Poem
Maya Sarishvili
CIRCLE AND RECTANGLE
As a child I existed in just these two shapes:
Outside – the round yard of the children’s playground,
Inside – the high-windowed loggia’s rectangle.
Anything else was like a pitch-dark tunnel . . .
When I entered the loggia
A thousand drawers would open all at once:
Drawers with medicine, linen, jewellery, sealed papers,
And mischievous smells would waft out of them.
But in the morning, in the playground’s roundness
A whirlpool of evergreen bushes foamed
And down the child’s slide, with shrieks of joy,
Mingling with the children, angels rushed.
© Translation: 2007, Donald Rayfield
CIRCLE AND RECTANGLE
ბავშვობისას მხოლოდ ამ ორ ფიგურაში ვარსებობდი:გარეთ - საბავშვო ბაღის მრგვალი ეზო
და შინ - მაღალფანჯრება ლოჯის მართკუთხედი.
სხვა ყველაფერი კი უკუნი გვირაბივით იყო...
ლოჯში რომ შევდიოდი,
ათასი უჯრა იხსნებოდა ერთდროულად:
წამლების, თეთრეულის, სამკაულის, ბეჭდიანი ფურცლების...
და ამორბოდნენ იქიდან ჭინკა სუნები.
ხოლო დილით, ბაღის სიმრგვალეში
ისევ მარადმწვანე ბუჩქების მორევი ქაფდებოდა
და სასრიალოდან კივილით ეშვებოდნენ
ბავშვებს შერეული ანგელოზები...
© 2001, Maya Sarishvili
From: Covering Reality
Publisher: Merani, Tbilisi
From: Covering Reality
Publisher: Merani, Tbilisi
Poems
Poems of Maya Sarishvili
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CIRCLE AND RECTANGLE
As a child I existed in just these two shapes:
Outside – the round yard of the children’s playground,
Inside – the high-windowed loggia’s rectangle.
Anything else was like a pitch-dark tunnel . . .
When I entered the loggia
A thousand drawers would open all at once:
Drawers with medicine, linen, jewellery, sealed papers,
And mischievous smells would waft out of them.
But in the morning, in the playground’s roundness
A whirlpool of evergreen bushes foamed
And down the child’s slide, with shrieks of joy,
Mingling with the children, angels rushed.
© 2007, Donald Rayfield
From: Covering Reality
From: Covering Reality
CIRCLE AND RECTANGLE
As a child I existed in just these two shapes:
Outside – the round yard of the children’s playground,
Inside – the high-windowed loggia’s rectangle.
Anything else was like a pitch-dark tunnel . . .
When I entered the loggia
A thousand drawers would open all at once:
Drawers with medicine, linen, jewellery, sealed papers,
And mischievous smells would waft out of them.
But in the morning, in the playground’s roundness
A whirlpool of evergreen bushes foamed
And down the child’s slide, with shrieks of joy,
Mingling with the children, angels rushed.
© 2007, Donald Rayfield
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