Friday, 6 March 2009
A grey cloud in the sky overhead,’
ANNA AKHMATOVA POEM
A grey cloud, in the sky overhead,
like a squirrel skin uncurled.
‘I’m not sorry your body,’ he said,
‘will melt in March, frail snow-girl!’
In the fluffy muff my hands grew cold.
I felt afraid, somehow confused.
How to recall the swift weeks’ flow,
his short-lived insubstantial love!
I don’t want bitterness or revenge,
let me die with the last snow-storm.
My fortune told of him at year’s end.
I was his before February was born.
The last snow -storm by Elaine Erig-oil on canvas -150- 150 cm -
New York-1994-award :the best paint of the year-
John Hultberg class