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Gedicht

Kebedech Tekleab

BEFORE MY FINGER LOSES ITS BEST FRIEND

Before my finger loses its best friend,
before it casually forgets its pen
and begins tapping on the ground;
before the clean sheet disappears
on which it pours out its complaint,
conversing with the world;
before it gives away the means to write
its message, share the panorama
of its thoughts using a pen determined
to write soberly, and when it’s sober,
writes in blood-red ink, un-wash-away-able!
and if anybody tries to scrub its writing off
or over-paint, it flares up and if they try
to burn it down the dry sheet will turn wet;
before my finger casually forgets its pen…

without a drum-beat, it can carry
across borders, without an arrow
it will penetrate the eye,
demolish buildings, put up new ones,
it will never be confined, because the mind
cannot be chained like legs, its dreams
cannot be lowered to subhuman levels;
before its aspiration will evaporate,
at day-break when night fades to protect flesh
from lifting off the bone and changing into dust,
when mind is deep in worry about enemies, 
before a pen loses sight of its best friend,
before it starts talking to the ground by tapping on it,
when the brain is restless, bleeds a little,
when imagination is all-powerful, bright red,
before anything is casually forgotten,
before the mind sells out in order to survive,
when it is docile to its inner consciousness,
writes down its message, ink on paper –
now the pen speaks, spreads its wings, flies
endless distances, demolishes the old, builds new…

and if the pen falls in love soberly,
like a bee sucking droplets from a flower,
if it sips love from the inkpot,
then it will write in praise of beauty, 
how the world is blessed with wonders,
beautiful words will beautify its work,
enchant its readers with artistic voice,
put love into the house it builds,
removing the old view, replacing with its own,
so readers see love through the pen’s
eye, a pen’s precise perspective…

as hopefully is happening now,
before my finger casually forgets its friend
or the clean sheet of paper disappears
on which it pours out this complaint,
before my pen finds itself speaking to the floor!

ጣት ወዳጁን ሲያጣ

ጣት ወዳጁን ሲያጣ

እንዲህ እንዳሁኑ
ብዕር እንደዋዛ ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር
ጣት ወዳጁን አጥቶ መሬት ሳይቆረቁር
የብሶት ተካፋይ ንፁሕ ብራና አጥቶ
ለምድር ሳይናገር
ተቀባይ ሳያጣ መልዕክት የሚያሰፍር
ሁሉም በየመልኩ ይሰፍር ነበረ
ለመጻፍ ተነስቶ ብዕር ካመረረ
ካንጀት ካመረረ ደም ይተፋል ብዕር
ቢያጥቡት የማይነጻ ቢቀቡት የማይሽር
እሳት ቢጨምሩት ነዲድ ሆኖ እሚገር
ደረቁ ብራና እንዲህ ሳይወረዛ
ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር ብዕር እንደዋዛ።
 
ነጋሪት ሳይጎሽም ጽንፍን ያዳርሳል
ፍላፃው ሳይታይ ወርውሮ ያቆስላል
ያለውን አፍርሶ አዲስ ይገነባል።
 
እንዲህ ሳይገታ ወሰን ተሰርቶለት
ሕሊናም እንደግር ሰንሰለት ታስሮለት
በእንስሳት ደረጃ ምኞቱ አዘቅዝቆ
የማደግ ስሜቱ አእምሮውን ለቆ
ጎህ ሲቀድ ለዕለት ሲመሽ ለሌሊቱ
ሥጋው ትብያ እንዳይሆን እንዳይፈርስ አጥንቱ
ሕልሙ ይሄ ሆኖ ሥጋቱ ፍራቱ
ብዕር ጓደኛውን ጣትን ሳይዘነጋ
ምድሪቱን ቆርቁሮ ለሷ ሳያወጋ
አዕምሮ ሲቆስል እሱ ደም ይተፋል
ቀለሙ ኃይል አለው በመልኩ ያቀልማል።
ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር እንዲህ እንደዋዛ
የመኖር ፍላጎት ሕሊናን ሳይገዛ
ያኔ ታዛዥ ሳለ ላንጋፋው አዕምሮ
መልክቱን በቀለም በብራናው ጭሮ
ይናገር ነበረ ብዕር አፍ አውጥቶ
አርቆ ይበራል አክናፉን ዜርግቶ
አሮጌው ንዶ፤ አዲሱን መስርቶ።

ካንጀት ከወደደ ካደነቀ ዓለምን
እንደ ቀሳሚ ንብ ባበባ እንዳረፈ
ከቀሰመ ፍቅርን
ይጽፍ ነበር ብዕር የውበት ውዳሴን
የተፈጥሮ ትንግርት የዓለም ሱታፌን።
በጥዑመ-ቃሉ ጣዕም እየሰጠ
በኪነት ለሳኑ ልብ እየመሰጠ
ወዶ እያስወደደ ቤተ-ፍቅር አንፆ
ፍቅረ-ላህይ ገልጾ
ዬራሱን አፍቅሮት ባንባቢው አስርፆ
የውበት ዓይኑንም ለሌላው ለግሶ
እዩበት ይል ነበር ያልታየውን ዳሶ።

እንዲህ እንዳሁኑ
ብዕር እንደዋዛ ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር
የብሶት ተካፋይ ንጹሕ ብራና አጥቶ
ለምድር ሳይናገር።
 
