I confess I’m not much into spring poetry.
The idea that spring is the season of poets is a super-cliché, and in my case, it’s not all that accurate. For me, fall and winter are the poetic seasons. They’re the times of introspection and reflection — of turning inward. Spring and summer are the seasons of going outward.
But then again, expansion is just as much a poetic mood as introspection. As G. K. Chesterton wrote in Orthodoxy,
The poet only desires exaltation and expansion, a world to stretch himself in. The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens.
If that’s true, and if spring is the season of such outward movement … then it’s time I repented of my prejudice and delved into poetry that exalts and expands.
Today I bring you “The Lark” by Vasily Zhukovsky, a Russian Romantic poet of the early 19th century. Fun fact: Zhukovsky was also a translator, who explored the craft of poetry through his translations. Rather like yours truly! (Indeed I might just name him honorary patron of this blog … because I imagine there will be a lot more translations coming up in the future!)
The tone is somewhat sentimental and delicate, but also expansive, especially as you flow through the song of the lark.* Perfect for our purposes. I took a few liberties with the translation to try and convey a similar tone, so I hope it comes across.
You can find the text and audio versions below. And if you speak Russian … please excuse my accent and pronunciation. 😉
2022 UPDATE: This translation has been set to music and performed for a fundraiser benefiting Ukraine! It’s a beautiful arrangement. Listen here.
Жаворонок
На солнце тёмный лес зардел,
В долине пар белеет тонкий,
И песню раннюю запел
В лазури жаворонок звонкий.
Он голосисто с вышины
Поёт, на солнышке сверкая:
Весна пришла к нам молодая,
Я здесь пою приход весны.
Здесь так легко мне, так радушно,
Так беспредельно, так воздушно;
Весь божий мир здесь вижу я.
И славит Бога песнь моя!
The Lark
With the sun, the dark wood blushes;
the soft mist pales in the valley.
In the blue, the sonorous lark
bursts into early song.
Full-voiced he sings from the heights
as he glimmers in the sun:
spring has come, young and fresh,
and here I sing her arrival.
So light it is here, so welcoming,
boundless and airy;
from here I see all God’s great world.
May it praise Him, my song!
Do you instinctively associate poetry with spring, or with some other season?
If you’re a poet, does your style tend to be more introspective or expansive?
*Even more appropriate: exaltation is also the term for a flight of larks. 🙂
