I was truly taken with the Akhmatova Requiem reading for Friday (I’m presenting Wednesday’s materials, so I’m jumping ahead for this post). I have been pondering the concise nature of Akhmatova’s concise yet as-poignant-as-possible diction, and I can’t help but note how different a female writer’s perspective is in this time. Writing from what sounds like hell on earth, Akhmatova breaks her audience’s heart, then lifts its chin like she does the blue-lipped woman as “hope still sings in the distance”. She somehow packs as much vivid anguish into her writing, transporting a reader there in her prison, yet still somehow retaining some sliver of perspective and hope: “Only the dead smiled, happy in their peace”; “Stars of death stood over us and Innocent Russia squirmed under the bloody boots,” (282).

Even in destitution and imprisonment, Akhmatova personifies the Motherland as a sympathetic force that shouldn’t be blamed for her situation, as she is struggling too. Even when all that could and should break this woman is happening, Akhmatova’s poetic awareness thrives: “The stone word fell on my beating breast. Never mind, I was prepared, somehow I’ll come to terms with it… I must finally kill my memory, I must so my soul can turn to stone, I must learn to live again,” (284-285). This sentiment is the most inspiring thing I think we have read all semester — instead of unrealistic dedication or unstable clinging to false hope, Akhmatova has looked hell in the eyes and though she will not be the same, she is determined to continue to survive.

The ending of this poem, with Akhmatova’s release, wrecked me: “I would like to name them all but they took away the list and there’s no way of finding them. For them I have woven a wide shroud from the humble words I heard among them. I remember them always, everywhere, I will never forget them, whatever comes,” (287). Surviving the ordeal was her first accomplishment; writing this masterpiece was another, and she gives the credit to the sorry souls that surrounded her. Incredible.