Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Shota Iatashvili

DRAWING A LINE BETWEEN METEOROLOGY AND POETRY

I
Finally one should refuse to use
Words denoting elemental phenomena,
Especially when depicting
Human spiritual experiences and frames of mind.
Poetry in the present and future tenses must be constructed otherwise.

II
I watch through the window.
The rain rains in poems sung for the thousandth time,
The snow snows in poems sung for the thousandth time.
I go outside.
There’s nothing poetic about the wind.
It just makes my trousers flap,
Strikes my face and confuses my thoughts,
Which pretty well confirms
My theoretical deliberations:
Poetry and meteorology
Have over time come to quarrel with each other,
And now’s the time for them
Each to mind their own business.

III
My grandmother (on my father’s side), Mariam Iatashvili,
Was a meteorologist.
My grandfather (on my mother’s side), Parmen Rurua,
Was a poet.
Since childhood the things that sounded most poetic to me
Were the names of various types of cloud.
My grandmother would point to the sky and teach me,
‘Cumulus, stratocumulus.’
But a lot of time passed after that.
And today I,
However regrettable and odd it may be,
Am coming out with an exposé
Of the unpoetic nature of meteorology
And the unmeteorological nature of poetry.

IV
I expect you realise,
This is no easy subject.
All the more so if you’ve written lines, like:
‘The wind is in the soul, o watery-eyed Maria,
The wind is in the soul, whether it’s dark or day-long light…’
And quite a few similar other things.
Yes this is no easy subject.
But I am nevertheless doing this
So that in future life and poetry
There should be no rain falling from my eyes,
No snow falling on my hair,
No wind lurking in my soul.

V
I wrote this poem
As a weather forecast for poetry
And I walked out into the street,
Where an unpoetic wind
Flapped my trousers and
Hit my face.

DE SCHEIDING VAN METEOROLOGIE EN POËZIE

I.
We moeten voorgoed de woorden
voor stormachtige omstandigheden afkeuren.
Vooral de uitdrukking van de geestelijke toestand
en gewaarwordingen van de mens.
De hedendaagse en toekomstige poëzie zal het erzonder moeten redden.

II.
Ik kijk door het raam.
Een in gedichten uitentreure bezongen regen valt neer.
Een in gedichten uitentreure bezongen sneeuw valt neer.
Ik loop naar buiten.
Er schuilt niets poëtisch in de wind.
Hij brengt slechts mijn broek aan het fladderen,
jaagt door mijn mond en neus en brengt mijn gedachten in de war,
wat mijn theoretische
beschouwingen alleen maar bevestigt:
geleidelijk aan gingen poëzie
en meteorologie met elkaar in de clinch
en nu is de tijd rijp
dat ze elk hun eigen gang gaan.

III.
Mijn grootmoeder (aan vaders kant) Mariam Iatasjvili was meteoroloog.
Mijn grootvader (aan moeders kant) Parmen Roeroea dichter.
Vanaf mijn kindertijd klonken begrippen die wolken benoemden hoogst poëtisch.
Mijn grootmoeder wees vaak naar de lucht en leerde me:
‘cumulus, stratocumulus...’
Maar sindsdien is er veel tijd verstreken.
En vandaag,
hoe jammer en vreemd het ook mag overkomen,
ga ik onwrikbaar uit van
de niet-poëtische aard van de meteorologie
en de niet-meteorologische aard van de poëzie.

IV.
U ziet beslist in
dat het me niet makkelijk valt.
Temeer als je zelf verzen als volgt hebt geschreven:
‘de wind huist in mijn ziel, lieve Maria met tranen in je ogen,
de wind huist in mijn ziel, in het donker en het ochtengloren...’
en et cetera, meer van hetzelfde.
Inderdaad, het valt me niet makkelijk.
Maar ik hou vol
zodat het in mijn leven en poëzie van morgen
niet uit mijn ogen gaat regenen,
niet op mijn haar gaat sneeuwen,
niet in mijn ziel gaat waaien.

V.
Ik heb dit gedicht geschreven,
in het teken van een weerbericht van de poëzie
en ik ben de straat op gelopen,
waar de niet-poëtische wind mijn broek
aan het fladderen bracht en
door mijn mond en neus jaagde.

მეტეოროლოგიის გამიჯვნა პოეზიისაგან

I.
საბოლოოდ უნდა ეთქვას უარი
სტიქიური მოვლენების აღმნიშვნელ სიტყვებს.
განსაკუთრებით ადამიანის სულიერი განცდების
და განწყობილებების გამოხატვისას.
აწმყო-მომავლის პოეზია ამის გარეშე უნდა აიგოს.

II.
ფანჯარაში ვიყურები.
ლექსებში ათასჯერ გადამღერებული წვიმა წვიმს.
ლექსებში ათასჯერ გადამღერებული თოვლი თოვს.
გავდივარ გარეთ.
არაფერი პოეტური არაა ქარში.
მხოლოდ შარვალს მიფართხუნებს,
ცხვირ-პირში მცემს და აზრს მიბნევს,
რაც პრაქტიკულად ადასტურებს
ჩემს თეორიულ მოსაზრებას:
პოეზია და მეტეოროლოგია
თანდათანობით შემოსწყრნენ ერთმანეთს და
ახლა უკვე ის დროა,
დამოუკიდებლად მიხედონ თავს.

