perfection of the life, or of the work,"
wrote William Butler Yeats -
who made some perfect poems
(Byzantium, Sailing to Byzantium,
The Circus Animals' Desertion...)
but certainly did not live life perfectly -
unlike Akhmatova, whose poetry
I (who did not live in Russia under
the sociopathic Stalin Monster)
cannot relate to. Maybe it's the translations
since poetry is so rarely well-translated.
For me, Anna Akhmatova's
life was one of the most impressive poems ever lived.
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