It is a little-known fact that Iosif Dzhugashvili, future Stalin, had a passion for writing poetry in his student years, between 1893 and 1896. In the painting above, a young seminarist Iosif Dzhugashvili is depicted with a volume of Lenin’s work “What Is To Be Done?”

Only six poems by Stalin, published in 1895-96, in his native Georgian, survived until present day. Here is one of the poems, translated, preserving rhyme and rhythm, by Putinger’s Cat, from a Russian translation, providing us with a glimpse of who Stalin was as a young man.

The Russian translation from Georgian, used as the basis of the English translation, is provided below the English version.

From a home to a home, he went,
Knocking on other folks’ doors,
With him, his oaken string instrument
And his unpretentious old song.

And in his song, and in his song,
As pure as sunlight’s shining gleam,
A profound truth was resounding,
A transcendental daydream.

Hearts that had turned into rock
He managed to make beat again;
Numerous minds he awoke
That, in deep darkness, had napped.

But people who’d forgotten God,
Their hearts holding darkness within,
A poison cup, filled to the top,
Offered him for a drink.

They said to him, “You, the cursed,
Here, bottoms up, empty this!
To us, that song of yours is foreign,
And we don’t want that truth of yours!”

Ходил он от дома к дому,
Стучась у чужих дверей,
Со старым дубовым пандури,
С нехитрою песней своей.

А в песне его, а в песне –
Как солнечный блеск чиста,
Звучала великая правда,
Возвышенная мечта.

Сердца, превращённые в камень,
Заставить биться сумел,
У многих будил он разум,
Дремавший в глубокой тьме.

Но люди, забывшие Бога,
Хранящие в сердце тьму,
Полную чашу отравы
Преподнесли ему.

Сказали ему: „Проклятый,
Пей, осуши до дна…
И песня твоя чужда нам,
И правда твоя не нужна!»

Credits for finding this poem and inspiring this translation go to Beorn and the Shieldmaiden.

Poem source.