She was married three times and had
several lovers here and there 6. Out of her marriage to the prominent poet Nikolay
Gumilyov came her only
child, a son, Lev. Together
with Gumilyov and a group of like-minded young artists, she founded a movement, Acmeism, that sought to replace the heavy symbolist poetry of the late 19th and early 20th century with a more simpler and clearer language.
In one of her poems, Akhmatova addresses her lover, Amedeo Modigliani, employing a line that reads, "When you're drunk it's so much fun, Your stories don't make sense." This verse reveals her acmeist inclinations.
Additionally, she writes, "You dreamt of me, I knew, and hence I couldn't sleep," further exemplifying her mastery over the movement's principle.
One doesn't necessarily need to be a poet or a mystic to articulate such real and clear phrases. Anyone can indeed speak these words as they appear seemingly ordinary. However, when a poet of Akhmatova's caliber recites or pens them down, they exude a powerful, energetic charge that sets them apart from the words of others.
It seems like a bold claim, but the 'seemingly ordinary words' of a skilled writer speak to each other, and each syllable carries an ethereal weight, a lingering, haunting presence that stays in the reader's mind long after the words have been read. When you have a moment, try reading the stories of your favorite author. "I swear by the miracle-working icon"; they will strike a chord directly into the sentiments slumbering in the corners of your mind.
Akhmatova's work is truly an unusually organized and beautiful
piece of writing. Take, for instance, her poem “Requiem.”
It is like a portal to another dimension,
a jump right into the timeline between 1935 and 1940 where a single line of poetry—the wrong line of poetry—would be reason enough to face a firing squad.
Back then, of course, her country was under oppression, and throughout this period, the creative efforts of writers and artists were opposed with the strictest censorship; there was absolutely zero tolerance for the slightest expression of the intelligentsia. Akhmatova captures this sentiment as she articulates,
"These were the years of great terror when each person thought, tomorrow, maybe it'll be me.
It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace".
For long periods, Akhmatova, in particular, was under the watchful eye of the military. With this in mind, she memorized her poems then burned them. She repeated this process over and over again: write, memorize, and burn.
Her work wasn't just a form of expression but a courageous, rebellious streak, a testament to the unbreakable human will in the face of tyranny.
With remarkable clarity, simplicity, and precision 7, Akhmatova merely opens the door and invites us to go in: to feel the enduring impact of love stories intertwined with the turbulent backdrop of the Revolution.
These experiences inspired her to write:
“In the storehouse of my memory are Your words, your smiles and gestures.”
“You and I
are like grief and the mountain.
We will not meet in this world.
But sometimes you will send across the stars. A sign?”
Amidst the raging Revolution, Akhmatova mourned the loss and suffering of her friends and family, who were either executed or exiled. The
“inquisition” had already carried off her former husband, son, and closest
friends.
Her third husband was also
imprisoned and sent to a Siberian camp, where he died. This was just the beginning of a long
ordeal during which the circle of arrests grew wider and wider.
In the presence of sorrow and in the absence of those she had lost, Akhmatova embraced her role as a custodian of memories, allowing her verse to serve as a timeless tribute to the enduring connections she held dear 8 9 10. It was during this catastrophic period that Akhmatova's poetic inspiration returned with overwhelming force.
For Anna, the imaginative pressure seemed higher
during the periods of frustration. The sense of doom fed her all-consuming
artistic drive, and this is evident in her verse: "The moon sees a woman laying at home, her son is in jail, her husband is dead, say a prayer for her instead." She has saved herself more than once by returning to
poetry:
"Madness with its wings
Has covered half my soul
It feeds me fiery wine
And lures me into the abyss."
Requiem IX To Death 1940
Resilient yet emotionally drained, Akhmatova spent seventeen long months waiting in queues outside the prison to give a loaf of bread to her son. The never-ending lines mainly consisted of women, "their lips blue with cold," waiting to deliver sustenance for their innocent husbands and sons.
In the eyes of those who waited with her under the prison, Akhmatova saw "a mother's anguish multiplied by millions." We can almost picture their weary faces, etched with the lines of agony and strength, as they stood in solidarity under the shadow of their shared adversity.
As the years passed and the revolution reshaped the fabric of society, Akhmatova's ability to endure, adapt, and rebuild in the face of such devastation can be seen as nothing short of a superpower 11 12. In this context, she says:
"I have a lot of work to do today;
I need to slaughter memory,
Turn my living soul to stone
Then teach myself to live again
But how…"
"Requiem" VII The Verdict 1939
The enigmatic word "how" is a profound mystery. As the word gracefully escapes the confines of the poem, it is free at last, like a bird breaking free from its cage. The art of conveying intricate ideas through simplistic language is truly a skill. Akhmatova demonstrates precisely that as she liberates her subject matter, setting it free to unfold.
Akhmatova was denied publication for much of her career
but persevered through the hardships of war, extreme hunger, and the loss of her loved ones. Her poetry, which had been so personal and private, underwent a sudden and dramatic transformation, becoming the voice of the entire people 13.
In her youth, Akhmatova embraced an elegant and bohemian lifestyle, finding joy in aesthetic and sensual pleasures, appearing somewhat aloof and detached from matters relating to human pain or the significance of life.
However, the post-war era saw a remarkable transformation in her. She writes:
"I've learned to live simply, wisely,
To look at the sky and pray to God…
And if you were to knock at my door,
it seems to me I wouldn't even hear".
Rising from the ashes, Akhmatova emerged with a profound sense of self-awareness as a poet, embodying a newfound depth and empathy that transcended the frivolity of her earlier years.
This transformation propelled a compelling shift in her artistic perspective: she not only wrote poetry but reconfigured the poetic landscape itself, dramatically altering the norms and traditions set by her predecessors, including Pushkin, Boratynsky, and Annensky.
While some of her works fell victim to the ravages of time, a significant portion survived, bearing testimony to her bravery and determination. Like a ghostly hand, these surviving works reach out from the pages toward the readers, perpetuating the enduring influence of Akhmatova's poetry.
- end -
I hope Akhmatova's story has stirred your kind-ly, compassionate, nurturing instincts. Perhaps it has evoked a desire in you to wrap her in a protective embrace, like a fragile child in need of love, comfort, and reassurance. Nevertheless, thank you for visiting me in this space and immersing yourself in Akhmatova's tale.
