A New Kind of Literary Pulse

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To discover (again)

Classics
 1 min

Lot's Wife

Anna Akhmatova

And the just man trailed God's shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
"It's not too late, you can still look back

at the ...  [+]
Classics
 1 min

"I Don't Like Flowers..."

Anna Akhmatova

I don't like flowers - they do remind me often
Of funerals, of weddings and of balls;
Their presence on tables for a dinner calls.

But sub-eternal roses' ever simple charm
Which was my ...  [+]
Classics
 1 min

Muse

Anna Akhmatova

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? ...  [+]
Classics
 1 min

I Wrung My Hands

Anna Akhmatova

I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
"Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?"
— Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.

I'll never forget. He went ...  [+]
Classics
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Classics
 1 min

from Stone: 98

Osip Mandelshtam

The clock-cricket singing,
that's the fever rustling.
The dry stove hissing,
that's the fire in red silk.

The teeth of mice milling
the thin supports of life,
that's the swallow ...  [+]
Classics
Classics
 1 min

from “Poems for Moscow”

Marina Tsvetaïeva

From my hands—take this city not made by hands,
my strange, my beautiful brother.

Take it, church by church—all forty times forty churches,
and flying up the roofs, the small pigeons; ...  [+]
Classics
 1 min

from “Poems for Blok”

Marina Tsvetaïeva

Your name is a—bird in my hand,
a piece of ice on my tongue.
The lips' quick opening.
Your name—four letters.
A ball caught in flight,
a silver bell in my mouth.

A stone thrown ...  [+]