A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host

I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.

I was struck by something I didn't know about Stalin (or perhaps it didn't stick before I drew certain parallels): as a young student at the Orthodox Christian Seminary, Joseph Jugashvili was writing poems.

They even got published in the Iveria newspaper run by a highly educated Georgian nobleman, patriot, journalist, writer, poet and literature expert Prince Ilia Chavchavadze. Stalin was so grateful to Chavchavadze for publishing his work and promoting Georgian poets and writers, which was not easy during the times of the Russian Empire, that he wrote an ode to Chavchavadze.

I am of course not a poet, even less so someone who can appreciate poetry in Georgian, to understand its meaning or quality, but I am going to give you a sample of Stalin's early poetry, translated from Georgian into English by ChatGPT, as closely to the original meaning and style. I have compared the first two with the available literary Russian translations, and the English and Russian versions were pretty close, so I will trust ChatGPT.

Here is the first one, titled "The Morning," accompanied by its original in Georgian so that you can appreciate the beauty of the Georgian script:

The Morning

The rosebud blushed—unfolding wide—

and leaned into the violet;

the lily, waking, bowed its head

to every wandering breath of air.

High in the clouds the lark rang bright,

a shimmer-song, a silver cry;

and from the thickets, soft with feeling,

the nightingale breathed lullaby:

“Bloom on, O lovely land of mine—

rejoice, O Iverian shore!

And you, O Georgian—learn, and make

your homeland happier than before!”

***

Here's a translation of a second poem, To The Moon:

Go on—untiring—do not droop your head;

scatter the mist the clouds have spun;

the Lord’s design is vast and dread,

and higher than the highest sun.

Smile gently on the world below,

outstretched beneath your nightly road;

sing lullabies to glacier snow,

that hangs from heaven’s lifted load.

Know this: the fallen and oppressed

will rise again—one day—upright,

and climb the holy mountain’s breast,

made fearless by awakened light.

So, lovely one, as once before,

flash through the clouds—shine clean and free;

on the blue vault, with quiet joy,

let your beams play—for all to see.

And I will loosen every clasp

and bare my chest to you, O Moon—

with open hands, in reverent stance,

I bow to Earth’s bright lantern-swoon.

***

And finally, the ode To Chavchavadze:

Blessed be your homeland—rich in bread,

the mother’s breast that nourished you—

your temple—where you offered up

your heart as sacrifice, true-blue.

Blessed be the mother tongue you love,

as loyal sons are bound to love—

the cradle-song you heard as “nana,”

sweet with a mother’s tenderness.

Until the sun no longer rises west,

until its ray turns black and dies,

so long in every Georgian heart

your name will live—immortal-wise.

Grant us, as sons to you as father, leave

to pray the Mother of our Lord:

that many like you we may merit—

and you live long, by heaven’s word.

***

Again, quality of Stalin's poetry aside, I was struck by the parallel with another underappreciated creative person - Adolf Hitler, who was, by all expert assessments, quite a mediocre but prolific artist, mostly of architecture, landscapes and still life. Many people wonder even now what would have happened if Hitler was admitted to the Vienna Academy of Arts where he'd applied and failed. The Failed Artist has become a meme.

And now I also wonder, what would have happened if Stalin continued to write poetry and publish literary works instead of political anti-tzar manifestos, newspapers, and leaflets (for about three years, he ran an underground publishing operation in the Avlabari district of Tbilisi, which is also featured in the Stalin Museum)?

And to draw the parallel into our reality, what would have happened if Trump went into advertising to become a branding expert and write ad copy? Or if NBC did agree to pay him more money for the sluggish Apprentice? I guess we will never know, but I'm going to live you with this thought, FYI.