When the lantern of the full moon swings and drifts
across the heavenly ceiling above me
and its light shining out traces pale fingers
on blue horizons
when the clear trilling of the nightingale’s song
starts the leaves softly fluttering in the air
and the pan-pipe’s notes away in the mountains
sing of sad yearning
when snows melt and rains break the cluttering dam
and the spring breaks free to wash away the tracks
and there is a rustling as the breeze awakes
tossing the trees’ heads
when the patriot who was driven away
by the enemy becomes worthy again
and when the sick man who lives in the darkness
sees the sun and moon
Then I who have been oppressed begin to feel
the mist of sadness break and lift and recede
and up rises hope for a good life to come
in my grieving heart
As I am borne up and away by this hope
my soul rejoices and my heart beats softly
but is there a small doubt dragging at hope’s heels
is this not the time?
Author notes
This is the first time I have posted something which is, strictly speaking, not my own work. It is a version of a poem by “Soso” – the young Joseph Djugashvili, better known to the world later as the Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin. It shows his early revolutionary idealism.
I have re-worked this in one of my “loose Sapphic” forms. Originally I wrote it to be included in a short-story called “The Bodyguard”, about a visit Soso made to London, which I am considering entering for the 2008 Bridport Prize. The poem here is not a strict translation, as it has expanded some of the ideas and expressions, for artistic effect. I might get shot down in flames for this, but never mind.
I would like to acknowledge AP poet Vera Rich who, unknown to her, was the influence behind my posting this.
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Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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When you post a poem you should see me grin like a silly school girl. What a treat for me! I learn something from every poem you compose. Each verse in this poem has the same identical mesmerizing beat or meter which gives the piece incredible power in image. I’m sure the original words were not as artistic at all. If that’s Stalin’s picture, I would say he was having a bad hair day. I love your work and I love you.
Love,
Amera♥
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Well the traditional Georgian poetry of the time was very pastoral, and poets took great care in their artistic use of language. What I did here was re-work an existing English translation. Apparently the young Stalin was a very good poet in his own right.
Yes, that's the young Djugashvili in the photo, which was taken in about 1902.
Thank you, sister dear, for being one of my biggest fans.
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Very interesting and well constructed.
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Many thanks for the comments, and the appreciative claque.
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This is very interesting, I love to write rhyming Sapphics, and it is instructive to see how well the three long one short format works without it's helpmate rhyme. The answer is very well, but then of course Sappho didn' t rhyme.
No point anyone shooting it down in flames, its a poem not a documentary. Reading this makes an interesting commentary and contrast of what we know of the man.
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That's right, she didn't. And she didn't compose poetry quite in the way the one above is composed; in fact very little of her work survives, which is a pity.
I don't think I got this quite to work as I would have wanted it, if I had been presenting it primarily outside its short-story setting; but on the other hand, the refashioning of this seemed to fit well enough into the form.
If you want to find out more about "Comrade Stalin" I can recommend Simon Sebag Montefiore's excellent double biography. Your jaw will drop.
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