Vladimir Mayakovsky⌠Back in 1918, he wanted something contemporary⌠but was an admirer nonetheless.
âOn 19 January 1922, Futurist poet Vladimir Mayakovsky gave a speech which included this declaration: "Anna Akhmatova's indoor intimacy, Vyacheslav Ivanov's mystic poems and Hellenistic themes âwhat meaning have they for our harsh and steely age? But how can we suddenly say writers like Ivanov and Akhmatova are worthless? Of course, as literary landmarks, as the last remnants of a crumbling order, they will find their place in the pages of histories of literature, but for us, for our age, they are pointless, pathetic and comic anachronisms" (quoted and trans. by Haight, p. 71).
Yet Lily Brik, Mayakovsky's mistress for many years, said that whenever he was in love he read Akhmatova, quoting her from morning until night.â 
So grateful I ordered these poems last week. 
Poem Without a Hero
âOften I hear about various false and absurd interpretations of âPoem Without a Hero.â I have even been advised to make it more clear.
I will refrain from doing this.
The poem does not have any third, seventh, or twenty-ninth meanings.
I shall neither change it nor explain it.
âWhat I have written âI have written.ââ
~Anna Akhmatova
November 1944
Leningrad
Tonightâs section of #poems #reading
âYou will stop laughing before dawn.â 
âFragment
...And it seemed to me that these fires Were with me until dawn.
And I didn't inquire â what color
Those strange eyes were.
And everything trembled and sang,
And I didn't know âwas it winter or summer,
Were you friend or foe?â
June 21, 1959
Moscow 
Arrived! #poem by Anna Akhmatova
âThe Summer Garden
I want to visit the roses in that unique garden, Fenced by the world's most magnificent fence,
Where the statues remember me as young, And I remember them under the Neva's waters.
In the fragrant silence among majestic linden trees, I imagine the creaking of masts of ships.
And the swan, as before, floats across centuries,
Admiring the beauty of its twin.
And sleeping there, like the dead, are hundreds of
thousands of footsteps
Of friends and enemies, enemies and friends.
And the procession of shades is endless, From the granite vase to the door of the palace.
My white nights whisper there
About some grand and mysterious love.
And everything glows like jasper and mother-of-pearl, But the source of the light is mysteriously veiled.â
July 9, 1959
Leningrad 
Going to this event: Free In Person or Livestream Tickets available:
âOur International Reading Series continues, this time featuring a reading and conversation with Salar Abdoh, author of A Nearby Country Called Love. It is a sweeping, propulsive novel about the families we are born into and the families we make for ourselves, in which a man struggles to find his place in an Iran on the brink of combusting.
Haunted by the death of a woman who lit herself on fire in Zamzam, Tehran, Issa is forced to confront the contradictions of his own family history while protest and violence stew in the streets.â
https://cityofasylum.org/program/international-reading-series-salar-abdoh/
Usually behind a paywall⌠The Paris Review is opening up some of their archives to remember Louise Glßck. #poetry https://www.theparisreview.org/authors/26185/louise-gluck
One of my favorites⌠still remember reading this years ago. A small piece of it:
âThe Denial of Death
Louise GlĂźck
ISSUE 226, FALL 2018
1. A Travel Diary
I had left my passport at an inn we stayed at for a night or so whose name I couldnât remember. This is how it began. The next hotel would not receive me. A beautiful hotel, in an orange grove, with a view of the sea. How casually you accepted the room that would have been ours, and, later, how merrily you stood on the balcony, pelting me with foil-wrapped chocolates. The next day you resumed the journey we would have taken together.â
Usually behind a paywall⌠The Paris Review is opening up some of their archives to remember Louise Glßck. #poetry https://www.theparisreview.org/authors/26185/louise-gluck
âMore than anything else, Louise loved it when something was surprising and, in retrospect, inevitable, as it is so often in her work, and in our livesâlike the ending of her #poem âHappinessâ:
âI open my eyes; you are watching me.â¨Almost over this roomâ¨the sun is gliding.â¨Look at your face, you say,â¨holding your own close to meâ¨to make a mirror.â¨How calm you are. And the burning wheelâ¨passes gently over us.ââ
https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2023/10/16/in-remembrance-of-louise-gluck/
âTo the uninitiated, Louise GlĂźck â who died on Friday at the age of 80 â could feel like an intimidating or chilly poet, her range of references so lofty and seemingly private that her work could come off as stern, austere. But to read her that way was to miss both her cool clarity and her often puckish wit; her poems, which drew on mythology and nature to explore themes of love and loss and disciplined engagement with the world, were chilly only in the bracing manner of a good martini.â https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/13/books/review/five-louise-gluck-poems-to-get-you-started.html?unlocked_article_code=5HevgGaOmYxniXWdwJ_LjrKkpgxT-cVZtZkqwOHKSOjTGSFr6TXkFem4q_szd2c9yoz_vwKInA_dVmgyIOpk7vrNkImqmjz3zeyTCLu7AB17bbm9ObzPqlXetgp1o0PNN85umtI0w7ETArl7d1Zzg3MWXbjbk834yEZGgXTtzmBftkvC2KTk8uuqy3gjCYDfhvf6DS7y6w9t85iV0s0CwQ2ALGZ3p2QRXuHYdOKOuuiMZtcm6_dMNylNwZS_NpVlCkXdPoIeEJe9_v5jV3Unt9il4iCahNYXyMtEqMHANMGGf9SClkBLNWoQH1CJ3vrnt7qT4IzkfnLxTT4etRCU9gGYStVID6m9cjGnwicM-YJfLo8PE220atI&smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare
We love hockey too â #Pittsburgh 
Another great day⌠celebrated my nephewâs birthday⌠and enjoyed some backyard football. đ¸: meâ captured my son playing football with his cousinsâ my sistersâ kids. He was QB đ 
Louise GlĂźckâs passing has undone meâ I need an outlet to grieve this artist who has impacted me so deeply. Going to open one of my journalsđthis morning â her poems are powerful but also tenderâ to say the very, very least. One of her booksâ on this rainy day. 
Busy weekend⌠heading to a wedding later. My friendâs daughter is getting married this afternoon⌠but there is rain in the forecast ALL day. I feel so badâPittsburgh weather đ¤Żđ˘


