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Giraffe

Giraffe

Nikolay Gumilyov
Nikolay Gumilyov

About Nikolay Gumilyov

Nikolay Gumilyov (*Никола́й Гумилёв, 1886–1921) stands as one of the most distinctive and dramatic figures of Russian poetry. A founder and chief theorist of Acmeism, he championed clarity, craftsmanship, and a heroic vision of the world over vague mysticism. Gumilyov was a poet-warrior, poet-wanderer, and poet-romantic: his verse is filled with exotic landscapes, daring explorers, and active, willful heroes who confront fate rather than retreat from it. His poems reflect a fascination with distant lands, especially Africa, where he traveled repeatedly, hunted big game, and transformed personal adventure into mythic poetry.

His life was as compelling as his art. A prominent cultural figure of the Silver Age and the former husband of Anna Akhmatova, Gumilyov moved at the center of Russia’s Silver Age while remaining fiercely independent in spirit. He volunteered for military service during World War I and was decorated for bravery. In the aftermath of the Russian Revolution, his aristocratic ethos and intellectual freedom proved fatal: in 1921, at the age of thirty-five, he was executed by the Bolshevik authorities. Gumilyov’s legacy endures as that of a poet who insisted on courage, beauty, and mastery.

About This Poem

Gumilyov’s poem weaves together his fascination with the beauty and mystery of Africa and his wish to lift the spirits of the beloved he addresses. Against the grays and fogs of St Petersburg, his imagined Africa takes living form in the exquisite figure of a giraffe, a creature of grace and radiance.

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Сегодня́, я ви́жу, осо́бенно гру́стен твой взгляд,
И ру́ки осо́бенно то́нки, коле́ни обня́в.
Послу́шай: далёко, далёко, на озе́ре Чад
Изы́сканный броди́т жира́ф.

Ему́ грацио́зная стро́йность и не́га дана́,
И шку́ру его́ украша́ет волше́бный узо́р,
С кото́рым равня́ться осме́лится то́лько луна́,

Дробя́сь и кача́ясь на вла́ге широ́ких озёр.

Вдали́ он подо́бен цветны́м паруса́м корабля́,
И бег его́ пла́вен, как ра́достный пти́чий полёт,
Я зна́ю, что мно́го чуде́сного ви́дит земля́,
Когда́ на зака́те он пря́чется в мра́морный грот.

Я зна́ю весёлыe ска́зки таи́нственных стран
Про чёрную де́ву, про страсть молодо́го вождя́,
Но ты сли́шком до́лго вдыха́ла тяжёлый тума́н,
Ты ве́рить не хо́чешь во что́-нибудь, кро́ме дождя́.

И как я тебе́ расскажу́ про тропи́ческий сад,
Про стро́йные па́льмы, про за́пах немы́слимых трав?..
Ты пла́чешь? Послу́шай… далёко, на о́зере Чад
Изы́сканный бро́дит жира́ф.

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Today, I see, especially sad is your gaze,
And (your) arms are especially thin, clasping your knees.
Listen: far, far away on Lake Chad
Roams an exquisite giraffe.

To him gracious slenderness and languor is bestowed,
And his hide is adorned with a magical pattern,
With which only the Moon dares to compete

While splitting and wavering on the waters of the wide lakes.

From afar he looks like colorful sails of a ship,
And his run is smooth like a joyful bird’s flight.
I know that many wonders the Earth sees
When at sunset he hides in a marble grotto.

I know the merry tales of mysterious lands
Of a black maiden, of the passion of a young chief.
But you've breathed heavy fog for too long,
You don’t want to believe in anything but rain.

So how will I tell you of a tropical garden,
About slender palm trees, about unbelievable grasses…
You’re crying? Listen… Far, far away, on Lake Chad
Roams an exquisite giraffe.

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