Poem
Maya Sarishvili
TO NATIA
The pink cream in the cookie
Is very embittered.
It shrieks non-stop at me
From the dark hell of the coffee-coloured biscuit,
And even dreams no longer have
The taste of the jam of the stars.
From the kitchen tap
Fall foxes.
They’ve chewed off my hands.
I sit on the floor and the pot shatters.
Now I keep my eyelids tight shut
So that my sight can quickly come to the boil, and
So that I can see sisters of various heights,
That, like hands of the clock, are fixed
To the dial, their mother.
Happiness is as stubborn as a stone bud
But I cannot worry any more
About those arms of mine –
They were always making hysterical scenes at me.
And like a pill under my tongue I placed a white button
That had broken off my youngest child’s shirt.
Then I felt:
My child’s heart is my walking frame,
When I sometimes forget how to walk,
When nothing can rise up,
And I wish:
Perhaps something may come along
Which will transfer the blood beyond these paths.
© Translation: 2007, Donald Rayfield
ნატას
ნატას
ძალიანაა გაბოროტებულინამცხვრის ვარდისფერი კრემი.
გაბმით მიკივის
ყავისფერი ბისკვიტის უკუნეთიდან
და სიზმრებსაც აღარ აქვთ
ვარსკვლავების მურაბის გემო.
სამზარეულოს ონკანიდან კი
მელიები ცვივა.
ხელები დამიჭამეს.
იატაკზე ვჯდები და ჭურჭელი იმსხვრევა.
ახლა თვალს მჭიდროდ დავახურავ ქუთუთოს,
რომ სწრაფად წამომიდუღდეს მზერა და
დავინახო სხვადასხვა სიმაღლის დები,
საათის ისრებივით რომ აჰკვრიან
ციფერბლატ დედას.
ბედნიერება - ქვის კვირტივით ჯიუტია.
მეც ვერ ვახერხებდი
ზრუნვას მკლავებზე -
ისტერიკებს მიწყობდნენ მუდამ.
და აბივით ენის ქვეშ ამოვიდე თეთრი ღილი -
ჩემი უმცროსი შვილის პერანგს რომ ასწყდა.
მერე ვიგრძენი:
მისი გული ჩემი ჭოჭინაა,
როცა მავიწყდება ხოლმე ზოგჯერ სიარული,
როცა ზემოთ ვეღარ ადის ვერაფერი
და ვნატრობ:
იქნებ მოვიდეს რამე,
რაც გადაიტანს სისხლს ამ გზებს იქით...
© 2001, Maya Sarishvili
From: Covering Reality
Publisher: Merani, Tbilisi
From: Covering Reality
Publisher: Merani, Tbilisi
Poems
Poems of Maya Sarishvili
Close
TO NATIA
The pink cream in the cookie
Is very embittered.
It shrieks non-stop at me
From the dark hell of the coffee-coloured biscuit,
And even dreams no longer have
The taste of the jam of the stars.
From the kitchen tap
Fall foxes.
They’ve chewed off my hands.
I sit on the floor and the pot shatters.
Now I keep my eyelids tight shut
So that my sight can quickly come to the boil, and
So that I can see sisters of various heights,
That, like hands of the clock, are fixed
To the dial, their mother.
Happiness is as stubborn as a stone bud
But I cannot worry any more
About those arms of mine –
They were always making hysterical scenes at me.
And like a pill under my tongue I placed a white button
That had broken off my youngest child’s shirt.
Then I felt:
My child’s heart is my walking frame,
When I sometimes forget how to walk,
When nothing can rise up,
And I wish:
Perhaps something may come along
Which will transfer the blood beyond these paths.
© 2007, Donald Rayfield
From: Covering Reality
From: Covering Reality
TO NATIA
The pink cream in the cookie
Is very embittered.
It shrieks non-stop at me
From the dark hell of the coffee-coloured biscuit,
And even dreams no longer have
The taste of the jam of the stars.
From the kitchen tap
Fall foxes.
They’ve chewed off my hands.
I sit on the floor and the pot shatters.
Now I keep my eyelids tight shut
So that my sight can quickly come to the boil, and
So that I can see sisters of various heights,
That, like hands of the clock, are fixed
To the dial, their mother.
Happiness is as stubborn as a stone bud
But I cannot worry any more
About those arms of mine –
They were always making hysterical scenes at me.
And like a pill under my tongue I placed a white button
That had broken off my youngest child’s shirt.
Then I felt:
My child’s heart is my walking frame,
When I sometimes forget how to walk,
When nothing can rise up,
And I wish:
Perhaps something may come along
Which will transfer the blood beyond these paths.
© 2007, Donald Rayfield
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère