1 I 'm a good student
2 He is from Rome so I can' t call him
3 My mum is a nice privat tutor so you should ask her about some questions
4 He is the most perfect man I have ever met
5 We are up to driving this car!
1 He isn' t a good boy
2 My friend isn' t a funny man that so I don't like spending time with him
3 I hope you aren't angry with me
4She isn' t here
5 they aren' t down with the flu
1. Does she have a cup of tea?
2. Do Jane and Oliver meet friends?
3. Do they eat pizza?
Anna Akhmatova (June 23 [O.S. June 11] 1889 — March 5, 1966) was the pen name of Anna Andreevna Gorenko, the leader and the heart and soul of St Petersburg tradition of Russian poetry in the course of half a century.Akhmatova's work ranges from short lyric poems to universalized, ingeniously structured cycles, such as Requiem (1935-40), her tragic masterpiece on the Stalinist terror. Her work addresses a variety of themes including time and memory, the fate of creative women, and the difficulties of living and writing in the shadow of Stalinism.Early lifeAkhmatova was born in Bolshoy Fontan near Odessa. Her childhood does not appear to have been happy; her parents separated in 1905. She was educated in Kiev, Tsarskoe Selo, and the Smolny Institute of St Petersburg. Anna started writing poetry at the age of 11, inspired by her favourite poets: Racine, Pushkin, and Baratynsky. As her father did not want to see any verses printed under his "respectable" name, she had to adopt the surname of one of her Tatar ancestors as a pseudonym.Grey-Eyed King (1910)<span>Hail to thee, o, inconsolate pain!
The young grey-eyed king has been yesterday slain.</span><span>That autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,</span><span>"He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They found him under the old oak's dome.</span><span>I pity his queen. He, so young, passed away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey."</span><span>He picked up his pipe from the fireplace shelf,
And went off to work for the night by himself.</span><span>Now my daughter I will wake up and rise --
And I will look in her little grey eyes...</span><span>And murmuring poplars outside can be heard:
Your king is no longer here on this earth.</span>
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