova
- The fifth of the year’s seasons..., by Andrey Kneller
- The fifth time of the year..., by Ilya Shambat
«Midway on our journey through life “I, I, I”. What a weird word! / Is that man there really I? / Can it be that mother loved such a person, / Greyish-yellow, with hair turning grey, / And omniscient as a serpent? Can it be that the boy who used to dance / At Ostankino in the summer ...»
«Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita. “I, I, I”. What a word! It’s unfair! / Is this man I? Is this not a fake? / Could his mother love him anywhere — / Grayish-yellow, gray in his hair, / And such witty and wise as a snake? Can it be that the boy who liked dances / In the summer ...»
«Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita. I, I, I. What a ridiculous word! / Is that character there I? / Can mother really have loved such a person, / Yellow-grey, with greying hair, / And worldly-wise as a serpent? Can the boy who at Ostankino each summer / Used to dance at country balls be...»
«“Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita.” / ['Midway upon the journey of my life...' — Dante] I, I, I… What a barbarous word. / He is I? There must be some mistake! / Was it him that my mother adored — / This wild character, half-silver-haired, / Jaundice-faced and as wise as a s...»