stdClass Object
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    [ID] => 19546
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2018-10-10 16:43:13
    [post_date_gmt] => 2018-10-10 16:43:13
    [post_content] => O Lev, love, your broken eyes—
I’ve kissed your wan lips goodnight
from miles away. Don’t you see
I’m fighting for you,
for us?

Hunger clings to love as
skin to bone. Lev, forgive my
words. I could tell you how
I’ve cried for you, how I’ve starved
for you, but I won’t. Instead, I will tell you
this:
in Leningrad, at dawn, the rosy light
turns us, mothers of the queue, into
shadows. Me, I am rooted
to this ground—

I would’ve soared like a crow to
your deserts, your snowy depths,
and carried you like a song
in my beak. But you
would’ve come out in

hoarse cries.

 
    [post_title] => To Lev Gumilyov
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => to-lev-gumilyov
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2018-10-17 13:07:34
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2018-10-17 13:07:34
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=19546
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
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        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2018
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is the third-prize winner in the Timothy Corsellis Poetry Prize 2018 on Young Poets Network (YPN).

Judge Karen Leeder said, "This was a passionate and precise response to Akhmatova. Powerful, taut and confident. Nice use of plainness (which takes confidence), and some very memorable lines."

Lydia, the poet, commented, "In the poem “To Lev Gumilyov”, I was inspired to write about Anna Akhmatova’s separation from her only son, Lev Gumilyov, and the troubled relationship they had as a result. Gumilyov was convinced that Akhmatova didn’t do enough to save him from the Soviet labor camps, and that she was more concerned with her poetry, when exactly the opposite was true. I wanted to capture both Akhmatova’s despair at having her child taken away from her and her quiet desperation to have Gumilyov understand her. There’s a sense of regret—she did the most she could, and yet it wasn’t enough. I was also inspired by Akhmatova’s writing style, which was sparse yet taut with emotion, and tried to utilise it in my poem."
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => 3rd prize, Timothy Corsellis Prize 2018
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
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            [ID] => 18782
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Lydia Wei
            [slug] => lydia-wei
            [content] => Lydia is a first-prize winner in the Thinking Outside the Penalty Box challenge and the 2018 August challenge #1 on prose poems on Young Poets Network, as well as third-prize winner in the 2018 August challenge #4 on using the vernacular in poetry. She is the second-prize winner in the Civilisation and Its Discontents challenge on Young Poets Network, inspired by Freud's work of the same name. Lydia is also the third-prize winner in the Timothy Corsellis Poetry Prize 2018 on Young Poets Network.
        )

)
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    [ID] => 18782
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Lydia Wei
    [slug] => lydia-wei
    [content] => Lydia is a first-prize winner in the Thinking Outside the Penalty Box challenge and the 2018 August challenge #1 on prose poems on Young Poets Network, as well as third-prize winner in the 2018 August challenge #4 on using the vernacular in poetry. She is the second-prize winner in the Civilisation and Its Discontents challenge on Young Poets Network, inspired by Freud's work of the same name. Lydia is also the third-prize winner in the Timothy Corsellis Poetry Prize 2018 on Young Poets Network.
)

To Lev Gumilyov

Lydia Wei

O Lev, love, your broken eyes—
I’ve kissed your wan lips goodnight
from miles away. Don’t you see
I’m fighting for you,
for us?

Hunger clings to love as
skin to bone. Lev, forgive my
words. I could tell you how
I’ve cried for you, how I’ve starved
for you, but I won’t. Instead, I will tell you
this:
in Leningrad, at dawn, the rosy light
turns us, mothers of the queue, into
shadows. Me, I am rooted
to this ground—

I would’ve soared like a crow to
your deserts, your snowy depths,
and carried you like a song
in my beak. But you
would’ve come out in

hoarse cries.