[ SECRET POST #2105 ]

[case]

⌈ Secret Post #2105 ⌋

Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.

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Notes:

Secrets Left to Post: 05 pages, 107 secrets from Secret Submission Post #301.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 1 2 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.

Comments

Re: Vocaroo/Poetry

[(Anonymous)]

I don't really are for poetry but here's one that was used from a book that I just read and it's amazing.

Anna Akhmatova- The visitor

Always the same fine snow
Beating against the dining-room panes—
And I was myself no different.
It was then my visitor came.

“What do you want?” I asked.
“To be with you hell,” he said.
I laughed. “It would seem you words
Bode neither of us any good.”

But then he touched the flowers
With the dry tips of his fingers.
“Tell me how men kiss you.
Tell me how you kiss.”

And he did not take his eyes,
Staring blankly, from my ring.
Not a single muscle stirred
In that malevolent face.

And I knew it was his pleasure,
Intensely and passionately,
To need nothing at all, to know
I had nothing to deny him.

Re: Vocaroo/Poetry

[anonymouslyyours]

God that last line is beautiful.

Thank you for posting this!

Re: Vocaroo/Poetry

[pfefferminz]

Is that book Dance in the dark by any chance? I love this poem.

Re: Vocaroo/Poetry

[(Anonymous)]

Aw hell yeah Anna Akhmatova is so rad she is completely fucking awesome. She knows how shit is, and also is just intensely able to write things that are just fucking beautiful. Just today I was reading a bunch of Jane Kenyon's translations of Akhmatova's poetry. Here's one!

Like a white stone in a deep well
one memory lies inside me.
I cannot and will not fight against it:
it is joy and it is pain.

It seems to me that anyone who looks
into my eyes will notices it immediately,
becoming sadder and more pensive
than someone listening to a melancholy tale.

I remember how the gods turned people
into things, not killing their consciousness.
And now, to keep these glorious sorrows alive,
you have turned into my memory of you.

1916
Slepnevo