Kebedech Tekleab

Kebedech Tekleab

(Ethiopië, 1958)

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ጣት ወዳጁን ሲያጣ

እንዲህ እንዳሁኑ
ብዕር እንደዋዛ ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር
ጣት ወዳጁን አጥቶ መሬት ሳይቆረቁር
የብሶት ተካፋይ ንፁሕ ብራና አጥቶ
ለምድር ሳይናገር
ተቀባይ ሳያጣ መልዕክት የሚያሰፍር
ሁሉም በየመልኩ ይሰፍር ነበረ
ለመጻፍ ተነስቶ ብዕር ካመረረ
ካንጀት ካመረረ ደም ይተፋል ብዕር
ቢያጥቡት የማይነጻ ቢቀቡት የማይሽር
እሳት ቢጨምሩት ነዲድ ሆኖ እሚገር
ደረቁ ብራና እንዲህ ሳይወረዛ
ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር ብዕር እንደዋዛ።
 
ነጋሪት ሳይጎሽም ጽንፍን ያዳርሳል
ፍላፃው ሳይታይ ወርውሮ ያቆስላል
ያለውን አፍርሶ አዲስ ይገነባል።
 
እንዲህ ሳይገታ ወሰን ተሰርቶለት
ሕሊናም እንደግር ሰንሰለት ታስሮለት
በእንስሳት ደረጃ ምኞቱ አዘቅዝቆ
የማደግ ስሜቱ አእምሮውን ለቆ
ጎህ ሲቀድ ለዕለት ሲመሽ ለሌሊቱ
ሥጋው ትብያ እንዳይሆን እንዳይፈርስ አጥንቱ
ሕልሙ ይሄ ሆኖ ሥጋቱ ፍራቱ
ብዕር ጓደኛውን ጣትን ሳይዘነጋ
ምድሪቱን ቆርቁሮ ለሷ ሳያወጋ
አዕምሮ ሲቆስል እሱ ደም ይተፋል
ቀለሙ ኃይል አለው በመልኩ ያቀልማል።
ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር እንዲህ እንደዋዛ
የመኖር ፍላጎት ሕሊናን ሳይገዛ
ያኔ ታዛዥ ሳለ ላንጋፋው አዕምሮ
መልክቱን በቀለም በብራናው ጭሮ
ይናገር ነበረ ብዕር አፍ አውጥቶ
አርቆ ይበራል አክናፉን ዜርግቶ
አሮጌው ንዶ፤ አዲሱን መስርቶ።

ካንጀት ከወደደ ካደነቀ ዓለምን
እንደ ቀሳሚ ንብ ባበባ እንዳረፈ
ከቀሰመ ፍቅርን
ይጽፍ ነበር ብዕር የውበት ውዳሴን
የተፈጥሮ ትንግርት የዓለም ሱታፌን።
በጥዑመ-ቃሉ ጣዕም እየሰጠ
በኪነት ለሳኑ ልብ እየመሰጠ
ወዶ እያስወደደ ቤተ-ፍቅር አንፆ
ፍቅረ-ላህይ ገልጾ
ዬራሱን አፍቅሮት ባንባቢው አስርፆ
የውበት ዓይኑንም ለሌላው ለግሶ
እዩበት ይል ነበር ያልታየውን ዳሶ።

እንዲህ እንዳሁኑ
ብዕር እንደዋዛ ተዘንግቶ ሳይቀር
የብሶት ተካፋይ ንጹሕ ብራና አጥቶ
ለምድር ሳይናገር።
 

BEFORE MY FINGER LOSES ITS BEST FRIEND

Before my finger loses its best friend,
before it casually forgets its pen
and begins tapping on the ground;
before the clean sheet disappears
on which it pours out its complaint,
conversing with the world;
before it gives away the means to write
its message, share the panorama
of its thoughts using a pen determined
to write soberly, and when it’s sober,
writes in blood-red ink, un-wash-away-able!
and if anybody tries to scrub its writing off
or over-paint, it flares up and if they try
to burn it down the dry sheet will turn wet;
before my finger casually forgets its pen…

without a drum-beat, it can carry
across borders, without an arrow
it will penetrate the eye,
demolish buildings, put up new ones,
it will never be confined, because the mind
cannot be chained like legs, its dreams
cannot be lowered to subhuman levels;
before its aspiration will evaporate,
at day-break when night fades to protect flesh
from lifting off the bone and changing into dust,
when mind is deep in worry about enemies, 
before a pen loses sight of its best friend,
before it starts talking to the ground by tapping on it,
when the brain is restless, bleeds a little,
when imagination is all-powerful, bright red,
before anything is casually forgotten,
before the mind sells out in order to survive,
when it is docile to its inner consciousness,
writes down its message, ink on paper –
now the pen speaks, spreads its wings, flies
endless distances, demolishes the old, builds new…

and if the pen falls in love soberly,
like a bee sucking droplets from a flower,
if it sips love from the inkpot,
then it will write in praise of beauty, 
how the world is blessed with wonders,
beautiful words will beautify its work,
enchant its readers with artistic voice,
put love into the house it builds,
removing the old view, replacing with its own,
so readers see love through the pen’s
eye, a pen’s precise perspective…

as hopefully is happening now,
before my finger casually forgets its friend
or the clean sheet of paper disappears
on which it pours out this complaint,
before my pen finds itself speaking to the floor!
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère