Happy Birthday to Alexei Maximovich Peshkov (1868-1936), primarily known as Maxim Gorky, a Russian and Soviet writer, a founder of the Socialist realism literary method, and a political activist. Here are images of the two engraved stamps in a set designed by German artist Gerhard Preuss, and issued by East Germany (DDR) on March 14, 1968 to commemorate Maxim Gorky's birth centenary, Scott Nos. 996 & 997, Michel Nos. 1351 & 1352, plus a translation of Gorky's revolutionary poem, "The Song of the Stormy Petrel" (1901). Note: Although Maxim Gorky is primarily known for his many novels, short stories and plays, on this occasion East Germany chose to honor him by referring to this notable poem.
- nethryk
Portrait of Maxim Gorky, engraved by Gerhard Faulwasser.
An illustration for "The Song of the Stormy Petrel," engraved by Margot Sachs-Bitzer.
The Song of the Stormy PetrelUp above the sea's grey flatland, wind is gathering the clouds.
In between the sea and clouds proudly soaring the Petrel, reminiscent of black lightning.
Glancing a wave with his wingtip, like an arrow dashing cloudward,
he cries out and the clouds hear his joy in the bird's cry of courage.
In this cry -- thirst for the tempest! Wrathful power, flame of passion,
certainty of being victorious the clouds hear in that bird's cry.
Seagulls groan before the tempest, - groan, and race above the sea,
and on its bottom they are ready to hide their fear of the tempest.
And the loons are also groaning, - they, the loons, they cannot access the delight of life in battle:
the noise of the clashes scares them.
The dumb penguin shyly hiding his fat body in the crevice . . .
It is only the proud Petrel who soars ever bold and freely over the sea grey with sea foam!
Ever darker, clouds descending ever lower over the sea,
and the waves are singing, racing to the sky to meet the thunder.
Thunder sounds. In foamy anger the waves groan, with wind in conflict.
Now the wind firmly embraces flocks of waves and sends them crashing on the cliffs in wild fury,
smashing into dust and seaspray all these mountains of emerald.
And the Petrel soars while crying, reminiscent of black lightning,
like an arrow piercing the clouds, with his wing rips foam from the waves.
So he dashes, like a demon, - proud, black demon of the tempest, -
and he's laughing and he's weeping . . .
it is at the clouds he's laughing,
it is with his joy he's weeping!
In the fury of the thunder, the wise demon hears his weakness,
but he's certain that the clouds will not hide the sun
- won't hide it!
The wind howls . . . the thunder rolls . . .
Like a blue flame, flocks of clouds blaze up above the sea's abyss.
The sea catches bolts of lightning drowning them beneath its waters.
Just like serpents made of fire, they weave in the water, fading,
the reflections of this lightning.
-Tempest! Soon will strike the tempest!
- Maxim Gorky
Posted 03/28/2014 09:25 am
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