It's April, and everyone knows what that means: poetry party! Break out the beer pong and your freshman seminar books, because this is going to be awesome.

I thought I'd start things off (assuming other people are interested, of course) with a little something by Anna Akhmatova, translated from the Russian by Jane Kenyon.

I hear the always-sad voice of the oriole
and I salute the passing of delectable summer.
With the hissing of a snake the scythe cuts down
the stalks, one pressed hard against another.

And the hitched-up skirts of the slender reapers
fly in the wind like holiday flags. Now if only
we had the cheerful ring of harness bells,
a lingering glance through dusty eyelashes.

I don't expect caresses or flattering love-talk,
I sense unavoidable darkness coming near,
but come and see the Paradise where together,
blissful and innocent, we once lived.

I only recently stumbled upon Akhmatova, and had a hard time choosing which poem could persuade you to read more of her work.

Anyone else want to bite?

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