ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
That year came, the crown fell,
As you, young poet, once foretold,
Our land became a newborn hell,
Replacing on the earth the memory of old.
The blood was flowing endless then,
And men their brothers slay,
And none could tell how long would this hysteria stay,
And if it would be stopped, and when.
The civil clash devoured our best,
And others fled, and some returned,
And Death awaited all the rest,
And Shame awaited those who turned.
And men like him you have described then came,
And terror ruled for many years.
The blooded circle had a run again,
Like you had then predicted, my young friend;
Sons fathers did betray and children’s tears
Could not the foul will of the fanatics bend.
It took the Russian people tens of years
The broken heart and soul of their homeland mend...
Egir©
As you, young poet, once foretold,
Our land became a newborn hell,
Replacing on the earth the memory of old.
The blood was flowing endless then,
And men their brothers slay,
And none could tell how long would this hysteria stay,
And if it would be stopped, and when.
The civil clash devoured our best,
And others fled, and some returned,
And Death awaited all the rest,
And Shame awaited those who turned.
And men like him you have described then came,
And terror ruled for many years.
The blooded circle had a run again,
Like you had then predicted, my young friend;
Sons fathers did betray and children’s tears
Could not the foul will of the fanatics bend.
It took the Russian people tens of years
The broken heart and soul of their homeland mend...
Egir©
Lermontov's poem "Prophecy" ("Предсказание") was written in 1830, but wasn't published until 1862, long after the poet's death, in Berlin. An autograph by the title says "Это мечта" ("It's a dream")
The poem has to do with the serf uprising of 1830. Both Lermontov and Pushkin, as most of the romantic poets of their time, especially those coming from the liberal aristocracy, pictured a tornado-like uprising of the lower classes. As Pushkin in similar works ("К Вельможе", "Андрей Шенье" and other), Lermontov paints a bleak image of a popular revolution, with terror and blood taking their toll, writing with liberty’s bloody feast in mind...
//EDIT//
I have found a translation of the original poem. I am not that happy with it, but, as a rough guide, it will do fine.
A year will come, the year of Russia, last,
When the monarchs' crown will be cast;
Mob will forget its former love and faith,
And food of many will be blood and death;
When the cast off law will not guard
A guiltless woman and a feeble child;
When the plague on bodies, sick or dead,
Among the gloomy villages will spread,
To call from huts with pieces of a rag,
And dearth will maim this poor earth as plague;
And on the lakes will fateful glow lay:
A mighty man will come in this black day.
You'll recognize this man and understand,
Why he will have the shining knife in hand:
And woe for you! -- Your moans and appeals
He will consider just as funny things;
And all his image will be awful now,
As his black mantle and his lofty brow.
(Translated from Russian by Yevgeny Bonver, September 1996)
*Egir©
************
The poem has to do with the serf uprising of 1830. Both Lermontov and Pushkin, as most of the romantic poets of their time, especially those coming from the liberal aristocracy, pictured a tornado-like uprising of the lower classes. As Pushkin in similar works ("К Вельможе", "Андрей Шенье" and other), Lermontov paints a bleak image of a popular revolution, with terror and blood taking their toll, writing with liberty’s bloody feast in mind...
//EDIT//
I have found a translation of the original poem. I am not that happy with it, but, as a rough guide, it will do fine.
A year will come, the year of Russia, last,
When the monarchs' crown will be cast;
Mob will forget its former love and faith,
And food of many will be blood and death;
When the cast off law will not guard
A guiltless woman and a feeble child;
When the plague on bodies, sick or dead,
Among the gloomy villages will spread,
To call from huts with pieces of a rag,
And dearth will maim this poor earth as plague;
And on the lakes will fateful glow lay:
A mighty man will come in this black day.
You'll recognize this man and understand,
Why he will have the shining knife in hand:
And woe for you! -- Your moans and appeals
He will consider just as funny things;
And all his image will be awful now,
As his black mantle and his lofty brow.
(Translated from Russian by Yevgeny Bonver, September 1996)
*Egir©
************
© 2006 - 2024 Egir
Comments41
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
He doesn't sound the same in English.... Never did and never will. But your poem is lovely. Thank you for sharing.