III.
ჩემი ბებია (მამის მხრიდან) - მარიამ იათაშვილი,
მეტეოროლოგი იყო.
ჩემი ბაბუა (დედის მხრიდან) - პარმენ რურუა,
პოეტი.
ბავშვობიდან ყველაზე პოეტურად ჩემთვის
სხვადასხვანაირი ღრუბლების აღმნიშვნელი
ტერმინები ჟღერდა.
ბებიაჩემი ცაზე მითითებდა და მასწავლიდა ხოლმე:
`კუმულუსი, სტრატოკუმულუსი...’
მაგრამ მას შემდეგ დიდი დრო გავიდა.
და მე დღეს,
რაოდენ სამწუხარო და უცნაურიც არ უნდა იყოს,
მეტეოროლოგიის არაპოეტური ბუნების და
პოეზიის არამეტეოროლოგიური ბუნების
მამხილებლად გამოვდივარ.

IV.
ალბათ ხვდებით,
ეს არ არის იოლი საქმე.
მითუმეტეს, როცა თავად გაქვს დაწერილი ასეთი სტრიქონები:
`სულში ქარია თვალწყლიანო ჩემო მარია,
სულში ქარია სიბნელეა თუ ცისმარეა...’
და კიდევ არაერთი ამის მსგავსი.
ჰო, ეს არ არის იოლი საქმე.
მაგრამ მე მაინც ვაკეთებ ამას,
რათა მომავალ ცხოვრება-პოეზიაში
ჩემი თვალებიდან არ იწვიმოს,
თმებზე არ დამათოვოს,
სულში არ მიბოგინოს ქარმა.

V.
მე დავწერე ეს ლექსი,
როგორც პოეზიის ამინდის პროგნოზი და
ქუჩაში გავედი,
სადაც არაპოეტური ქარი
შარვალს მიფართხუნებდა და
ცხვირ-პირში მცემდა.
Close

DRAWING A LINE BETWEEN METEOROLOGY AND POETRY

I
Finally one should refuse to use
Words denoting elemental phenomena,
Especially when depicting
Human spiritual experiences and frames of mind.
Poetry in the present and future tenses must be constructed otherwise.

II
I watch through the window.
The rain rains in poems sung for the thousandth time,
The snow snows in poems sung for the thousandth time.
I go outside.
There’s nothing poetic about the wind.
It just makes my trousers flap,
Strikes my face and confuses my thoughts,
Which pretty well confirms
My theoretical deliberations:
Poetry and meteorology
Have over time come to quarrel with each other,
And now’s the time for them
Each to mind their own business.

III
My grandmother (on my father’s side), Mariam Iatashvili,
Was a meteorologist.
My grandfather (on my mother’s side), Parmen Rurua,
Was a poet.
Since childhood the things that sounded most poetic to me
Were the names of various types of cloud.
My grandmother would point to the sky and teach me,
‘Cumulus, stratocumulus.’
But a lot of time passed after that.
And today I,
However regrettable and odd it may be,
Am coming out with an exposé
Of the unpoetic nature of meteorology
And the unmeteorological nature of poetry.

IV
I expect you realise,
This is no easy subject.
All the more so if you’ve written lines, like:
‘The wind is in the soul, o watery-eyed Maria,
The wind is in the soul, whether it’s dark or day-long light…’
And quite a few similar other things.
Yes this is no easy subject.
But I am nevertheless doing this
So that in future life and poetry
There should be no rain falling from my eyes,
No snow falling on my hair,
No wind lurking in my soul.

V
I wrote this poem
As a weather forecast for poetry
And I walked out into the street,
Where an unpoetic wind
Flapped my trousers and
Hit my face.

DRAWING A LINE BETWEEN METEOROLOGY AND POETRY

I
Finally one should refuse to use
Words denoting elemental phenomena,
Especially when depicting
Human spiritual experiences and frames of mind.
Poetry in the present and future tenses must be constructed otherwise.

II
I watch through the window.
The rain rains in poems sung for the thousandth time,
The snow snows in poems sung for the thousandth time.
I go outside.
There’s nothing poetic about the wind.
It just makes my trousers flap,
Strikes my face and confuses my thoughts,
Which pretty well confirms
My theoretical deliberations:
Poetry and meteorology
Have over time come to quarrel with each other,
And now’s the time for them
Each to mind their own business.

III
My grandmother (on my father’s side), Mariam Iatashvili,
Was a meteorologist.
My grandfather (on my mother’s side), Parmen Rurua,
Was a poet.
Since childhood the things that sounded most poetic to me
Were the names of various types of cloud.
My grandmother would point to the sky and teach me,
‘Cumulus, stratocumulus.’
But a lot of time passed after that.
And today I,
However regrettable and odd it may be,
Am coming out with an exposé
Of the unpoetic nature of meteorology
And the unmeteorological nature of poetry.

IV
I expect you realise,
This is no easy subject.
All the more so if you’ve written lines, like:
‘The wind is in the soul, o watery-eyed Maria,
The wind is in the soul, whether it’s dark or day-long light…’
And quite a few similar other things.
Yes this is no easy subject.
But I am nevertheless doing this
So that in future life and poetry
There should be no rain falling from my eyes,
No snow falling on my hair,
No wind lurking in my soul.

V
I wrote this poem
As a weather forecast for poetry
And I walked out into the street,
Where an unpoetic wind
Flapped my trousers and
Hit my face.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
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Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
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