Född prinsessan Anna Elisabeth Bibesco - Bassaraba de Brancovan i Paris 1876. Hennes far var prins Grégoire Bibesco - Bassaraba, en son till Wallachian Prince Gheorghe Bibesco och Zoe Mavrocordato - Bassaraba de Brancovan.
År 1897 gifte hon sig med Mathieu Fernand Frédéric Pascal de Noailles (1873-1942), den fjärde sonen till 7:e hertigen "de Noailles".
Anna de Noailles skrev tre romaner, en självbiografi, och många diktsamlingar. Hon hade vänskapliga förbindelser med den intellektuella, litterära och konstnärliga eliten vid den tiden, inklusive Marcel Proust, Francis Jammes, Colette, André Gide, Frédéric Mistral, Robert de Montesquiou - Fezensac, Paul Valéry, Jean Cocteau, Pierre Loti, Paul Hervieu och Max Jacob. Källa: Wikipedia
The Chase, by Anna de Noailles
(from A life of poems, poems of a life. Black Widow Press, 2012. Originally published 1902.)
Hearts yearn to know each other, yet
Love does its little minuet
Amongst them, now between, betwixt,
Full of its lush aromas, mixed,
As when the wind goes blowing on
The plants;
but souls are quickly gone,
Fleeing, more rapid in their going
Than air, perfume, or river flowing:
Each would, in vain, its mate possess,
Love knows nor joy nor tenderness...
***
Anna de Noailles var den första kvinnan att tilldelas en Commander of The Legion of Honor, den första kvinnan som blev invald till den kungliga belgiska Academy of French Language and Literature, och hon hedrades med "Grand Prix" av Académie Française, 1921. Källa: Wikipedia
(from A life of poems, poems of a life. Black Widow Press, 2012. Originally published 1927.)
Silence, movement, arpeggio-sound...
Your bones with every sweetness ring!
In my protecting glance wrapped round
With web of poem-covering,
You lie like snow upon the ground,
But like a bird rise and take wing!
***
Anna de Noailles dog i Paris 1933, 56 år gammal. Jag avslutar med en lite längre dikt som passar bra i juletid.
Christmas vision, by Anna de Noailles
(from A life of poems, poems of a life. Black Widow Press, 2012. Originally published 1933.)
More than the summer's azure-gold
I loved the frost, all shadow-spread
In childhood Christmases of old,
And the green fir tree by the bed.
I mused on ox, ass, warming mild
The ice-chilled shade; the star on high
Coursing its path through evening sky,
Guiding the Magic; and the child,
Plump as a dove's egg, Spirit-blessed -
Celestial dove, heavenly graced -
Whose kiss divine was gently placed
On modest Virgin's holy breast.
How cold it is! The wind bursts through
Rattles the door!... Then, suddenly,
A white king makes his way, and he
Brings gift of gold... The next, white too...
At length, the third king in my dream
Is black, and I am quite afraid
Lest he, alas, might rue the shade
His skin is in! But the supreme
Babe-god welcomed this black no less
With his sweet, all-protecting smile!
- And I dream of the snows the while,
And of the wintertime duress
Shining bright in my heart: the breath
Of deep blue swathing leaves of palm -
No fir tree here! - during the calm,
Warm Christmastide of Nazareth!
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