Marie's page

One of my favourite poems is “the Muse” by Anna Akhmatova. I was introduced to her in the Seminar of Modern Literature at KTF UK, which was taught by the brilliant Klára Kudlová, who became my thesis supervisor after two years, and, after three, I am brave enough to say a friend as well.

In class, we compared the different translations of the original (dating back to 1924), which reads as follows:

Когда я ночью жду ее прихода,
Жизнь, кажется, висит на волоске.
Что почести, что юность, что свобода
Пред милой гостьей с дудочкой в руке.

И вот вошла. Откинув покрывало,
Внимательно взглянула на меня.
Ей говорю: «Ты ль Данту диктовала
Страницы Ада?» Отвечает: «Я».

(I can’t read cyrilic or speak Russian so that remains a problem, but maybe someone reading this will.)

We compared several English and Czech translations. I don’t really like most of the Czech ones, except for the one by Hana Vrbová:

Můj život visí na tenoučké nitce,
Když rozechvěle v noci čekám ji.
S volností, slávou, s vším rozloučit se
pro návštěvnici s něžnou šalmají.
Vešla. Ten pohled! Z tváře závoj sňala.
Ptám se jí, v duši neklid ledový:
„To tys Dantovi Peklo diktovala?" ―
„Já," ― tichý hlas mi ze tmy odpoví.

When it comes to English, I just can’t choose. Maybe I do prefer the one by Yevgeny Bonver:

When, in the night, I wait for her, impatient,
Life seems to me, as hanging by a thread.
What just means liberty, or youth, or approbation,
When compared with the gentle piper's tread?
And she came in, threw out the mantle's edges,
Declined to me with a sincere heed.
I say to her, "Did you dictate the Pages
Of Hell to Dante?" She answers, "Yes, I did."

Some people, like Donald Michael Thomas, use the word “strand” instead of “thread” in the first line. I don’t know why but that just doesn’t sit right with me:

When at night I wait for her to come,
Life, it seems, hangs by a single strand.
What are glory, youth, freedom, in comparison
With the dear welcome guest, a flute in hand?
She enters now. Pushing her veil aside,
She stares through me with her attentiveness.
I question her: «And were you Dante’s guide,
Dictating the Inferno?» She answers: «Yes.»

This one is also nice, by Eric Gillan, who uses “thread” instead of “strand” again:

When late at night I wait for her arrival,
It seems my life is hanging by a thread.
I offer youth, my freedom, glory,
To my adored guest with flute in hand.
And here she comes. She throws back her cloak
And pours a steady gaze on me.
I ask, “Did you dictate to Dante
The pages of “Inferno?” She answers, “Yes. I did.”