Tyutchev’s ‘A Spring Storm’

Since it’s May, I cannot resist sharing this Russian poem with you, written by Fyodor Tyutchev. The translation is from here.

Spring Storm

I love a storm in early May
When springtime’s boisterous, firstborn thunder
Over the sky will gaily wander
And growl and roar as though in play.

A peal, another – gleeful, cheering…
Rain, raindust… On the trees, behold!-
The drops hang, each a long pearl earring;
Bright sunshine paints the thin threads gold.

A stream downhill goes rushing reckless,
And in the woods the birds rejoice.
Din. Clamour. Noise. All nature echoes
The thunder’s youthful, merry voice.

You’ll say: ‘Tis laughing, carefree Hebe –
She fed her father’s eagle, and
The Storm Cup brimming with a seething
And bubbling wine dropped from her hand.

Long-time readers may remember that I’m a great admirer of Tyutchev—I wrote about his poem “Cicero” on this blog last August.

Since the translation can never be as good as the original, here’s the original Russian.

ВЕСЕННЯЯ ГРОЗА

Люблю грозу в начале мая,
Когда весенний, первый гром,
Как бы резвяся и играя,
Грохочет в небе голубом.

Гремят раскаты молодые!
Вот дождик брызнул, пыль летит…
Повисли перлы дождевые,
И солнце нити золотит…

С горы бежит поток проворный,
В лесу не молкнет птичий гам,
И гам лесной, и шум нагорный —
Все вторит весело громам…

Ты скажешь: ветреная Геба,
Кормя Зевесова орла,
Громокипящий кубок с неба,
Смеясь, на землю пролила!

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