Michael Ananov
Georgia, Tbilisi
Mikhail Ananov – poet, translator of poetry, novelist, dramatist, literary critic, journalist, publicist, theorist, sonetologist, deals with the issues of mathematical modeling in the field of poetic forming.
I am a member of the Writers’ Union of Georgia, the Pushkin Society of Russian-speaking Writers “Arion,” the international fantasy club “Fandango” (Crimea), and the Writers’ Union of North America. I also chair the Expert Council on Poetry of the Eurasian Creative Guild (London). Member of the Union of Armenian Writers of Georgia "Vernatun".
One of the Founders of the Literary Theater "Arion", where he participated as an author of plays and sketches, as well as a Director and Actor.
Author of three poetry collections, - “Over the Abyss of Worlds”, “The Ghosts of Eldorado”, “Selenastra”, and two brochures representing scientific works in the field of literary theory. He is also a translator of collections of Armenian poets .
The Diploma-Winner of the V International Forum “Golden Knight”, in 2014. The Diploma-Winner at the International Festival in Brussels, held under the auspices of the Eurasian Creative Guild, in 2019. The Winner of the Order of the St. Ilia Chavchavadze, in 2017. Grand Prix winner in the Lermontov Competition, in honor of the 200th Anniversary of the Poet, in 2013. The Winner of the Poetry Competition of Science Fiction Writers in Feodosia, in 2016. Laureate of the various literary contests dedicated to anniversary and memorable dates.
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| Michael Ananov |
The author of several dozens of poetic and poetic-dramatic recitation of poetry to musical accompaniment on various topics; also, original songs, hymns, romances and initiations.
Author of many publications in literary, artistic and literary journals. The Member of scientific symposia and conferences, festivals and creative evenings.
SELF-SCORCHED
You charged into the fight, your path through fire clearing,
With iron will in fist, you showed your ruthless might.
Your reckless hand struck down all foes without a fearing –
No wall too steep for you, no force too fierce to fight.
Believing in your myth, like Attila you thundered,
And marched along the trail of fury and of flame.
But clenching will so tight, your raw, unbridled blundered –
You crushed the threads that wove your reckless fate and name.
THE THORNY ROAD OF VICTORY
Through trials and tempests our pathway was hard,
Through death we were marching unbroken;
We lightened the weight of our suffering Earth
In battle where dragons were woken.
He struck with deception — with venom and guile,
His heel pressed with hatred unending;
Yet crossing the Rubicon, we as one file
Arose for our homeland defending.
Through nightmares and shadows we carried our load,
From hell’s fiery valley ascending;
They burned us — yet out of the ashes we rode,
Like Phoenixes, fearless, unbending.
We knew that the foe must be cast to the ground,
Our hearts were like comets of fire!
The Zodiac offered them, blazing around,
To crown the Great Victory higher!
THE BLACK CARDINAL
In this world there reigns a secret law,
Of polar forces in eternal strife:
The ignorant strives the throne to draw,
Consumed with fury and ambitious life.
He whose Ares shines as guiding star,
Scatters wars with Satan’s fiery hand,
Yet claims he longs for peace afar,
A pacifist, by his own command.
And one who seized the reins of power,
Captures lands and peoples in his hold:
— “Your lot is bondage, your fleeting hour,
Your life, in freedom’s arms, grown cold.”
Thus runs his fatal, ruthless race,
Grasping the meaning of the triumvirate;
Hopeless falls the human face,
Whose soul is crucified, desolate.
THE FLAME OF A CANDLE
Upon my desk a candle burns…
Before it, humbly, I bow my head.
The flame, like an executioner, turns,
His axe of fury gleams with dread.
Even the eye, a fiery drill,
Pierces my heart with piercing light.
In one hand, a casket full of skill,
In the other, a pen composes flight.
I am ready to unseal my chest,
Reveal the gems of priceless worth,
To please the Lord with songs expressed—
Forgive my mischievous sins on earth.
Yet stern the executioner’s gaze,
Scorching all my fragile hope and dreams.
The flame pronounces judgment’s blaze,
And the candle melts in silent streams.
Within it lies the world I love,
And dwells my holy, steadfast faith.
Call forth my soul to penitence above;
O Lord, to all there is a measure wraith.
I wish to do but deeds of good—
To dwell in blessed Sophia’s care;
And in my hand the trembling pen
Creates bright worlds of radiant air.
And in that hour the flame expired,
And in my soul a cleansing came:
A new candle—an icon inspired—
I’ll light with verse, in sacred flame.
TEARS OF THE VIRGIN
Dedicated to the 80th Anniversary of the Great Victory
Through hell’s furnace — into Eden’s light…
…And the earth still burns, relentless, wild,
Many have already fallen low;
Fate’s encrypted script, serene and mild,
Turns us into dust — and so we go.
Beasts are fierce, yet we are not afraid!
From on high resounds a sovereign call:
“I shall take you, heroes, unbetrayed,
Through My gate into the best of all.”
Lift your prayers upward to the sky,
Beg the Lord to grant His strength anew —
From the dust of ancient souls gone by
On a blessed day He fashioned you.
Smoke has blackened every cloud in flight,
Ashes fall and dim the heavy air…
Rain would quench the raging flame tonight —
Drive despair out, banish every care!
We are ringed by fire, fierce and near…
No escape — to You we cry, in pain,
Holy Virgin, Mother pure and dear,
Mary — hear us, heed our last refrain.
Hear the earth lament beneath our feet,
Yet the flame within our hearts is strong;
Ancient spirits whisper: “Do not yield!
Break the devil’s chains — endure the wrong!”
Just one battle more — and we shall stand,
Just one barrier — and we are through;
Let no foe step foot upon our land —
After that — to die is nothing new.
Suddenly — a miracle, divine!
Clouds grow white, the golden radiance gleams —
In the sky we see Your holy sign,
And You’re near again — not just in dreams.
Sorrow shines within Your tender eyes,
Every ray — a thread of saving grace;
With a crystal tear from Paradise
You have tamed the fire’s fierce embrace.
Still the battle rages, to the end,
In the hearts of men the fire burns —
Soon to dust our mortal forms descend —
Yet the echo, endless, still returns.
